by Jane Jamison
“Besides, is that how you really want to make her ours?” Garner was often the one to keep their wild natures in check. “Do you want to take her caveman style? How do you think she’ll react? Are you going to throw her down, fuck her, and then expect her to welcome you with open arms? I’m not sure I want to find out the hard way.”
“Maybe she’d love it. I hear some women do.” Sterling pushed the saddle back up, preventing it from falling off.
“And some women would throw your ass in jail for rape. I’m not sure which side she’d come down on. Or which Drake Hardwick would be on, either.” Drake was both a high-ranking alpha of their pack as well as the local law.
“It’s not the first time we’ve wanted the same girl. Hell, I can remember us fighting over who could take Rebecca Rollings to the prom.” Sterling let out a low whistle. “She was one pretty girl. Not as sexy as Heather, but still…”
That brought a smile to Brogan’s face. Rebecca had been the prettiest girl in their high school. Not only had they had a crush on her but half the boys, and even some of the male teachers, had lusted after her. The three of them had ended up in a fistfight in the middle of the football field until they’d seen her sitting in the stands kissing the captain of the football team. After the initial shock, they’d made a vow to never again let a woman come between them.
That was before he and Sterling had become werewolves.
“Why do you think she’s so leery of getting to know us?” asked Sterling.
“Who knows? And I doubt she’ll tell us, either.”
“She’s probably been hurt in the past.” Garner shot Sterling a look. “Probably some guy got all animalistic with her instead of treating her like the lady she is.”
“Yeah, I’m sure that’s it.” Sterling’s sarcastic tone wasn’t missed on either of them. “Still, everyone has some heartache in the past. They don’t end up pushing people away forever, right?”
“For once, you’re right,” quipped Garner. “Something big must’ve gone wrong for her to be this skittish.”
“So what’s the plan? How do we get Heather to let us in? How do we make her one of our pack?”
Brogan shrugged in answer to Sterling’s question. “I guess we just keep on keeping on. We don’t give up until she gives in.”
“Yeah.” Sterling yanked the saddle off the horse. They’d take their time each day until, at last, the filly would welcome the saddle. “We’ll wear her down. Once we have, we’ll bite her and make her ours.”
Garner took the halter off the filly. She shook her head and bounded away from him. He flung the halter over his shoulder. “Now hold up, you two. No one’s biting anyone without getting her say-so first. You’re not going to make that decision for her. Got it?”
“You’re hoping she’s going to want to stay human, aren’t you? So you won’t be the only non-shifter in the house.” Sterling loved to rib his older brother.
“Maybe and maybe not. But like I said, it’ll be her choice.”
“No doubt about it.” After changing Sterling without his consent, Brogan had vowed to never change anyone against their will. Although Sterling didn’t blame him for what he’d done, he still blamed himself. He’d never lose control like that again. After all, being a werewolf didn’t make him an animal.
* * * *
Betsy held open the front door of her new clothing store, Classy Cat, for Heather as she carried in three large oil paintings. “Hey, girl.”
“Hey. Did I just see Raven leaving?”
“Yep. She stopped by to see how things were going.”
“I’m sorry I missed her.” The paintings were heavy, but she was used to wrangling paintings from one place to the next.
“I’m sure we’ll all get together real soon.”
“Let’s do that.” She glanced around.
Although the store was nowhere near ready, Betsy had made a lot of progress since the last time she’d been there when the place was just an empty shell with boxes and peeling wallpaper. The new modern light fixtures were up, and every surface was scrubbed and clean. A fresh coat of pale blue covered the walls.
“This is really nice of you, Betsy.” Heather propped two paintings against the checkout counter. “You don’t have to do this, you know.”
“Will you hush? What’s better than having your paintings hanging in my store?” Betsy held up a painting of a beautiful lake scene. “This is Lake Georgia, right?”
“Sure is. I painted it standing on the north shore.”
Lake Georgia was a nearby lake that drew a lot of fishermen from all over the state, even from the rest of the country. They’d cast their lines from the bank or from rowboats in the middle of the lake. It wasn’t a large lake by any means, but it was filled with fish just itching to take the bait. Plus, the tree line surrounding the shoreline gave visitors a very picturesque view.
“It’s really nice. But why didn’t you put price tags on them?”
“I didn’t want you to be bothered trying to sell my things. Besides, they’re just for decoration, right?”
Betsy tossed back her chocolate brown hair and laughed. Heather loved her friend’s ringing laugh.
“Nothing in my store will ever be only for decoration. You worked hard on these, and you should earn some money. Unless you don’t want to sell them.”
“I can’t afford to keep anything I make. Money can get really tight, and a girl’s got to eat.” She glanced at the mounds of clothing strewn around the room as Betsy readied her store for its grand opening. “Still, I’m definitely coming back to pick out a few things next week. Some of my clothes are getting holes in them because I’ve had them so long.”
Betsy’s gaze slid down and then back up. “Well, now that you mentioned it, you could use a little updating of your wardrobe.”
She’d been joking, but it seemed the joke was on her. “Okay then, since you put it that way, I’ll add some price tags. But don’t bother trying to handle the purchase. Just give them my cell phone and I’ll call them back.”
“Sounds good to me.” Betsy hung a painting on one of the walls then pointed at the opposite wall. “I’ve already put nails where I want them to be hung. Have at it, girl. Let’s get these on the wall before I get clumsy and bump into one.”
“You break it, you buy it.”
“Right back at you,” joked Betsy.
Heather grabbed one of the other paintings and held it in place. Getting the wire on the back of the painting to hang on the nail was easy enough. “Are you going to be ready for your opening? I can help out, if you want.”
“And I’ll let you, too.” Betsy stood back and admired her store. “But I think I’m going to be ready to roll. I kind of like doing it all myself, you know. It gives me an even greater feeling of accomplishment.”
“You should be proud.” Heather lifted the third painting, ready to hang it on yet a different wall.
“So, how are things going, girl?”
“Fine. I’m getting a lot of work done. And I sold a couple of digital pieces online.”
“I don’t mean just about work. Are you having any fun?” asked Betsy.
Heather knew what her friend was getting at, but she wasn’t about to answer. At least, not right away. “I’m having fun right now with you.”
“Oh, horse hockey. You know that’s not what I’m asking.”
She moved to a pile of T-shirts and starting folding them into a neater stack. “Horse hockey? Wow. You’re really starting to sound like a country girl.”
“Don’t go changing the subject. Is there any news on the Wilson front? Have you finally decided to go after them?”
She sidestepped the question as best as she could. “You make it sound like I’m a hunter and they’re the prey.”
“Well, would you prefer it to be the other way round? With you as their prey? Because if you do, I’ll bet they’d be happy to help you out. If you want, I could give them a call and let them know. They’d be over here in a
heartbeat.”
She’d stepped right into that one. “Betsy, there’s nothing going on between me and the Wilson men.”
“But you’d sure like there to be, right? Kind of like Raven and the Hardwick men?”
Betsy was right. Anyone with eyes in their head could see the attraction between Raven and the three cowboys. “No comment.”
Her friend snorted. “Which means ‘hell, yeah.’”
“What about you?” The best way to get Betsy to stop talking about the Wilsons was to get her talking about her own crushes.
“What about me?” Now it was Betsy’s turn to try and dodge the question.
“I remember hearing something about you and Billy Johnson. That you two were seen getting really chummy on the street the other day. Not to mention when Scott and Foster showed up a few minutes later.” Scott Branton and Foster Rittenhouse co-owned the Lazy Dog Ranch with Billy.
“Hey, don’t go trying to change the subject.”
Heather plopped the last T-shirt onto the top of the pile. “I’ll stop talking about men if you will.”
Betsy’s forehead scrunched up. Telling her friend to stop gossiping was like asking her friend to stop breathing. “Well hell. Okay. But only because I need to get some work done.”
“Fine. Then, unless you want my help, I’ll leave you to it.” She’d stay and pitch in, but she actually wanted to get out of the store before Betsy kept on asking more questions. Besides, she had a painting to finish.
That’s my excuse, and I’m sticking to it.
“I’m good. Check with you soon, okay?” Betsy already had her back to her as she pulled a handful of purses out of a large box.
“You bet. Take care.” Heather hurried out of the store. Once outside, she gave a relieved sigh.
I wonder where they are and what they’re doing. Probably working the ranch. And probably not thinking about me.
Still, she searched the street, hoping against hope to see the Wilson men. When she didn’t, she had to fight the disappointment swelling inside her. After one last look, she started walking, determined to get back to her apartment as fast as possible.
It’s better this way. Men are distractions.
Yet, even as she tried to convince herself she was right, she couldn’t help but think that Brogan, Sterling, and Garner would be the best kind of distraction a girl could ever want.
* * * *
Heather scooted her stool over to give Raven room to join the girls at the tall table near the dance floor of Wolf’s Den. Raven was overdressed in a short skirt, but she got a lot of attention. Most of Heather’s clothes were the same thing. T-shirt and faded jeans along with either running shoes or boots. Unless she was painting, that is. Then she wore an oversized shirt and a pair of shorts, even in the winter.
The band played on a wooden platform, going from one country song to the next. She’d always loved country songs because they were usually stories about regular people going through life’s struggles.
“I thought we agreed to dress up. I feel overdressed, not to mention silly for carrying around a purse,” said Raven.
Heather grinned. “Sorry. I guess you didn’t get the memo.” “Seriously, I messed up. I should’ve called you and let you know we changed our minds.”
Unlike Raven, Heather never worried about how she looked. As long as she was comfortable, she was good to go.
“So what’s new? Anything exciting?” Emeline interrupted. “If you want something besides beer, you’ll have to go to the bar.” She motioned toward the drinks they’d ordered earlier.
“This is fine. As for the other? Not much happens at the store.”
There was something about the way Raven said it, with a guarded tone in her voice, that had Heather giving her a searching look. “Are you all right?”
Raven, however, wasn’t letting on. “Sure. So? Are there any good-looking guys here?”
Heather didn’t bother looking around like the other girls did. Betsy was busy sipping her drink and trying to act as though she wasn’t scoping out the men.
Why bother? If she was interested in any men, it would be the Wilsons. And they were there. She’d seen them walk into the bar earlier. At first, she was sure they’d come over and talk to her. She’d gotten excited at the prospect, and then had her hopes dashed when they’d only smiled then darted off in another direction toward a group of their friends.
Did that mean they were no longer interested? She was foolish to think about them. Hadn’t she rebuffed them enough times? She had no right to feel disappointed, had no right to lay any claim on them.
I should either put up or shut up.
“One, this is supposed to be a girls’ night out, remember?” reminded Emeline. “Two, from what I hear, you’ve already got three hot men chasing you.”
“No, I don’t,” argued Raven.
That’s a bunch of bull. Heather giggled, knowing her friend wasn’t fooling anyone. “Here we go again. Stop blowing smoke, Raven. Everyone knows the Hardwick men have the hots for you.”
“What about you? I hear you’ve got a thing for the Wilson brothers.”
Heather felt the heat seep into her cheeks. She studied her beer. Should she finally admit it? “I don’t know about that, but they are as hot as they come.”
“They’re not as hot as Tyler and Derek Mitchell. And their friend Evan Grange.” Judging by Emeline’s eyes going wide, she hadn’t meant to say so much. “I’m just saying is all.”
“And how about you, Betsy? Have you hooked up with Billy Johnson yet?” asked Raven.
Heather was glad the attention had been drawn away from her. At least for a while.
“Don’t forget about Scott Branton and Foster Rittenhouse. Whatever Billy’s into, Scott and Foster are into. Or should I say ‘whoever’ they’re into?” Emeline was obviously happy to chime in and even made a circle with one hand and poked a finger through it.
“Hey. Who brought me into this discussion?” asked Betsy.
“We did. Are you denying it?” accused Raven.
Heather took another sip of her drink. Staying silent was her best defense.
Just then she saw Sterling grab hold of a girl sitting near their group of men and whirl her onto the dance floor. She tried not to let it get to her, but failed.
Why is he dancing with her instead of me?
Yet, she knew why. She’d finally gotten what she’d wanted. Or, at least, what she’d said she wanted. Now she wasn’t so sure.
Hurting more than she’d ever admit, Heather tried to force her attention back on her friends, but it didn’t work. She couldn’t help but glance toward Sterling as he expertly twirled the girl then fell in line with the other dancers making a circle around the dance floor.
Damn. Damn. Damn.
“Okay, fine. I’ll admit it. I wouldn’t mind having Scott and the other two giving me a little attention. Or at least doing something more than helping me get the store ready.” Betsy sounded happy yet her tone had a slight edge to it.
“Really?” added Heather. “They came and helped? That’s so nice.” She almost wished she had something she could ask the Wilson men to help her with. But painting didn’t lend itself to a group activity.
Maybe I could ask them to pose for a painting.
“Yeah, it was. Although I’m not saying I got much done while they were there, I wasn’t about to complain. They’ve dropped in to help a couple of times. But don’t go making it a big deal. Still, you’re right. They were just helping me to be nice. You know. Doing their civic duty to support a new business in town.”
“I think it’s more than their civic duty.” Emeline shot Betsy a smug smile.
“Trust me. Three men who look like that don’t want a girl like me.”
Heather started to protest, to tell Betsy she was beautiful, but Raven beat her to it.
“A lot of men prefer women with curves,” said Raven.
“Fluffy.”
“What?”
�
�It’s called being fluffy.”
Betsy sounded as though the word didn’t bother her, but Heather had to wonder.
“Curvy, fluffy, chunky. They all mean the same thing. Fat.”
Heather cringed at the F word and wished she could say something to make her friend feel better about herself. Betsy was beautiful and sexy. A woman any man would be proud to have on his arm.
“It’s okay. I like the way I am. Most of the time, anyway. Screw the guy who doesn’t want a real woman.”
Heather finally jumped in. “Yeah. You’re right. Screw him.” Again, she wished she could think of more to say, but the words wouldn’t come.
Her gaze shifted back to the dance floor. Another ache hit her as Sterling slipped his arm around the girl and escorted her back to her table. He tipped his cowboy hat and went back to stand next to his brothers.
At least he didn’t stay with her.
The girls continued to chatter away. Although she listened halfheartedly, able to give an occasional non-committal answer, her mind was stuck on the Wilson men. She kept glancing their way and even got caught looking once by Garner. He lifted his beer in a silent hello, and she smiled in return.
Suddenly, Raven was gone, snatched away by Dugan Hardwick. Heather watched, filled with envy as Raven laughed and went into a twirl. She forgot about her drink, about her friends, and concentrated on the pair dancing the two-step.
What would it be like to have Garner, Sterling, or Brogan lead her around the dance floor? She could imagine having one of their strong arms around her waist, her hand enclosed in one of theirs. No doubt she’d feel small, yet protected. Safe, yet wild with excitement.
Maybe it was time to take a chance. Maybe her wrong of the past could be forgiven if not forgotten? If she became involved with them, did she have to tell them what she’d done so long ago? Or could she live the rest of her life hiding her secret? Not that it would go down that way. If she didn’t tell them what had happened, she was sure the truth would come out eventually. The only way to keep her past in the past was to stay closed off from everyone. Even having friends was putting her at risk of being exposed.
