The Care and Feeding of an Alpha Male

by Jessica Clare

  Every muscle in his body tensed. He forced himself to give a light, careless shrug. “Maybe.”

  “Out in the woods all weekend?” Grant shook his head. “Too much rain and mud for me. You are stone cold, Waggoner.”

  “River washed out the way back,” Colt said after a moment, but even the lie tasted bad on his lips. “Had to hike our way back to the ranch.”

  “Bullshit,” Grant said, kicking the side of his chair with a grin. “I don’t know the area half as well as you and Dane, but even I know the river doesn’t come anywhere near the road, dumbass.”

  Colt said nothing.

  “Hot damn. You lucky dog,” Grant said with a grin, and swigged his drink. “Don’t tell Brenna.”

  “I ain’t even tellin’ you, bro.”

  “Who was it? Someone we know?”

  Colt turned up the volume on the TV.

  “Fine,” Grant said, still amused. He picked up the other controller. “It’s a small town, though. It’s bound to get out.”

  It was bound to get out, Colt realized. It was just a matter of time before someone pointed out the flaws in his story and knew that he’d deliberately detained Beth Ann—though not originally for the reason they’d think.

  And then she’d be furious at him. Good thing she’d only wanted a one-night stand. If she never brought it up again, he wouldn’t, either, and no one need know the truth.

  Beth Ann had said she couldn’t have a relationship that wasn’t built on trust, after all. And their little fling had been built on a foundation of solid lies—all his.

  Grant casually added, “Your brother, Marlin, stopped by a few hours ago.”

  Damn it. “What the fuck does he want?”

  “Said he wanted you to go by and visit your dad. Old man wants to talk to you.”

  Hell. Colt didn’t want to talk to him. Henry Waggoner lived on the trashiest plot of land on the outskirts of Bluebonnet, in a double-wide that was so torn up it had holes in the floor. His front yard was covered in broken-down trucks, washing machines, and various bits of scrap metal. It looked like a junkyard.

  His dad insisted it was all stuff that had value. All Colt saw was garbage. And that garbage had been there for the entire twenty-seven years his dad had been living in that trailer. He hadn’t even bothered to clean it up when Colt’s mother got fed up and ran off for parts unknown back when he and his brothers were just little boys.

  White-trash Waggoners. The entire town called them that. He’d worked hard to pull himself out of that misery. He’d trained hard, joined the marines, trained harder…and then with one lousy shot to his fucking knee, he’d lost it all again.

  “If he comes by again, tell him to fuck off,” Colt said in a hard voice. “I don’t want anything to do with them.”

  Tuesday was a hell of a day. In addition to Beth Ann’s booked appointments, she was still trying to squeeze in her Saturday clients. Most of them were upset that she’d been a no-show, but she’d mentioned the word migraine and most of the women had been sympathetic.

  All except nasty Mrs. Potter. She came in every Saturday to have her hair teased and curled for Saturday night bingo two towns over.

  “It’s not responsible for you to just not show up, Beth Ann,” Mrs. Potter said for the seventh time on the call.

  “I know. And I’m very sorry, honey,” Beth Ann said soothingly, resting the phone on her cheek as she shampooed someone’s hair. “It won’t happen again. Did you want me to squeeze you in today? Or tomorrow?”

  “No,” Mrs. Potter said in a sour voice. “I went to that new place instead.”

  “New…place?”

  “That one down the street. Next to the hardware store. She just moved in. Lovely girl. She used to do hair in Dallas, you know. She cut Troy Aikman’s hair once.”

  “You don’t say,” Beth Ann murmured. She grabbed the spray nozzle and began to rinse her client’s hair. “Well, I’ll see you for your Saturday appointment as usual, then?”

  “Or maybe I’ll just go there,” Mrs. Potter said nastily. “We’ll see on Saturday, won’t we?” She hung up.

  Jeez. Beth Ann put the phone on the counter and wrapped a towel around her client’s wet hair as the woman sat up. “So you wanted to take off two inches?”

  As she began to rattle off about what she wanted done to her hair, Beth Ann listened halfheartedly. When the woman sat in the barber chair, Beth Ann moved to the big storefront window and peeked out the mini blinds. The shop next to the hardware store had been closed for a while. Had someone moved in, or was Mrs. Potter just being her usual snide self?

  But then she saw a customer walk in. And there was a sign in the window, though it was too far away to make out.

  “What do you think? Two inches?” the woman in her chair was saying.

  Beth Ann forced herself to turn away from the window and smiled. “Two inches is a little shorter than you normally wear it, but I think it’d be cute.”

  No matter how curious she was, she was not going to look out the window again.

  After her last appointment left for the day, Beth Ann sat down and sighed. She’d been on her feet all day straight. Normally she didn’t mind, but today she’d been juggling clients on top of clients, and it had been exhausting. She needed a few minutes off her feet. Better yet, she needed someone to come in here and give her a pedicure and a foot massage herself, instead of being the one to give them. She closed her eyes and rubbed her forehead.

  The cowbell on the door clanged, indicating a new customer.

  “No walk-ins today, sorry,” Beth Ann said in as pleasant a voice as she could…and then had to stifle her groan at the sight of the man that had just walked in.

  Allan. He smiled over at her, his boyish face handsome. “I sold two BMWs today, Bethy-babe. Thought I’d come by and see if you wanted to go out to dinner to celebrate.”

  Ugh. “That’s nice, Allan,” she said politely. “Congratulations.”

  “Get your purse and let’s go. I made dinner reservations at that Italian place you like over in Huntsville.”

  Annoyance swept over her. He made reservations? Without asking her? And she didn’t like that Italian place—he did. Typical. “Allan, listen, that’s very nice but I’m too tired to go out.” Especially with you.

  “Nonsense,” he said cheerfully. “My treat.”

  “Allan, no—”

  A car horn honked out front.

  That sounded like her car. Beth Ann’s heart began to thud rapidly, and she felt her nipples grow tight. Colt. Oh.

  She’d been thinking about him nonstop since they’d parted. So she was kind of not doing so hot with the “no strings attached one night stand” sort of thing. She wanted to see him again. Of course she couldn’t ask. She’d been the one insisting that it be a brief, meaningless fling. It wasn’t his fault that he’d been so flat-out amazing in bed that she was craving more. She was a junkie. A Colt junkie. How silly.

  But she still found herself pushing past Allan to step out the front door of her salon, straightening her hair and smoothing her skirt. She smiled in delight at the sight of her green VW, shining and clean.

  Colt stood up from the driver’s side and grinned at her. “Hey, darlin’.”

  “Hey,” she said breathlessly, feeling like a teenager. “You brought my car. Thank you.”

  “Got it all cleaned up for you.” He shut the door and began to stroll toward her, his hands in his pockets, and she felt a little thrill at the sight of him. His white shirt was tight across his pectorals and tucked neatly into his dark green BDUs. She could almost make out his dog tags underneath, and remembered them smacking her in the cheek as he’d been deep inside her.

  Warmth flushed through her body at the thought. “You’re a good man,” she said softly, and was rewarded with a flash of his dimple as he approached.

  “The best,” he said in a low, husky voice.

  Oh mercy, he was sexy. Her nipples pricked and she smiled widely at him, her cheeks hot wi
th excitement. She was glad she’d dressed pretty today, in a light blue dress with a full skirt that swished at her knees. Feminine. She looked her best. And he was smiling at her. And maybe he’d want to see her again. That dimple gave her hope.

  “Beth Ann?” called Allan from behind her.

  She gritted her teeth, crossing her arms over her chest in frustration. The playful, sensual look on Colt’s face had disappeared, replaced by intense dislike.

  “I can see this is a bad time,” Colt drawled.

  “It’s not,” she said hastily. “I assure you. I—”

  “Bethy-babe,” Allan said, coming up behind her and putting his arm around her waist. “We need to go if we’re going to make those reservations.”

  As she watched, Colt’s eyes narrowed to slits. Just like that, Allan was going to ruin her hopes with Colt. He was going to shove his way in and make Colt think that she was with him. And the thought horrified her.

  She had to do something.

  “No,” she said, stepping away from Allan, her gaze on Colt for a moment longer before turning to frown at Allan. “I told you, I’m not going out with you. You shouldn’t have made reservations without asking me first. I’m too tired to go out.”

  Allan gave her a wounded look, as if she’d crushed him. She was very familiar with that look. Whenever she did something that didn’t please him, she got the hurt stare. As if she were the unreasonable one.

  Colt was watching the two of them closely. Beth Ann kept her arms crossed over her chest, her chin firm. Allan had to learn.

  “Bethy-babe,” he began.

  “Allan, please,” she said in exasperation.

  “There a problem?” Colt asked, stepping toward her. He gave another menacing look to Allan.

  “No problem,” Beth Ann said pointedly. “Allan was just leaving.”

  Allan hesitated, gave her another wounded flash, and then raised his phone and shook it. “I’ll call you tomorrow. We need to talk.”

  “No, we don’t,” she said, but he’d already turned away and was getting into his car.

  She remained frozen in place until he drove away, and then she exhaled, furious.

  “You okay?” Colt asked.

  “As soon as I punch something, yes,” she said lightly.

  Colt gave a wry snort and glanced back in the direction of where Allan had left. “You guys broke up, huh?”

  “Ten months ago. He can’t seem to get it through his head. For that matter, neither can half the town.” Was that bitter voice hers? “He’s driving me crazy.”

  “He stalking you?” Colt’s voice was hard, unforgiving.

  “Nothing as bad as that. He seems to think he can win me back, and that it’s just a matter of time.” She shook her head. “I’m sorry. This looks horrible, doesn’t it? Trust is so important and here I am looking like I’m two-timing.”

  “Can’t two-time if it’s a one-night stand,” he said slowly.

  She flinched. Ouch. “You’re right. How silly of me.”

  “Wasn’t meaning to offend you,” he said. “Just stating a fact.”

  “Well, thanks for dropping off my car,” she bit out. “It was real nice of you.”

  He stepped a bit closer to her, and she could smell campfire smoke on him. He’d had a class today then? He smelled like their weekend together. God, she hadn’t realized how smoke could smell so erotic.

  “I’m doing this all wrong, aren’t I?” he said softly. He took her hand in his. “I didn’t come here to drop off your car. I came here to give you these.”

  He pressed her panties into her hand.

  “Oh.” A hot blush covered her face and she reached into the front of her dress and hastily shoved the panties into her bra. “Thank you.”

  He was so close that she could see that miniscule curve of his mouth, as if he were about to smile.

  She waited for a minute. This was so oddly tense and awkward. They hadn’t been tense together when they were together. It was this bizarre in-between state that they weren’t handling very well. She looked down at her keys, then back at her car. “You need a ride?”

  “Nah. Dane’s over at the library to harass Miranda for a few minutes. He’s giving me a ride back to the ranch.”

  “I see.”

  “And you’re not with that douche bag?” he asked abruptly.

  Oh. “I’m not with anybody,” she answered honestly, peeking up at him through her eyelashes.

  “Good,” he said and the word was husky and made her panties wet all over again. “You want to go out?”

  “When?” She sounded breathless, even to her own ears.

  “This weekend? I have an overnight trip for the next few days. ROTC team-building exercise. But then I’m free this weekend.”

  “I work on Saturday until three,” she said, smiling back at him. “I’m free after that.”

  “Saturday night, then? Dinner? I can pick you up here.”

  “Sounds good.”

  “Good.”

  He stared at her for a moment longer, then gave her that crisp, military nod. “See you then.”

  “Okay.”

  He turned away, took two steps toward the street, then turned back to her. Before she could ask if anything was wrong, he put his hands on the sides of her neck and pulled her in for a hard, fierce kiss.

  Her mouth had barely parted under his when he pulled back slightly and licked at her lips, eliciting a moan from her.

  “Saturday. If you want, you can leave those at my place again,” he said, and nodded at the panties.

  “Rascal,” she said with a laugh.

  He winked at her and then headed down the street.

  NINE

  The week passed incredibly slowly at times. Miranda had dropped by to have lunch one day, but Beth Ann hadn’t brought herself to confess her fling with Colt just yet. She wanted to see how the date on Saturday was going to go. After all, there was no point in talking it up if they didn’t go out again, right? And she didn’t want Miranda getting her hopes up for Beth Ann and Colt being together.

  Because hey, Beth Ann’s hopes were up already. No sense in disappointing two people if it didn’t work out.

  She liked Colt. She trusted him—so far. And he was amazing in bed. So yeah, her hopes were up, just a little.

  Mrs. Potter hadn’t come in for her Saturday appointment after all. Neither had another one of her Saturdays. The salon down the street still didn’t have a permanent sign, but she’d strolled past the window to read the one taped up on the glass. It was a list of services offered—waxes, perms, highlights, blowouts, everything that Beth Ann offered. And she was charging three times as much. Beth Ann had gaped, even more so when she’d noticed the small salon had people waiting.

  Was Bluebonnet big enough for two salons? She didn’t know. Either way, it made her stomach gnaw with nervousness. Her business had to succeed. Had to. She was never going back to being the stay-at-home “little woman” ever again.

  She’d stayed in her salon every night that week. Her mother protested once, but then she’d asked Beth Ann to pick up her dry cleaning while she was in town. Naturally. Jeanette didn’t care what Beth Ann did as long as it didn’t inconvenience Jeanette. So Beth Ann took a larger stack of her clothes to the salon that week and vowed to get an apartment just as soon as she could afford it. She dropped by her parents’ house to shower, but other than that, she kept to her salon.

  And every night, in the back of the salon on her air mattress, she masturbated, thinking about Colt. Yet another reason to be glad for her privacy. She couldn’t wait for their date. It was stupid to be so excited—it could be totally wrong and awkward and they’d part ways and never speak again. They’d go back to adversaries, actively disliking each other.

  Or they might hit it off and spend the evening making love.

  She decided to get waxed, just in case. Instead of a Brazilian, she went totally nude. The sensation was erotic—her pussy felt bare and soft and everything brush
ed up against her skin.

  She couldn’t wait to see the look on Colt’s face when he noticed. And she flushed at the thought.

  On Saturday night, she took care with her hair, blowing it out so it’d fall perfectly down her back. Her nails were a pale pink, the signature heart carefully placed on the fourth finger of each hand and foot. She’d decided on a tight black sweater with short sleeves and a high collar, and a flowing, short red gauze skirt and black peep-toe heels. It was a little bold for a night out in Bluebonnet, but that was why she liked it. She’d worn black lacy lingerie and garters underneath, too. Just in case.

  And she really, really hoped for that just in case.

  “You look very pretty today,” Mrs. Doolittle told her as Beth Ann arranged her soft, white curls.

  She smiled at Mrs. D—her last appointment of the day. “Thank you. I just thought I’d dress up today.”

  “You going out with that nice Allan Sunquist tonight?”

  Beth Ann’s face fell. “We’re not going out anymore, Mrs. D. I’m seeing someone else now.”

  “Such a shame,” Mrs. D said, and shook her head, ruining Beth Ann’s careful arranging.

  “Not a shame, honey,” Beth Ann said lightly. “You remember Colt Waggoner?”

  “One of those white-trash Waggoner boys?” The old woman harrumphed. “He came back with that lewd hockey player, didn’t he?”

  “Lewd?” Beth Ann asked, blinking. Her hands had stopped.

  “The one that showed his delicates to everyone in town just to impress that little Miranda Hill.” She gave a harrumph. “As if showing her his bits would impress her.”

  Beth Ann smothered her laugh. “I’m sure she knew better than that to be impressed by a man waving his bits at her,” she assured Mrs. D. as the woman paid and left.

  Poor, poor Miranda and Dane. At first Miranda’s boobs had been legendary about town. Now all anyone talked about was Dane’s lily white butt. And Dane was a good natured guy—he didn’t mind in the slightest, because Dane’s naked stroll made everyone talk about his photos rather than Miranda’s. She smothered a laugh at the memory of him walking down Main Street, wearing nothing but a hockey helmet over his junk.