Witchdependence Day: A Wicked Witches of the Midwest Short (Wicked Witches of the Midwest Shorts Book 8) Read Online Free

standing in the open stable door.
    She’s hard to explain, too. She’s four feet and eleven inches of raw power and sarcastic overtones. Today, for example, she’s dressed in camouflage cargo pants and a pink hat with a flower sticking out of the top. She looks as if she’s gearing up for trouble, which is never a good thing.
    “What are you doing here?” Thistle asked before I had a chance to voice the question – in a much nicer way, mind you. I’m one of the few people who rarely fight with Aunt Tillie. Even I can’t explain it.
    “It’s nice to see you, too, Little Miss Attitude,” Aunt Tillie said, flicking the end of Thistle’s nose as she passed. “Can’t I stop in to see one of my favorite people without announcing my itinerary to the masses?”
    Landon, his face red from the effort exerted to catch Bay, glanced down from the loft as he kept his wriggling blonde close. “I’m glad to see you admit I’m your favorite.”
    “I was talking about Marcus,” Aunt Tillie scoffed.
    I had a feeling Landon knew that, but he enjoys messing with Aunt Tillie whenever the opportunity arises. She gets immense joy from irritating everyone she comes in contact with, so whenever someone returns the favor everyone gets a kick out of it.
    “You’re welcome to stop by whenever you wish,” I said, biting the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing at the annoyed look on Thistle’s face. She doesn’t get my relationship with her great-aunt. No one does. It’s one of those weird, inexplicable things, yet I wouldn’t trade it for anything. “To what honor do I owe today’s visit?”
    “I’m bored,” Aunt Tillie announced, narrowing her eyes as Bay squealed and Landon struggled to keep his grip on her. “If you two are going to roll in the hay, you might want to wait until the rest of us leave,” she shouted up to the loft. “That’s what’s done in proper circles.”
    “We’re not rolling in the hay,” Bay shot back. “Hay makes me itch.”
    “Cops do that to me,” Aunt Tillie shot back, sending Landon a sarcastic thumbs-up. “Just ask ‘The Man’ there.”
    “I wish you would stop calling me that,” Landon protested. “It’s annoying.”
    “You’re annoying, so that works out,” Aunt Tillie said. “Seriously, what are you two doing up there?”
    “We found blood in the loft and Landon wanted Bay to look around to see whether she sees anything,” I supplied.
    “She didn’t, for the record,” Thistle added.
    “It was probably an animal,” Aunt Tillie said, making a face. “Why would a person crawl up into the loft to die?”
    “I just wanted to make sure,” Landon said. “We’re supposed to be having a nice weekend together. I don’t want anything ruining it.”
    “You worry too much,” Aunt Tillie said, shaking her head. “You’re kind of a kvetch.”
    “I hate it when you use that word, too,” Landon said, losing his grip on Bay and falling backward as she giggled. “You did that on purpose.”
    “I’m not rolling in the hay with you,” Bay said, brushing a strand of her flyaway flaxen hair from her face. “It makes my arms break out and itch. You say you don’t want the night ruined. That will definitely ruin our night because then you won’t be able to touch me.”
    “Oh. Well, you should’ve told me that,” Landon said, conceding defeat as he moved toward the ladder. “I would’ve stopped wrestling with you if I knew that was the case.”
    “Live and learn,” Bay said, following Landon down the ladder. “There’s nothing here, though. I think Marcus is right about the blood belonging to an animal.”
    “That’s a relief,” Landon said, waiting at the bottom of the ladder so he could snag Bay as she neared the bottom and twirl her around. “All I want to think about this weekend is food, fireworks and you.”
    “Men are simple creatures, like dogs,” Aunt Tillie intoned, rolling her eyes. “Give them a hot meal and a woman and they’ll happily