Quickdraw Slow Burn

by T. S. Joyce

  “Rule denied!” she sang as she looped her hand around his inner elbow. “If I consider this, I want pet names on the negotiations table.”

  “A cow pie is a pile of turds.”

  She beamed up at him. “But you’re a cute pile of turds.”

  He ran his hand down his face, but she didn’t miss it. There was a flash of a smile. “All right, let’s go, my little honeypot.”

  “Aaawww!” Dead called from down the row of cars.

  “Shut your mouth hole,” Quickdraw grumbled as he led Annabelle toward the front door.

  He sure looked handsome underneath the glow of the armadillo sign. His Wranglers hugged his very muscular butt, and his boots were scuffed but high quality. He looked tall and strong, his defined chest and arms pushing against the thin fabric of his white long-sleeve thermal. It had a few buttons at the top, but the first two were undone, exposing the detailed tattoo designs on his throat, and the top of the perfectly defined muscle-line leading down between his pecs. His dark beard was trimmed shorter than it had been a month ago, and she liked it. She could see the shape of his chiseled jaw more and take in his smiles easier. His dark eyes missed nothing under the brim of a worn dark blue beer hat.

  She’d never seen a more fit physique in her entire life, and he was opening the door for her. For her.

  Just friends, just friends, just friends, she reminded herself when she caught herself rubbing her index finger along his skin where she held onto his arm. How could a man be so steely strong and have such soft leather skin at the same time? This was going to be tough, walking the line between falling for him and remembering that he didn’t want a relationship. Not a serious relationship, at least.

  Quickdraw was clearly the type of man that turned every head in the bar, both men and women, the second he walked into a room. She watched it happen.

  There was this loaded moment when he looked around the bar then belted out, “What?” in a loud, booming voice, and then everyone went back to what they were doing.

  Annabelle snorted. “Are you going to get in a fight tonight?”

  “Probably,” Two Shots muttered as he passed with Cheyenne. “He always gets in fights.”

  “Well, I don’t start them.” Quickdraw straightened his arm and caught her hand in his as it fell. “I just finish them.”

  Dead huffed a sarcastic sound as he was passing them with his arm around Raven’s shoulders. He took on a storyteller’s tone. “And the narrator disagreed. Quickdraw, in fact, had started every fight he was ever in.”

  A single eyebrow cocked up on Quickdraw’s face, and then quick as a strike of lightning, he shoved his boot out and tripped Dead. Dead of Winter stumbled a step and caught himself, turned and lurched at Quickdraw again like he would hit him. He didn’t say what Annabelle had expected him to though. Instead, Dead growled out, “I love you.”

  Annabelle laughed at how mad Quickdraw looked right now.

  The others found a tall oval-shaped table near the corner by the jukebox, just a few tables away from the stage where a band was playing country music. There was a dance floor with four couples dancing really well, with spins and dips and everything. Even in boots! The people in the Dusty Armadillo were clearly here to have a good time, and laughter accompanied the soundtrack the band was making.

  “I like it in here,” she said over the volume of the music, as Quickdraw led her through the crowd on the edge of a dance floor, and toward the herd’s table. It was a little hard to hear in here with all conversations around them going on.

  Quickdraw stopped and turned on her, leaned down next to her ear and gripped her flannel right at her waist. “I like it here, too. You make this scene more fun.”

  Before she could chicken out, she pushed up on the toes of her boots and kissed him on the cheek. Right there in the middle of all those strangers. Just a quick smack because she was so filled with this happy moment allowing her to escape the pressure of her life that she’d given into the urge.

  He froze, all but his hand, which slid to her waist under her flannel and rested gently on her hip.

  And she could hear it with those heightened senses of hers. His heart was pounding so fast in his chest. She pressed her hand there at his heart just to feel it. She looked up at the big, strong, giant, handsome, successful, independent man whose heart was beating faster because of something she’d done. Annabelle couldn’t remember a time in her life when she’d ever felt so enamored by a man.

  Quickdraw’s Adam’s apple dipped low in his muscular throat as he took her hand from his chest and kissed her knuckles lightly. That kiss was so soft, his beard tickled.

  And now it was time for her heart to race. Oh no, this wasn’t part of the plan.

  She stepped back and cleared her throat, gave her attention to a long scuff on the toe of his left cowboy boot.

  “Complicated girl,” he murmured in a gritty voice. “You kiss me, then back off me. I will make you comfortable with me again, you know?”

  She cast a quick smile up at him. “I’m not uncomfortable with you.”

  He huffed a chuckle. “Well, that’s a start. Come on.” He took her hand and led her toward the herd.

  “I’ll get you a drink,” she offered Quickdraw as they reached the table.

  “I’m not drinking, remember? I’m driving, so you can cut loose tonight.”

  Uuuh, she couldn’t drink on account of the possible Baby Moowolf. “I just want water tonight. But like…fancy water with a lime. Maybe even bubbles in my water.”

  “Okay,” he said through a lopsided smile. “Lime spritzed bubble water coming right up.”

  He patted her waist, and something about it was so comforting. So familiar, like they’d known each other for longer than they had. She liked that ease between them. She also liked that he hadn’t pressured her to drink at all. Gentleman. But a gentleman who would toss her around in a bedroom and completely dominate her. She knew from experience. God, his butt looked good in those Wranglers.

  “I’ll have a whiskey and coke!” Dead called after him.

  “Get it yourself,” Quickdraw said without turning around.

  Cheyenne dragged her attention away from the bar menu on the table. “Awww, Dead. You just keep trying to make him love you, though.”

  And Dead of Winter, that number three bull in the world, that booty-short-wearing, cologne-spritzed, Raven-loving, bearded titan pouted out his bottom lip. “Someday, he will buy me a drink.”

  “Maybe you should give him the friendship bracelet you made,” Two Shots deadpanned.

  Dead narrowed his eyes at the number two ranked bull and shushed him. “It’s not the right time.”

  “Oh, God, you really made him a friendship bracelet?” Annabelle asked.

  “Of course, I did. I made Raven one, too.”

  Raven was pulling her dark hair back into a ponytail. “It has a penis charm on it, so I only wear it for special occasions, like in the privacy of our own home.”

  Annabelle and Cheyenne laughed.

  “You never make me bracelets or ask me to buy you drinks,” Two Shots pointed out.

  “Because you don’t fight my love. I already have your devotion, so I don’t need to win you over.”

  “My feelings are hurt,” Two Shots said.

  “And the narrator disagreed,” Cheyenne murmured, looking over the menu still. “Two Shots told his mate just yesterday he’s glad Dead leaves him alone.”

  Arms crossed over his chest, Dead demanded, “Is that true?”

  “Yeah,” Two Shots muttered. “So?”

  “That’s it. I’m buying your drinks tonight.”

  No man on earth had ever rolled his eyes quite as well as Two Shots did. “I don’t need you to buy—”

  “It’s too late!” Dead cut him off. “Raven and Cheyenne, I will bring back White Claws.”

  “Noooo,” Raven and Cheyenne said at once.

  Cheyenne told him, “You don’t order those at a bar.”

 
“Fine. Panty-dropper shots. They will be pink.”

  Cheyenne called to his receding back, “And an order of fried mushrooms and chips and salsa and three or four hamburger baskets.”

  Annabelle glanced at the appetizers fast and whispered, “And the fried pickles.”

  “And the fried pickles!” Cheyenne called. She lowered her voice. “He’s going to mess up that entire order.”

  “Probably on purpose,” Raven murmured, a mushy smile on her face as she watched her mate walk away.

  “Happy sure looks good on you,” Annabelle told her.

  Raven tore at the corner of a drink napkin as she admitted, “I really am happy.”

  And something settled in Annabelle’s chest. Okay. Okay. There would be no more room for jealousy over her relationship with Cheyenne or her bond with this herd. Or with a life she didn’t recognize. Raven was happy, and happy was more than good enough.

  The band finished up a slow song, and the electric guitar sang out in an intro that Annabelle actually recognized. She perked right up. “I know this song!”

  “Gasp!” Raven teased. “Annabelle Faulk actually knows a country song.”

  “Please. I know lots of different music. I have eclectic tastes.”

  Okay, now she was taking a second look at this place. There were neon beer signs on the wall, and by the bathroom was a stuffed armadillo butt, tail and all. There were a couple of pool tables in the back, and right beside their table, the band was rocking out. They were good!

  When she looked over at the bar, however, there was something that made her wolf perk right up and snarl.

  Quickdraw and Dead were putting in their order with the bartender, and beside Quickdraw was a gorgeous brunette with a bright smile as she looked up at Quickdraw like he was the hottest thing in the whole world. Which was accurate.

  “I’ll be back,” Anabelle growled.

  “Go get your man!” Raven whooped.

  “He’s not mine,” Annabelle called over her shoulder but, inside, her wolf disagreed, and now the snarl in her throat was unstoppable.

  Settle down, calm your tits. The girl is probably just lost. In the bar. And asking for directions. Quickdraw is probably really good at directions. No need to kill her. Everything is fine.

  She’d never been great at pep talks.

  But then something awful happened, and the trollop leaned into Quickdraw, who leaned back away from her, but the bar was crowded and Dead was in the way of his escape. So now that horridly beautiful little beast was inches away from Quickdraw’s face.

  Annabelle reached for the barstool the tramp was sitting on to pull it out from under her and dump her perky little ass on the floor. But right as she moved to yank it, a huge, tattooed, impossibly strong hand wrapped around hers and stopped her progress.

  “There you are,” Quickdraw murmured, his face so close to hers, the bill of his hat rested on top of her head. “I’ve called your name three times. I thought dogs had good hearing.”

  “Well, I thought bulls were loyal and didn’t flirt with women right in—eep!”

  Quickdraw pulled her right in front of him and pinned her between his massive body and the bar top.

  “Hey, listen,” he said to the ho. “My lady has had a long day, and she could use an easy night. Now, I saw you come from that big group back there, and there’s plenty of empty seats by them. You mind if she takes this one?”

  Ho’s eyes went round but then narrowed on Annabelle. “Dead of Winter is way funnier than you on his Instagram page anyway,” she hissed at Quickdraw, and then she shoved off her stool. “What kind of gentleman refuses to buy a girl a drink?” she asked loudly as she walked away.

  “The kind that’s already got a woman he’s getting a drink for,” Annabelle barked after her. Lord, what was wrong with her? “And furthermore! What kind of woman expects free drinks?”

  “The kind that’s used to getting them,” Quickdraw said. His grin was obnoxious.

  “What are you smirking at?” she snapped.

  His dumb smile got bigger, but he shook his head and said, “Nothing.”

  “You’re vicious,” Dead told her from Quickdraw’s other side. The bartender was lining up drinks in front of him. “I like vicious.”

  “Yeah, well, if that skank was hitting on you, you bet your ass Raven would’ve been up here causing a scene, too.”

  “Yep. Difference is,” Dead said languidly, “Raven’s my woman.” His wink was dumb, both of the boys’ smiles were annoying, and everything was stupid.

  “You like me,” Quickdraw murmured. “You liiii-iiii-iiiiike me.” Oh, God, now he was singing it.

  “I do not. I was simply helping you out of an uncomfortable situation.”

  “Okay, I’ll play. What kind of uncomfortable situation was I in?”

  He still had her pinned against the bar, facing him. He locked both arms on either side of her. Stupid, stupid grin. How could it get any bigger?

  Flustered, she rambled, “Well, you’re famous so you can’t be rude to women, and you can’t tell them to go away, and that you find them horridly unappealing, or that it’s a turnoff when a grown woman feels entitled to free drinks from a stranger. Or that her legs are stumpy!” Remembering the manners her momma taught her too late, Annabelle clapped her hand across her mouth. “Oh, my gosh. I don’t know why I just said all that. Her legs weren’t that stumpy.”

  Oh, he was laughing now as he pulled her hand away from her lips, and his smile just about did her in. Quickdraw straightened up and reached behind her, handed her a glass of sparkling water. And then he picked up his own and tinked it against her glass. “To your territorial little ass.”

  “You’re not my territory.”

  “Am I not?” he asked, his dark eyebrows arching under the brim of his hat.

  “I…I haven’t decided yet.”

  “You sure about that?” Quickdraw took a sip of his drink. “Because it seems to me your wolf sure has. I heard you growling from across the room.”

  Annabelle stalled on her response by busying herself with primly squirting the lime wedge into her water. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

  “There ain’t a damn thing wrong with you, Annabelle.”

  She liked the way he said her name. It rolled so easy off his lips and sounded so good in that deep baritone voice of his with his cowboy drawl.

  “Thank you for being patient with”—she waved her hand in the direction of the ho—“that.”

  “With you being protective of me? Why would that bother me? I fuckin’ loved it. Get territorial. I already told you my proposition. Go on, get addicted, and let your wolf claim me. It’ll be harder for you to up and leave me later.”

  She got lost in his dark, dancing eyes. He wasn’t kidding. Quickdraw searched her face in earnest, and only a hint of his teasing smile remained.

  She wanted to kiss him. Yep, she did. He was so close, all dominant and warm and strong, his arms pinning her against the bar top, his churning eyes only on her. He was completely consuming.

  But…he didn’t want a relationship, or kids, so she needed to keep this casual. Casual. No big deal. People did this all the time—casually dated.

  So, she remained right where she was and didn’t press her lips to his.

  No marriage, no kids. That was his choice, and she wasn’t a trapper of men. She was perfectly capable of doing everything on her own. Lone-wolf style.

  They didn’t match in the most important ways, so there could be no falling in love. He wasn’t the right man to catch her.

  “You’re overthinking something,” he murmured low.

  “I overthink everything. It’s my greatest skill.”

  Quickdraw snorted and straightened his spine, set his drink down on the bar behind her and took hers from her hand, too. And then he gripped her waist and dragged her to him, kissed her his damn self.

  It was an easy one. Smooth, slow, just lips on lips, and then a soft smack of disengaging.

>   It was just a simple kiss, but it didn’t feel simple to her. Annabelle’s entire system was going haywire. The wolf was scratching at her skin, her chest was full of that fluttering sensation, and her stomach was clenched. Her fists clutching onto his shirt were seemingly glued there because she tried to let him go but failed.

  He handed her drink back to her, picked up his, grabbed her by the hand, and led her toward the table, not around the dance floor but right through it. He stopped in the middle, turned, and pulled her in.

  No, no, no, no! “I don’t know how to do this dance!”

  “We’ll work on a two-step later when you aren’t all flustered by me kissing you.”

  She scoffed and lied, “I’m not flustered. I’m perfectly…in control…of my facilities.”

  “Woman, you stumbled three times from the bar to here, and you’re wearing the mushiest smile I’ve ever witnessed on a woman. It’s okay to admit I flustered you. You fluster me, too.”

  Irritated, she looked around at the couples dancing around them and then leaned in and said low, “You seem just fine to me.”

  “I have a half-mast boner and my heart is pounding out of my chest.”

  Don’t look, don’t look! Annabelle glanced down at the zipper of his jeans and, yep, it looked tighter than it had before.

  When she forced her attention back to his face, he was smiling again.

  “You know, you never smile in any of your pictures on social media, but it’s all you’ve done tonight. I feel like you’re making fun of me.”

  He held out his hand for the dance. “Most women would be flattered that they can make a somber man smile.”

  “Well, I’m not most women.”

  “Thank God. I wouldn’t be chasing you if you were.”

  “You’re chasing me?” she blurted out.

  He grabbed her hand and spun her slowly out, then guided her back in. “You don’t pay attention very well. You probably made all C’s in school.”

  She giggled and sucked down half her glass of water before she started swaying with him. “That’s true. Well, you should know what you’re chasing then so you can have low self-esteem about your taste in women.”