The misadventures of Darren Murchison: a gay, English, self-employed handyman – no job too small – who moves to Welsh sheep country in search of a quiet life. Not a good move for the world’s most reluctant werewolf!
Don't know how this short story missed my radar last year and frankly I stumbled on it by accident this year. Well, whenever it grabs your eye I highly recommend reading this short. Would I love to read further adventures for Darren the handyman werewolf? Definitely, despite only 30+ pages, the world building and character development is incredible. There's really not a lot I can say that won't give anything away but let me tell you Sheep's Clothing is fun, sweet, sexy, with a couple of surprises thrown in to make this short intriguing and an all-around gem. If you enjoy Elin Gregory's work than this is not to be missed and if you have yet to experience any of her stories, Sheep's Clothing is an ideal introduction to her backlist. I haven't read all her work but trust me, what I have read is brilliant storytelling.
RATING:
Gary snickered. "You said 'bollocks'," he explained when I glared at him.
"Oh for Pete's sake, grow up." I stabbed a finger towards the placid brown and white shapes grazing opposite my new kitchen window. "I said 'bullocks'. It's another word for cows. Boy cows."
"You're going to fit right into this isolated farming community, aren't you?" Gary turned on his heel, surveying my new home and the surrounding countryside with a baffled eye. "Rather you than me, but I hope you'll be happy here."
"I don't see why not. There isn't another plumber for twenty miles." I grinned. "I'll be fulfilling a need."
"And what about the other thing?"
"Which thing?" I asked, knowing what was coming and looking forward to it.
Gary made his hands into claws, rolled his eyes and lolled his tongue like a zombie beagle.
Once I'd finished laughing at him, I replied, "Not a whiff. This place is ideal. Over the garden wall there's ten thousand acres of bugger all apart from Forestry Commission larch, bracken, and sheep. The nearest pack is based in Welshpool."
Gary nodded, his expression both sympathetic and relieved. He had seen me through a lot of scary stuff, both as a staunch defender and a total pain in the arse once I was strong enough again to be teased. Coming out to him had been hard but was a piece of cake in comparison with the conversation that had begun, "You know how it was a full moon last night?"
"I'm going to miss you," I said.
"Damn right you are. Personally I think you're crazy. For a start you're English and we all know how well that goes down 'round here. Then there's the gay thing. Who's going to fulfil your needs?"
"I asked the estate agent. There's a pub in Barmouth and one in Welshpool and Shrewsbury's not that far. I'll manage."
"Well, if you're sure there's a crying need locally for gay, English, werewolf plumbers … " He paused and looked at the house in all its fixer-upper glory. "If it doesn't work out, like if they get after you for sheep worrying or something, you can always come back, you know."
"No, I can't." I said that a bit more sharply than I'd intended. "Oh, not you and the lads. I loved working with you. But now Gran's gone and, well, the other thing – with the pack. I never fitted in. Look, I drive a van – it's got my name on the side in nice big letters: 'Darren Murchison, Plumber & Electrician. Bathroom & Kitchen Fitter. No job too small.' I like beer and rugby and putting my feet up. And they were Charles and country estates, and Ivo and something in the City, and Bentleys, and lunch at the Dorchester, and evenings at a dungeon club." And full moons in Charles's deer park, eating Bambi, though I'd never admitted that to Gary.
"Yeah, yeah, yeah. We all knew you were out of your depth." Gary punched me in the shoulder. "That bloody Martin giving you the run-around. He drove a Porsche, didn't he? MAR 10 on the plates. Wanker."
"Bloody Martin," I agreed, but there was a tone in Gary's voice that would have made me prick my ears had they been the right shape. "Gary, no. You really don't want to mess around with that lot."
"Course not," Gary said. "I wouldn't be messing around. Slipping some fresh whitebait into an air intake isn't messing around. He probably wouldn't notice for a day or two. Not until they began to rot."
We paused to savour the thought of it. Martin would be livid, and his temper had been spectacular even on days when he wasn't fanged and clawed and covered in hair. The only thing more spectacular than his temper was his libido and even that had got wearing after a time.
"Stop thinking about him," Gary said. "Think about unpacking. Oh jeez, is that the time?"
"Oh for Pete's sake, grow up." I stabbed a finger towards the placid brown and white shapes grazing opposite my new kitchen window. "I said 'bullocks'. It's another word for cows. Boy cows."
"You're going to fit right into this isolated farming community, aren't you?" Gary turned on his heel, surveying my new home and the surrounding countryside with a baffled eye. "Rather you than me, but I hope you'll be happy here."
"I don't see why not. There isn't another plumber for twenty miles." I grinned. "I'll be fulfilling a need."
"And what about the other thing?"
"Which thing?" I asked, knowing what was coming and looking forward to it.
Gary made his hands into claws, rolled his eyes and lolled his tongue like a zombie beagle.
Once I'd finished laughing at him, I replied, "Not a whiff. This place is ideal. Over the garden wall there's ten thousand acres of bugger all apart from Forestry Commission larch, bracken, and sheep. The nearest pack is based in Welshpool."
Gary nodded, his expression both sympathetic and relieved. He had seen me through a lot of scary stuff, both as a staunch defender and a total pain in the arse once I was strong enough again to be teased. Coming out to him had been hard but was a piece of cake in comparison with the conversation that had begun, "You know how it was a full moon last night?"
"I'm going to miss you," I said.
"Damn right you are. Personally I think you're crazy. For a start you're English and we all know how well that goes down 'round here. Then there's the gay thing. Who's going to fulfil your needs?"
"I asked the estate agent. There's a pub in Barmouth and one in Welshpool and Shrewsbury's not that far. I'll manage."
"Well, if you're sure there's a crying need locally for gay, English, werewolf plumbers … " He paused and looked at the house in all its fixer-upper glory. "If it doesn't work out, like if they get after you for sheep worrying or something, you can always come back, you know."
"No, I can't." I said that a bit more sharply than I'd intended. "Oh, not you and the lads. I loved working with you. But now Gran's gone and, well, the other thing – with the pack. I never fitted in. Look, I drive a van – it's got my name on the side in nice big letters: 'Darren Murchison, Plumber & Electrician. Bathroom & Kitchen Fitter. No job too small.' I like beer and rugby and putting my feet up. And they were Charles and country estates, and Ivo and something in the City, and Bentleys, and lunch at the Dorchester, and evenings at a dungeon club." And full moons in Charles's deer park, eating Bambi, though I'd never admitted that to Gary.
"Yeah, yeah, yeah. We all knew you were out of your depth." Gary punched me in the shoulder. "That bloody Martin giving you the run-around. He drove a Porsche, didn't he? MAR 10 on the plates. Wanker."
"Bloody Martin," I agreed, but there was a tone in Gary's voice that would have made me prick my ears had they been the right shape. "Gary, no. You really don't want to mess around with that lot."
"Course not," Gary said. "I wouldn't be messing around. Slipping some fresh whitebait into an air intake isn't messing around. He probably wouldn't notice for a day or two. Not until they began to rot."
We paused to savour the thought of it. Martin would be livid, and his temper had been spectacular even on days when he wasn't fanged and clawed and covered in hair. The only thing more spectacular than his temper was his libido and even that had got wearing after a time.
"Stop thinking about him," Gary said. "Think about unpacking. Oh jeez, is that the time?"
Elin Gregory lives in South Wales and works in a museum in a castle built on the edge of a Roman Fort! She reckons that's a pretty cool job.
Elin usually writes on historical subjects, and enjoys weaving the weird and wonderful facts she comes across in her research into her plots. She likes her heroes hard as nails but capable of tenderness when circumstances allow. Often they are in danger, frequently they have to make hard choices, but happy endings are always assured.
Current works in progress include one set during the Great War, another in WW2, one set in the Dark Ages and a series of contemporary romances set in a small town on the Welsh border.
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