A Solstice Celebration: A Wicked Witches of the Midwest Short by Amanda M. Lee

Author:Amanda M. Lee [Lee, Amanda M.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: WinchesterShaw Publications
Published: 2016-04-05T04:00:00+00:00

Six

“Get in the house.”

I shoved Thistle – probably harder than necessary – as I tried to force her through the front door of the bed and breakfast. She had half her shirt on and was thankfully wearing a tank top underneath. I managed to catch the girls before they got more than a quarter mile from the house. Getting them home proved problematic, to say the least. Bay and Clove were already inside, watching the spectacle from the living room with wide eyes. Thistle took more … wrangling.

“You get in the house,” Thistle shot back.

“I will, right after you get in the house,” I said.

“I don’t want to get in the house.”

“Thistle, don’t make me wrestle you in this house,” I hissed. “I will hurt you if I have to.”

“You’d better be careful,” Bay intoned. “She’ll smother you with her boobs if you’re not.”

That did it. “You’re all grounded for the rest of your lives!” I bellowed.

“Yeah, that will happen,” Twila said dryly, walking into the room. “How are my drunk girls?”

“I’m happy,” Clove announced, throwing herself over the end of the couch and falling on her back. “I’m really happy. I … .” She lost her train of thought and stared at her feet. “Have you ever noticed I have tiny feet? They’re like little kid feet. I bet I could wear little kid shoes if I want. I like the ones that light up.”

“That’s good, Clove,” I said, my temper ready to explode. “You sit there and stare at your feet. At least that way I know you’re out of trouble.”

“Okay,” Clove said, happily wriggling her feet. She seemed to have absolutely no inclination to do anything else.

“Thistle, I will beat you to within an inch of your life if you don’t move through that door,” I seethed. It was an empty threat. I’d never done more than grab a handful of hair when the girls misbehaved. Aunt Tillie chased them with the flyswatter on occasion, but once they got fast enough to outrun her they turned it into a game. I was ready to hurt someone, though. Thistle seemed the obvious choice. “I will beat you! I swear to the Goddess I will!”

“What’s going on?”

I froze when I heard the masculine voice behind me, swiveling to find Terry watching me from the front porch. I struggled to keep an arm around Thistle’s waist, but she evaded me and made a break for it.

Terry nonchalantly snagged the back of her neck before she could bolt over the porch railing. “Where are you going, missy?”

“I’m going skinny-dipping at the lake,” Thistle replied. “I need to do it now before I forget.”

“She sounds drunk,” Terry said, easily holding Thistle in place as he glanced around the room. “She can’t possibly be drunk, can she?”

“That’s a really hard question to answer,” I hedged.

“Really hard,” Twila echoed.

“It’s not so hard,” Aunt Tillie said, breezing into the room, camera in hand. “They’re soused.”

“Son of a … .” Terry gritted his teeth as he shoved Thistle into the house and slammed the door shut behind him.

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