Part 754 – Ambrose And Barbara On The Phone Again. Tsk.

Ambrose entered the park and smiled at the decrease in the snow’s surplus population.

He closed his eyes as a balmy breeze blew into his face. He leaned his head back.

The breeze furled around his neck and flowed across his eyelids. It blew past his ears and rumpled up his hair.

His smile grew.

“Those fools from Paint Your Wagon were wrong. The wind’s name is not Maria. It’s Barbara.”

He opened his eyes.

Barbara.

He pulled out his phone and called her number.

“Hi! Barbara speaking!”

If he were a cat, he would have purred at the sound of her voice. “Good morning, love.”

“Good morning to you too, kitten.”

“I’m out here in the park. Come to me. I want to spend time with you. I want to sit out here on this beautiful night and rename the constellations with you. I want to speak of fluff and nonsense and make you laugh.” He laughed softly. “I want to dance around the park benches and snow drifts with you. With just you.”

There was a moment of silence on her side. “Well. If you’re going to put it that way, how can I say no?”

He grinned wide and happy. “I’m waiting for you. I’m here.”

“I’ll be right there.”

She ended the call.

AmbroseĀ rebuttoned his coat and sat on a snow-free bench.

Isadora’s offer infringed on his happy thoughts.

And he didn’t chase it away.

“To be with someone I can’t hurt or destroy…”

But I don’t want someone.

I want Barbara.

“I want her.” He looked down at his palms, expecting to see her name tattooed from his fingertips to his hand heels. “Oh, I want her.”

In my arms.

In my life.

In my days.

In my nights.

In our sorrows.

In our joys.

I want her.

He looked up at the night sky.

My Barbara.

I want only you.

Barbara.

My Barbara.

***

Barbara put on her light winter coat and stepped outside.

Ambrose.

My Ambrose.

Not Elsie Vansing’s Ambrose.

Nor anyone else’s.

She got into her car.

Mine.

And, come May 21, he will be completely mine.

She kissed the emerald ring on her thumb.

And I will be completely his.

***

The werewolf stayed low. His mottled gray and white fur made it easy for him to blend into his surroundings.

She didn’t see him.

She walked right past his nose and she never saw him.

He considered biting her then and there.

But her car had a wrongness to it. Something was wrong with its scent.

His fur bristled.

If he waited, he could catch her in a weak spot, a vulnerable moment.

Helpless.

Unable to run into the safety of her den.

As her car left the safety of the driveway and moseyed down the dangers of the road, the werewolf rose to his feet. He threw his head back and yelped out an uneven howl.

It wasn’t beautiful like the alpha’s howl, but it sufficed to get the message across to his pack. He lowered his head and ran after the car.

Making sure to stay in the shadows.

So, she would never see him until it was too late.

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