Big Bad Cowboy

by Carly Bloom

  She was a player. The flicker flared back up. “Oh, I see.”

  “Oh, stop. You don’t see a thing. I mean there are lots of men and they’re all friends. Friends, friends, friends…” She wadded up the napkin and took another sip of beer.

  Her makeup was more smeared than ever, and it was kind of sexy, just like the rest of her. “Would you like to dance?” he blurted. His hands immediately became damp with perspiration. Why had he done that? He hated to dance. It must be the mask. He felt like a different man with it on. He hoped the motherfucking wolf knew how to dance.

  Little Red Riding Hood stared at him as if he’d just told her where he’d last seen Elvis.

  “You want to dance with me?”

  Had he been too pushy? “Only if you feel like it.” He tried to make it sound like he didn’t care one way or another.

  Little Red Riding Hood’s adorable mouth curved up into a slight smile, and she fluffed her hair. She wasn’t pissed. She was pleased. And the little flicker of a flame that had started in his crotch moved higher, warming his insides and making him grin like a jack-o’-lantern.

  Something squeaked behind them, and Little Red Riding Hood stopped fluffing and frowned. Travis turned to see JD Mayes dressed like the Tin Man. JD had been one of the few people who’d been friendly to him in school, and they’d had a few pleasant run-ins since he’d moved back to Big Verde. But JD didn’t look friendly now. His lips were drawn in a tight line, his fists were clenched, and his hat was pulled down low, hiding his eyes. What had JD’s blood boiling?

  “What do you think you’re doing, Maggie?” he asked.

  So, her name was Maggie. Travis hadn’t even thought to ask.

  “I’m about to dance with the Big Bad Wolf, not that it’s any of your business.”

  He should probably lift his mask, so JD could see who he was and stop glowering. He reached for it, but then something rubbed against the inside of his calf. He looked down to see a red boot delicately working its way up and down his leg.

  Tonight, with this pixie in her sexy boots and little red cape, he didn’t want to be Travis Blake and all it entailed. He wanted to be the Big Bad Wolf.

  Little Red Riding Hood had said there was no boyfriend in the picture. But with JD flaring his nostrils in and out like a bull ready to charge, it seemed a good idea to keep the mask on. The last thing Travis needed was to get on the bad side of the town’s golden boy.

  * * *

  Maggie had half expected JD to follow them onto the dance floor. Not because of jealousy. They were good and clear on that. The idiot was protective, which was offensive, because she didn’t need protecting. She wasn’t his sister. Heck, she wasn’t even his buddy anymore.

  The wolf was huge. And he smelled good, like woods and sunshine. His hand spanned her back from below her bandeau bra to her waist. She shivered all over, and it was becoming increasingly difficult to continue simmering over JD.

  Friends and acquaintances blew past them, a blur of mind-dizzying motion, two-stepping across the dance floor with hardly a glance. But the wolf steered her through the melee until they stood in the center of the dance floor, arms around each other, settling into stationary swaying and rocking. They danced in the eye of the storm. She reveled in the sexiness of the slow, warm pace, and her body melted into his as the long, hard feel of him swiftly led to the blissful Zen of JD Who?

  The song ended, but the wolf pulled her closer, as if he didn’t want to let go. She tightened her grip around his neck…yes, let’s dance some more. She nestled in just below his chin as the next song began. It was a slow dance, and this was typically when her partner thanked her kindly and escorted her off the floor. She was good for a fun spin through the sawdust, but her usual buddies looked around for women like Claire when it came time to get their slow groove on.

  For the first time, Maggie wondered just who the hell the Big Bad Wolf was. He couldn’t be local, or he’d have gotten the memo that she was basically a guy. It felt wonderful to be perfectly anonymous. She was just a woman in a corset, stockings, and sexy boots dancing with a mysterious stranger.

  The song ended, and the driving beat of electronic dance music started up. The wolf let go and stood there, stiff as a board, and gave a little shrug. “Not much of a dancer,” he said.

  “I beg to differ.” He’d been doing just fine a minute ago. The man had rhythm in his hips. She grabbed his hands and started to move, hoping he’d become inspired. But dancing in red porn star boots was about a thousand times more difficult than swaying in them, and she felt like she’d just put on her first pair of roller skates. And from the grin on the wolf’s face, she looked like it, too. “Fine. Let’s head back to the bar.”

  The wolf practically wagged his tail in relief, and he grabbed her hand and steered her through all the sweaty, bobbing bodies, including Bubba and the crowd that had already formed around him. Their drinks still sat on the bar, but hers had gotten warm, so she pushed it aside. She didn’t need any more alcohol anyway. The trashcan punch buzz had worn off as she’d danced, and that was a good thing.

  “What are you thinking about?” the wolf asked. He held his head slightly tilted. He looked every bit the part of a curious puppy, and Maggie wanted to offer him a belly rub. She knew from slow dancing that the belly in question was lean and hard. She fanned her face with a napkin.

  “I’m thinking that you are a very good distraction from my troubles,” she said. Not to mention an excellent and timely ego boost.

  “Troubles,” he said. “We’ve all got ’em.” He took a swig of his beer, no easy task since he had a snout.

  She scanned the rest of him. Nice suit, excellent fit. Maybe he was a businessman. He clearly didn’t know who she was, so he wasn’t from around here. “Are you a friend of Anna’s?” she asked.

  “Not exactly.”

  It must be a business relationship then. Except Anna was engaged in no business to speak of…Oh! Maybe he was a divorce lawyer. She waited, but he didn’t offer anything further. Maybe he enjoyed the feeling of being anonymous as much as she did.

  Her gaze journeyed to his feet. Square-toe boots—dressy, but very worn—provided no clue. Almost every man in Big Verde wore boots, no matter their occupation.

  The wolf set his beer down, and the corner of his mouth turned up in response to her scrutiny. “They’re comfortable.”

  “I love a man in boots,” she quickly assured him.

  He gazed pointedly at her legs. “And I love a woman in boots.”

  Her cheeks grew warm at the compliment. Was it possible that this was leading to a hookup? She’d never had a one-night stand. She’d had a couple of boyfriends in college, and she enjoyed the occasional romp with a seed salesman who called on Petal Pushers. But she’d never hooked up with a stranger. The idea was exciting, and considering her extremely recent rejection, it was also one humdinger of a rebound. Swoosh! Nothing but net.

  The Big Bad Wolf jerked as if poked by a cattle prod, and then began digging in his pockets. “Sorry,” he said. “Got a text.”

  He’d better not claim that his poor, sick mother had suddenly taken a turn for the worse. Maggie watched the wolf fumble with his phone before breathing a visible sigh of relief. “Everything’s fine,” he said.

  Maybe he’d just gotten the results of a biopsy or been approved for a loan. Whatever it was, she wasn’t about to ask. She was determined to keep the Big Bad Wolf as her mysterious, sexy stranger.

  Clearing her throat, she turned on her stool and brought her legs out from under the bar. The wolf picked up on the motion. Very slowly, Maggie uncrossed her legs, and then crossed them again. This was one of Claire’s signature sexy moves. Maggie’s skirt climbed up from the activity, and the wolf noticed. He set his phone on the bar. “Where were we?”

  “Here,” Maggie said, running her leg up his calf. Her skirt slid even higher, and she was rewarded by a very wolfish smile. This man oozed sex, and he was directing it all at her.

  �
��I knew it!”

  They both swiveled on their barstools to see Claire, standing with her hip thrust out, a broom in one hand and a drink in the other, pointed hat set properly askew. Speaking of oozing sex…

  “Knew what?” Maggie asked. She hoped the Big Bad Wolf wasn’t about to trade her in for a witchier model. But his warm knee pressing against the outside of her thigh indicated he liked his women in little red hoods.

  “Y’all are the perfect pair. As soon as I saw this guy”—Claire poked at the wolf with her broom—“I knew you would end up together.”

  They hadn’t ended up together. Not yet.

  Claire stuck her broom beneath her arm and thrust out a hand. “I’m Claire Kowalski.”

  Oh no! Claire was going to blow their covers. If the wolf introduced himself, she’d be forced to introduce herself, and once she said the words Maggie Mackey, the magic would disappear.

  “I’m…”

  The wolf seemed to have forgotten his own name.

  “I’m the Big Bad Wolf.”

  Whew! He was just as determined to remain undercover as she was. He pointed to an empty seat next to him. “Want to join us?”

  “Absolutely,” Claire said. Without falling, tripping, or otherwise planting herself onto the wolf’s lap, she sat on the barstool. As if she’d blown an invisible dog whistle, the bartender trotted over, ignoring the throng of other guests holding out money and trying to get his attention.

  Claire leaned over the bar, gave the guy an eyeful of cleavage, and ordered a whiskey sour. The wolf winked at Maggie. His eyes hadn’t strayed. Good boy.

  “Listen here,” Claire said to him. “This is my best friend. No leg humping on the dance floor.”

  Awesome. Claire was talking about leg humping.

  The wolf grinned. “I admit to being a leg man, but I’m not much of a humper. You’re thinking of Labrador retrievers. Wolves have more self-control.”

  “Really?” Claire said. “I thought wolves were wild, untamed animals.”

  “Wild, yes. Drooling, excitable idiots, no.”

  The wolf clearly had experience with Labrador retrievers.

  “I think we’re done dancing anyway,” Maggie said. The dance floor was not the wolf’s natural habitat. Although she would love some more body-to-body contact.

  “You are not,” Claire said with a mischievous grin.

  The DJ’s voice came over the sound system. “I’ve had a request,” he announced. “Better get your howl on, folks, it’s ‘Li’l Red Riding Hood,’ by Sam the Sham and the Pharaohs.”

  Claire started laughing and scooted a mortified Big Bad Wolf off his stool. Maggie began to apologize—give him an out—but then the familiar opening howl of the song rang out. The Big Bad Wolf grinned and extended his hand. “They’re playing our song.”

  Chapter Five

  Travis was unbelievably turned on. It took everything he had to avoid the dreaded leg humping that Claire Kowalski had brought up.

  He’d almost choked when Claire had introduced herself. Her father, Gerome Kowalski, owned the famous Rancho Canada Verde, which bordered Happy Trails. Although they’d been neighbors of sorts, he and Claire hadn’t hung out in high school. She’d probably never given him a second thought, but he’d coveted everything she had: beautiful ranch, good family name, a dad whom everybody looked up to.

  It was doubtful that Claire would be trying to hook him up with her friend if she knew who he was. And for that matter, what about Little Red Riding Hood? Travis had probably gone to school with her, too. But for the life of him, he couldn’t place her.

  He couldn’t take the mask off. Not that she’d recognize him if he did. He was hardly the scrawny, thick-lensed-glasses-wearing runt he’d been at Big Verde High. But if his name came up, it might ring a bell, and then Little Red Riding Hood would politely excuse herself from the dance floor. Luckily, she hadn’t shown any interest in exchanging information. Maybe she wanted to remain anonymous, too.

  Maggie. JD had called her Maggie. It sounded vaguely familiar, but that was it. Unless they belonged to former tormenters or super popular kids—often one and the same—the names of his past were mostly forgotten. He let go of Little Red Riding Hood briefly to make sure his mask was secure, and then pulled her close again.

  They were attracting a bit of attention, which he hated. They’d even garnered a few comments made in jest.

  Make him keep his paws to himself, girl!

  Watch out for that full moon!

  He didn’t feel comfortable dancing as intimately as they’d done earlier. People might not know who he was, but they sure as hell knew Little Red Riding Hood, and he didn’t want to embarrass her.

  Little Red Riding Hood didn’t seem nearly as concerned about what people thought. She pushed her pert breasts into his chest, and his mind went blank as all the blood drained out of his head. He tried to put a couple of inches of space between them, but she was having none of it. She rubbed against him in a way that surely allowed her to feel every inch of his—more painful by the minute—interest.

  The music wasn’t helping. How could a song be so dirty without actually being dirty?

  It’s your mind that’s dirty, bonehead.

  It had been a while. There wasn’t much room in his life for anything other than Henry. There was certainly no room for a relationship. But a little fun? Maybe. Especially if it was anonymous.

  A soft hand ran up his back, briefly squeezed his neck, and then ran through his short hair.

  “Are you staying at the Chateau?” she asked.

  She must assume he was from out of town. Would it be intentionally misleading to let her think so?

  “No.”

  There. That was the truth. And any lingering misgivings about honesty were promptly extinguished when he realized why she’d asked. She wanted to hook up just as much as he did, and was thinking about a place to do it.

  Where could they go? Not to Little Red Riding Hood’s house. That was too personal. She’d expect him to remove his mask.

  There was an equipment shed on the grounds. It was on the other side of a patch of cedar trees, at the very edge of the property that backed up against a utility easement. It wasn’t exactly a first-class solution, or even a second-class solution, but if the way Little Red Riding Hood was currently grinding on his thigh was any indication, he just needed a quick solution.

  “There’s a place we can go if you want to be alone,” he whispered.

  “Does it entail me following you through the woods?”

  “Yes, actually. It does.”

  Little Red Riding Hood raised her eyebrows. For about five horrible seconds he thought she might say no thanks. But then she smiled and grabbed his hand.

  “Into the woods.”

  * * *

  Maggie followed the stranger—stranger!—through the trees and away from the party. He yanked on her hand, and it was all she could do to keep up.

  She would never forget the look on JD’s face as she walked out of the ballroom with the wolf. Ha! Take that, JD. This could have been all yours—She almost toppled to the ground as one of her heels snagged on a root. The wolf caught her, helped get her steady, and then gave a tug to get her going again.

  “Hey, hold up,” she said. “Where’s the fire?”

  The wolf stopped, and she bumped into him. After the giggling was over, he grabbed her by the waist and pulled her close. She rose up on her toes and wrapped her arms around his neck. It was hard to tell who kissed who first; their lips practically melted together. Maggie parted hers at the urging of his tongue, and he explored her mouth hungrily…impatiently…deliciously. Her head spun. She had never been so thoroughly kissed in all her life.

  He straightened up to his full height and her feet left the ground. Pressed up against him as she was, she felt where the fire was. In his pants.

  “You’re so small,” he whispered.

  Like it was a good thing.

  His mask was adorably crooked from the
kissing. She straightened his snout.

  “Have you caught your breath?” he asked.

  Not even a little. But she nodded anyway.

  The wolf set her down, and for the first time since she’d taken his hand and followed him into the woods—a generally bad idea for Little Red Riding Hood or anyone else—she wondered where they were going.

  “The shed is just behind that clump of trees.”

  “The shed?”

  “We’re not headed to Grandma’s house.”

  A shiver went up Maggie’s spine. “We’re going to do it in a shed?”

  The wolf cocked his head. “God, I hope so. And it’s actually a pretty nice shed.”

  “That’s probably the worst pickup line ever.”

  The wolf laughed. Then he leaned over and planted a whisper-soft kiss along the side of her neck, setting off a domino effect of goose bumps up and down her arms. He followed it up with a little lick. “Mmm…” he said. “Tastes like chicken.”

  “What?”

  “Chicken. Big time.”

  He flapped his elbows and made squawking sounds. Maggie laughed, and the wolf made one final cluck before holding out his hand with a grin. Maggie took it without hesitation.

  The shed was clearly visible in the light of the full moon. It was an old stone structure with a tin roof—kind of romantic. The wolf pushed the door open with a loud creak.

  This was it. She could turn back if she wanted. She knew this man wouldn’t stop her. But she didn’t want to. She wanted to be ravished by a tall, sexy man in a mask. And it wasn’t entirely to make up for the fact that she’d been rejected by a tall, sexy man in a cowboy hat. She really liked this guy. She liked his looks—what she could see of them. She liked that he was an awful dancer. She liked his laughter and his chicken imitation. She officially liked him enough to justify jilted sex.

  She stepped inside and shivered as the wolf shut the door.

  “There’s no lock on the inside,” he said. “But I don’t think anyone will walk in on us.”