Odin (Alien Adoption Agency #5) - Tasha Black Page 0,15

anyone else, but she’s serious about her sheep.”

“I can see that,” Liberty said. “I guess it’s her farm, too.”

“It is,” Odin said, pleased at the quick turnaround in Liberty’s attitude.

The red glow of Hesiod-8 had paled to pink over the horizon, throwing the murky grove into twilight. As the path curved around the hill, the sheep appeared in the grove.

“Oh,” Liberty gasped.

He couldn’t keep the grin off his face as he watched her take in the sight of the animals.

They really were incredible creatures, glowing in the semi-darkness like clouds made of starlight.

“Do they always look like this?” she asked.

“The glow is more pronounced in the evening, though you can see it in full light if you’re looking for it,” he told her. “They’re called rainbow-sheep.”

The tree-hound barked once, and the sheep faded from light blue to shades of pink and orange.

“Whoa,” Liberty breathed.

“They change colors based on their mood,” Odin explained. “But when you shear them the color stays fast in the wool.”

“Amazing,” she said.

“You’ll have to become an expert at shearing if you want to achieve some of the more unusual colors,” he told her.

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“A nervous animal will shear red,” he told her. “Which isn’t worth much. But if they trust you, it’s possible to shear green or even blue. That wool is very valuable because it is so rare.”

“It’s not dyed,” she realized.

“Exactly,” he told her. “And every shear is unique.

“Will it glow?” she asked.

“Even after it’s processed and woven,” he told her, nodding.

“We’ll have a blanket made for Colton,” she decided. “The first blue shearing will be his.”

“An ambitious goal,” Odin said.

“Why bother with any other kind,” she said decidedly, stroking the tree-hound’s fur unconsciously as she observed her flock.

He liked her like this. While her fancy hair and elegant manners had initially thrown him off, he actually could picture her as a farmer, enjoying the simple pleasures of caring for plants and animals.

He chided himself mentally for ever doubting it. If she had traveled in the Physician’s Brigade with her husband, she was no spoiled princess. The Physician’s Brigade went to places that made this one look like the paradise it was.

“We should count them,” he said after a moment.

“Didn’t the hands just say there were seventeen?” she asked.

“That’s because they just took inventory,” he told her. “Making sure they’re all accounted for is a constant task.”

“Okay,” she said gamely. “If they move around a lot, how do we do it?”

“It’s best to start getting to know the individual animals,” he explained. “That will happen in time. For now, let’s just hope they don’t move too fast.”

“Makes sense,” she said. “Let’s go to opposite sides and count toward each other.”

“Sure,” he said, watching her jog to the end of the grove, with the tree-hound at her hip.

The last of the fading starlight danced in her hair and her eyes as she moved toward him, counting out her new charges.

He almost forgot to take his own inventory he was so mesmerized by her beauty.

“That’s eleven for me,” she said.

“Six for me,” he told her.

“Seventeen,” they said at the same time.

She laughed and he felt caught in her orbit, as if his own life didn’t matter anymore, and he wanted only to stay near her forever.

“We… should get back,” she said, breaking the spell.

“Of course,” he told her. “You must be getting hungry.”

“Yes,” she admitted, pleasing his dragon with her hearty honesty. “Do you think there’s good food in the house?”

“I’m sure there’s something,” Odin said. “Ready?”

Liberty took one last look at her flock and gave a satisfied nod.

Then they headed back down the path toward home.

12

Liberty

Liberty curled up in a comfy chair, giving Colton his bottle, as Odin banged around the kitchen.

He wore his usual scowl and there was a lot more slamming of cabinet doors than Liberty was used to, but she was starting to realize that this was just his way. He wasn’t angry, he was just enormous and very serious about his food.

He was very serious about most things.

Except during playtime with the baby or the tree-hound.

“What’s her name?” she called out, watching Colton’s little mouth work the bottle.

“Whose name?” he asked.

“The tree-hound,” she said. “Do you know her name?”

“They didn’t say,” he told her. “You’ll have to name her.”

“Interesting,” she said. “What kind of name should she have?”

“Most people say they like a two-syllable name,” he told her. “Something not similar to other words you’ll use around her.”

“How about Keerah,” she suggested.

“That was quick,” he replied. “What