Working myself into a lather is exactly what I need.
Because the second Max and Zeke finally let me up, after physically holding me back from chasing Arliss down like some feral bull on a rampage, I was this close to shifting, charging down the drive, and begging her not to look at me like I’m a monster.
But I didn’t.
Instead, I did something useful.
I mean, I still shifted into my Bull.
But not to hunt my woman. Instead, I let Jed, our resident goat-whisperer and all around handyman with too many opinions and not enough shirts, strap an old-fashioned plow to my back.
Yeah. A real one.
Iron and leather. Rustic as hell.
Why? Because sometimes a man needs something to tether him to reality.
The moment the straps tightened, something in me settled.
Because this is honest work. And I need that to ground me.
Everything I’m doing, I do for her whether or not she knows it.
I should leave her alone. But I know I won’t.