by Carly Bloom
She turned. “I need some space. I don’t think we should hang out anymore.”
JD’s jaw dropped. Hurt shone in his hazel eyes—genuine hurt. But Maggie couldn’t handle going back to the way things were. Not yet anyway.
“Fine. If you don’t want to be friends anymore, then we just won’t be friends.” JD resettled his hat, giving it an extra yank. “It was going to happen anyway.”
What was that supposed to mean? Before she could ask, JD yanked the door open, violently jingling the little bell on top. He looked over his shoulder. “Stay away from that goddamn wolf.”
Chapter Eight
Claire breezed in with a cardboard tray of steaming coffee cups. “JD just blew past me in the parking lot. What was that about?”
“Nothing,” Maggie said.
Claire walked to the counter, her heels tapping out a Morse code of sexiness across the concrete floor. She perched on her usual stool and set the coffee on the counter.
“Is he jealous of you and the wolf?”
“Hardly.”
“Are we in a one-word-only mood today?” Claire asked. “Because I need more from you. Like who is he? How was it? Are you seeing him again?”
“Dunno. Great. No.” At least she hoped she wouldn’t.
Maggie just couldn’t believe the wolf was someone she knew. Nor could she believe the way he’d made her feel. Even as she sat there in her Red Wing work boots and grubby clothes, the thought of his touch weakened her knees. She’d been so feminine and sexy in his hands. He’d teased out a side of her she hadn’t even known existed.
“Why don’t you want to see him again?”
She wanted to tell Claire about the text, but she was afraid Claire would immediately begin accosting every man in Big Verde. Did you bang Maggie in a shed?
“I told you not to wear those high heels to work.” The only time Claire wasn’t wearing heels was when she was rock climbing. Although now that Maggie thought about it…“Hey, you don’t wear those when you climb rocks, do you?”
“Oh my God. Are you seriously not going to give me details? And of course I don’t wear them when I climb. I wear them to work because they’re the only shoes that keep my leather pants from dragging in the muck.”
“I told you not to wear those either.”
“Stop telling me what to do, or I’ll take back your skinny pumpkin spice latte with an extra dash of cinnamon and no whip.”
Maggie picked up the cup and looked at it. “Is that really what’s in here?”
Claire laughed. “Of course not. Where would I get something like that in Big Verde? It’s a bitter cup of black goo from the Pump ’n’ Go.”
Maggie took a sip and grimaced. “It’s dangerous to walk around here in those heels.”
“I promise not to sue you if I fall. Now start squawking.”
What could she say? She’d never had sex like that before. And it wasn’t just that she’d never had sex with a masked man while bent over a workbench in a toolshed. It was that she’d never done anything remotely kinky before. The Big Bad Wolf had seemed to know every secret desire she’d ever had and just how to meet it. She’d been putty in his hands. A pliable, quivering mess of need that only he could fulfill.
She shivered at the memory of the low rumble of his voice when he’d said, “Good girl.” She’d have done almost anything at that moment to please him. She’d trusted him completely. And look where it had gotten her. The freedom of letting go might have been exhilarating, but it had also been stupid. Her stomach churned as she considered the consequences. What if he tried to blackmail her or something equally sinister?
Maggie pushed her coffee away and then quickly hid her hand beneath the counter, so Claire wouldn’t see it shaking.
But Claire had seen it. “Oh, honey, what’s wrong?” The concern in her eyes was intense. In fact, Claire appeared almost panicked. “Did he hurt you?”
Maggie twisted her hands. “I’m just a little shaken up. I’ll give you the details, but you have to promise not to tell anyone until I decide what to do.”
Claire set her cup down. “What do you mean, until you decide what to do?” She grabbed Maggie by the shoulders and shook her. “What happened?”
“I was stupid. That’s what happened.”
Claire pulled Maggie in for a bone-crushing hug. “It wasn’t your fault. Whatever happened; it wasn’t your fault. Shit, Maggie what have I done?”
What had she done? Maggie pushed Claire off because she really wasn’t much of a hugger, and because she suspected Claire was off her rocker. “You didn’t do anything but request a song for us to dance to, and we’d already danced anyway. None of this is your fault. It was my decision to follow him to the shed—”
“That dirty bastard assaulted you in a shed?”
Before she could answer, Maggie was again enveloped in an awkward and brutal hug.
“He didn’t—”
“And I’ve given him your number,” Claire whimpered. “Now he’s going to stalk you.”
“You what?”
Claire released her. “Don’t be mad. It’s just that I could tell things hadn’t gone well with JD—I’d seen him sulking—and when I saw the wolf, I just thought maybe he could make you feel better…”
Boy, had he ever.
“And so, you gave him my number?” What a relief! The wolf wasn’t a creepy stalker out to blackmail her. Claire had given him her number. And he’d texted her!
“Not exactly,” Claire said. “He left his phone on the bar while y’all danced, which is careless if you ask me, and—”
Everything clicked into place. “You sent the text.”
“Yes. In case you were too shy or too stupid to exchange numbers, you know?”
Maggie’s mind raced to keep up. She pulled up the text to confirm. Who’s afraid of the Big Bad Wolf? She pushed the phone toward Claire. “This was you?”
“Yes.” Claire had the good sense to avoid eye contact.
What a freaking roller coaster. First, Maggie had thought she’d accidentally banged Norbert in the shed. Or possibly the UPS guy. And that he might be planning to blackmail her. Then she’d learned it hadn’t been Norbert or the UPS guy, just her glorious and mysterious Big Bad Wolf, and that he’d texted her, probably because he wanted to see her again. Elation! But then it turned out to just be Claire. Disappointment.
“Oh, well,” she mumbled. “At least we had one great night.”
“You had a great night? You mean he didn’t, you know…”
“Goodness, no! He didn’t do anything I didn’t want him to do.” Her face felt like it was on fire and she lowered her eyes. She’d wanted him to do all kinds of things. “We had sex.”
“In a shed? Are you kidding me?” Claire bounced on her seat and clapped her hands. “That sounds incredibly kinky and possibly uncomfortable. Tell me everything.”
“I just did.”
“I doubt that. Are you going to text him back? He might not even know he’s texted you since he didn’t really.”
“I already did.”
Claire clapped her hands. “What did you say?”
“I threatened him with calling the cops.” She took a sip of her coffee before adding, “And that would be your fault, not mine.”
“Apologize. And then send something clever or witty.”
All Maggie could drum up in her head was white noise. “I got nothin’.”
“Sext him,” Claire said, eyes shining with mischief.
“I couldn’t!” Maggie said. “And besides, I’m not so sure about this. We know absolutely nothing about this guy. What if he’s married?”
“He’s not,” Claire said.
“How do you know?”
Claire took a gulp of coffee, hiding behind the cup.
“You looked through his text messages, didn’t you?” Maggie asked.
“I have morals, Maggie.”
Maggie mentally counted to five before Claire coughed it up.
�
��He was texting with the babysitter.”
Maggie swallowed loudly. “He has a kid? How do you know he doesn’t also have a wife?”
“Because he was the one texting the babysitter. And there was no wife at the gala. The situation just doesn’t have a married vibe.”
He had been at the party by himself. Dressed in a costume. It certainly didn’t sound like he was married. But who was he? And should she try and see him again? She shivered as the memory of his hands on her bottom rudely crashed into her thoughts.
She took out her phone and started texting.
Chapter Nine
Travis stared at his phone while he pumped gas. He hadn’t had any service in the state park, so he’d expected his phone to go berserk as soon as they got through the winding hills surrounding Big Verde. But he hadn’t expected a series of nonsensical and mysterious texts from a person he assumed to be Little Red Riding Hood to come pinging in just as he pulled into the Pump ’n’ Go.
It was odd because he’d never given the woman his phone number, and what was even more puzzling was that he’d supposedly texted her first.
Who’s afraid of the Big Bad Wolf?
He had not sent that text. Something was fishy. And Little Red Riding Hood had responded.
Not me.
Followed by a threat.
And if you text me again I’m calling the cops.
Followed by several humdingers that made absolutely zero sense.
Never mind. I’m not calling the cops LOL.
Why would I do that?
Claire sent the first text and I didn’t know it.
What did that even mean? How had Claire sent the first text?
Are you mad?
Do you want me to stop texting?
Those had all been sent within five minutes. Then there was a three-day pause, which he hated, because that meant she’d thought he was ignoring her.
Hey, it’s me, Little Red Riding Hood. I understand if you don’t want to text.
She’d waited almost fifteen minutes before sending the next set.
But if you want to text I’m fine with it.
Unless you’re married. I don’t want you texting me if you’re married.
Not that you are.
Texting me.
Or married.
His pulse sped up. He’d like to see her again. She hadn’t been far from his mind during the entire camping trip. Heck, he hadn’t been able to be fully present with Henry, although God knows he’d tried. He’d been haunted by Maggie. More like obsessed. Unable to keep the hooded pixie out of his head for more than five minutes at a time. But he hadn’t known how to get in touch with her, and now that he did, he wasn’t sure he wanted to.
First off, she seemed a tad anxious. Second, she thought he was a mysterious stranger in a nice suit from out of town. The reality of who he was couldn’t be farther from the truth.
But all he had to do was close his eyes and he could see her. Feel her. Taste her. Oh shit. Don’t go there again.
He went there.
As the display on the pump continued its upward climb to twenty gallons, his mind replayed the well-worn reel of their night in the shed. The softness of her hips, the sound of their skin slapping together. He could practically hear her moaning and begging—he’d made her beg—as he’d fucked her senseless.
“Uncle Travis?”
He landed back on Earth with a deadening thud. The pump had stopped. The guy in line behind him scowled, waiting for him to finish up.
Travis hastily put his phone in his pocket, removed the gas nozzle, and closed the cap on his tank.
“Why were you standing there with your mouth hanging open?” Henry asked. “Were you daydreamin’ or something?”
Travis climbed in the truck. “Or something. Put your seat belt back on.”
Henry had learned how to unbuckle the harness on his car seat, a development that was making Travis’s life a living hell. Travis thought the five-point contraption was overkill for a five-year-old and didn’t blame Henry for not wanting to ride in the damn thing, but Lisa had left very specific orders. Henry was to ride in the car seat until he achieved the recommended weight and height for getting out of it.
“It’s for babies!”
In retrospect, a week in the wilderness had probably been about four days too long. Henry was worn out and melting down.
Travis started the truck and slowly pulled away from the pump even though Henry wasn’t buckled in yet. The little guy was just getting wound up—Travis could hear it in his voice—so it was best to find a safe spot to park and ride it out.
He pulled into a space in front of the store just as Henry delivered a punch to his kidneys through the seat.
Travis swallowed the urge to yell as he turned the engine off. “Stop it, Henry,” he said, knowing it wasn’t going to stop.
Henry screamed like a banshee and gave Travis’s left kidney another good kick. Then he flung himself to the floor and curled up into a ball. This was extremely bad timing. Little Red Riding Hood hadn’t been the only female frantically texting him while they’d been camping. Annabelle had also repeatedly texted, asking if he’d received her e-mail about the bid—he hadn’t—and letting him know about a meeting at her new house thirty goddamn minutes from now.
Travis reached back and tapped Henry on the shoulder, which caused him to explode in a mass of arms, legs, and shrieks. It would be impossible to get the stinker back into his seat like this. It would be easier to get an octopus into a straitjacket, so Travis turned back around and pulled his cap down to wait it out.
Kick.
Henry had climbed back in his seat to kick the shit out of him again.
Kick.
It was bad timing because Henry wasn’t the only one who was cranky and worn out.
Kick.
“Henry, stop it right now, or I’ll never take you camping again. In fact, I’ll never take you anywhere again. Got it?”
Kick.
It was hard to tell over all the sniffling and muttering, but he could swear Henry had just called him a rat bastard.
Travis rolled out of the truck with a grimace and limped to Henry’s door. He yanked it open just as a small foot shot out, pegging him in the nuts. Blinding white pain bent Travis over for about twenty seconds. On the twenty-first second, he grabbed Henry by one ankle and pulled him out of the truck. He quickly took hold of the other ankle, and before Henry knew what had him, he was dangling upside down.
“Now listen,” Travis wheezed. “You don’t have a choice about whether to ride in your car seat. No choice.”
“I hate you!”
“I’m not real fond of you right now either. And you’re going to hang here until you’re calm enough to get back in the truck and act like a human.”
Henry made a vicious grab at Travis’s leg, but Travis dodged him. “You missed me,” he chided, feeling about the same age as Henry.
“Butthead!” Henry shouted.
Travis swung wide so that Henry went back and forth like a pendulum. “Yeah? Well, you’re a wiener head.”
They’d long passed the point where one of them needed to be an adult, and besides, sometimes the word wiener made Henry laugh. But not today.
Henry spit at him and wiggled like an earthworm. Travis tightened his grip, so he wouldn’t drop Henry on his head. Just when he thought he might have to sit on the kid to get him buckled in, Henry wound down and quit wiggling. Which was good, because a car had pulled up next to them—an older couple in a big silver Cadillac. The woman in the passenger seat, no more than three feet away, gawked openly. Travis smiled all friendly-like, hoping that would be the end of it.
“Help! Help!” Henry shouted.
Great. The passenger window of the Cadillac rolled slowly down.
“Can we be of any assistance?” the lady asked.
“No thank you, ma’am,” Travis said. “We’re just having a seat belt debate.”
“Are you his father?”
Travis pulled Henry up even higher, so he could see his beet red face. “Are you nuts?” He hoisted the kid to his shoulder to get him right side up again, and Henry proceeded to pout like a pro, but that was it. Maybe the battle was over. “I’m not his father. I’m his uncle,” Travis said to the woman. He held out a hand and introduced himself. “Travis Blake.”
“My dad is in prison,” Henry added helpfully. Travis’s face heated up with embarrassment, just as it had been doing his entire life.
The woman looked at his hand like it was a rattlesnake, but her husband reached across and shook it. “I’m Judge Samuel Monroe, retired. I knew your brother.”
“No doubt,” Travis said.
“And your daddy,” he added, just in case Travis needed to be reminded of all the times he’d driven the truck—with no license—to haul his dad out of the drunk tank. After he died, they’d retired his barstool at Tony’s with a brass nameplate.
The good judge’s wife recoiled in her seat. Travis couldn’t blame her. After a week in the wilderness with no shower and no shave, he probably looked like an escaped convict. He was on his way to being Grizzly Adams, or worse, a hipster from Austin. He couldn’t wait for a shave and a haircut.
“Henry is just about to get in his car seat, aren’t you, Henry?”
Henry was redder than boiled beets, a combination of rage and all the blood rushing to his head while he’d hung upside down. He stuck his tongue out at Travis.
“Y’all have a good afternoon,” Travis said. He plunked Henry into the seat, buckled him in, and started the truck. With a final wave at the busybodies, he backed up. Henry’s red, tear-streaked face was visible in the rearview mirror.
“Listen, Henry, I’m real sorry about the way I handled that.”
“That man was a judge. Is he gonna take me away from you?”
Where had that come from? “Of course not. Why?”
“Before she went to heaven, Mom told me I’d better be good for you or a judge might put me in frosted care.”
“You mean foster care?”
Henry sniffled. “That’s what I said.”
Something had changed on the camping trip. Keeping Henry alive had been exhausting, and Travis had started to worry a bit about letting just anyone do it. But that wasn’t what had caused the shift. It was the other stuff. The storytelling. The endless question-answering. The warm sleeping bag hugs that kept away the things that went bump in the night. But mostly, it had been the moment he’d reentered the tent after a middle-of-the-night whiz to find Henry sitting up, eyes wide and lips trembling. He’d said, “I missed you, Uncle Travis.”
