Big Bad Wolf
Title Page
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
1
Big Bad Wolf
By
Madelaine Montague
( c ) copyright by Madelaine Montague, 2016
Cover Art by Alex DeShanks, 2016
Smashwords Edition
New Concepts Publishing
Lake Park, GA 31636
www.newconceptspublishing.com
This is a work of fiction. All characters, events, and places are of the author’s imagination and not to be confused with fact. Any resemblance to living persons or events is merely coincidence.
Chapter One
There was a tall drink of water propped against a support column near Stella’s car as she left the small shop that adjoined the full service gas station where she’d refilled the tank of her SUV.
She checked at the sight of him—not because he was a stranger but because he made everything inside of her go haywire—totally blew her mind. She didn’t think one thought crossed it for a full minute. Her heart leapt painfully as if she’d just been hit in that vulnerable spot.
He was big—all over, she hoped! Big boned, brawny, and yet had a trim waist, hips—long, long, lean legs.
His arms were crossed over his chest, emphasizing bulging chest and arm muscles.
His face—what she could see of it beneath the ball cap he was wearing—was all manly plains and angles, reminding her of ‘the Marlboro man’, beauty in male form not ‘pretty boy’ pretty.
There was a hint of five o’clock shadow along his hard jaw line and chin and it was barely ten o’clock in the morning.
Ignoring the urge to fan herself—hoping he hadn’t noticed she’d braked like she’d hit a wall the moment she set eyes on him, Stella shifted her burdens—her shoulder bag and the huge basket of goodies she’d just bought—and tried to act nonchalant as she headed toward her car.
“You new around here? Or just passing through?”
Oh my god! She thought she orgasmed as the deep voice—thick with southern drawl and sweet as molasses—rumbled from his chest. Resisting the urge to clamp her thighs tightly together when she felt warmth invade that area, she glanced around to be certain he wasn’t talking to anyone else before she met his gaze.
There was amusement gleaming in his narrowed eyes and a faint smile on his hard mouth when she glanced at him again. “I beg your pardon?” she asked as casually as she could as she marched briskly to the back of her vehicle, opened the back of her SUV, and looked around for a spot big enough to stick her basket in.
“Looks like you’re movin’ in,” he drawled from just behind her, almost making her knees buckle.
Stella whipped a sharp look at him, glared, and slammed the hatch door. “You are a nosey one, aren’t you,” she snapped, unnerved in some unfathomable way by his proximity and his intense scrutiny.
Briefly, he looked taken aback. Not surprisingly, she saw a flicker of anger follow, but what did surprise her was that it was a mere flash of temper and the amusement returned. Although this time she got the impression that it was from some sort of private joke.
“Maybe,” she said testily, moving away from him and toward the driver’s door, “I just like to make sure I have everything I need when I travel.” She got in the vehicle then, locked the doors decisively, and then fastened her seat belt.
There was a tap on her passenger side window as she started the car and she glanced that way to discover the stranger had moved around the vehicle and bent down to look at her through the window.
She chewed her lip but finally lowered the automatic window just a hair.
“You have a nice trip, ma’am,” he murmured.
“Sheriff Tibidoux! Just the man I was looking for!”
The man at her window responded by looking toward the voice. “Be with you in a minute, Fred.” He looked at her again and that time he grinned and patted the roof of her car as he straightened away. “Stay safe!”
By the time Stella reached the highway, her face felt like it was on fire with embarrassment.
“Oh my god! Good one, Stella!” she muttered out loud.
But how the hell was she supposed to know he was a cop? He wasn’t wearing a uniform!
* * * *
It was the general consensus amongst her close relatives that she’d lost her mind.
Actually, she was inclined to wonder about that herself, which was why she was currently headed toward her Grandma’s little cabin in the woods—to do a little self-searching and maybe find her lost marbles.
Well, her cabin now and actually for many years, although it had been held in trust most of that time. Her Grandma had left it to her when she’d passed many years before, so long ago she’d faded into a fuzzy, indistinct memory that was probably more legend than truth to the woman who’d adored her Grandma as a little girl.
Stella shook that thought. She’d held tightly to every memory, however insignificant it seemed. She refused to believe any of them weren’t completely authentic even though she’d heard that people tended to ‘fill in the blanks’ with their faulty memories, mending them over time as they faded, maybe embroidering them just a little.
She remembered the neat little cabin with its garden as a magical sort of place and although, naturally, she didn’t believe in magical things anymore, she still expected (hoped) she was going to find that it had changed very little from her memory of it.
Except, of course, the most important part, she amended with a touch of sadness.
Grandma wouldn’t be there to greet her with hugs and kisses and joyful laughter. The place wouldn’t smell like fresh baked cookies.
It was the main reason she hadn’t been to the cabin since her grandmother had died. Grandma wouldn’t be there and that was the most magical part. As long as she didn’t go, she could hold on to the thought that her grandmother was still there.
She hadn’t felt like she could handle the emptiness until now.
Now, she needed some of the old magic that used to permeate the place. She needed to heal to move on.
* * * *
Rafe only became aware of the time that had passed when discomfort finally filtered into his mind. He shifted his position then, still staring unblinkingly at the ramshackle cabin perched on the slight rise in the center of a woodland thicket, waiting.
He hadn’t fully acknowledged what his purpose was in driving out to greet the newest parish resident—or at least the only new resident he had any interest in lavishing with greetings of a highly intimate nature—until he’d arrived and gathered in a whole host of scents he hadn’t expected to find.
This unassuming, time-battered little cabin looked—well smelled—like grand central station for a major drug operation. And that discovery had his belly tied up in so many knots he was having a great deal of difficulty keeping his beast at bay.
He realized after a few moments that he was majorly disappointed—not excited by his discovery.
It didn’t take a lot of soul searching even in his current state to arrive at the reason for that.
Stella Hood, granddaughter of the late parish witch, Glenda Hood, was the mate he’d been searching for for a very, very long time.
Even if she didn’t appear to know it yet.
He’d come to further his acquaintance, though, hopefully get the ball rolling on his courtship—at the very least mark his territory against incursion by any other horny bastard that might catch her scent.
And instead of romancing his woman, he was lurking in the woods like some sort of pervert watching her
and trying to use his nose to help him assess the situation, the danger, the direction of the danger.
It wasn’t her. He’d checked her and her vehicle out pretty damned thoroughly when she’d first arrived in town.
He’d run into her in town a couple of times since—or at least gotten within sniffing distance.
She wasn’t the source.
He would be willing to stake his life on it.
He wasn’t willing to stake her life on it, though.
He’d suspected for a while that his parish was home to a drug kingpin of at least minor status. There was too much trafficking going on in the neighboring parishes for his to be pristine.
Well, not exactly pristine, but the bulk of the activity seemed to be all the way around his parish, making it like the eye of a hurricane and that was what had given rise to the suspicion that the skunk in charge was very local.
But nobody had been near Glenda Hood’s old cabin in years that he was aware of.
Stupid!
He was going to chew some ass when he found out which one of his deputies had dismissed this place as a possible lab/center for a drug operation.
Because it definitely had been until very recently.
Deciding finally that no one but Stella was anywhere near the cabin at the moment, Rafe hesitated and finally made his way carefully through the thicket.
Chapter Two
Anger dominated Stella’s thoughts as she struggled to keep her balance and apply the caulk she’d bought to seal the roofing—the leaking roof—until she could properly assess the situation and decide whether it needed to be completely replaced or if it just needed the shingles replaced.
She’d done her best to dismiss it and focus on the issues that had brought her to the woods to start with, but she absolutely hated it when she was … robbed! Cheated out of something that was hers.
For years, money had been paid out of the estate to take care of maintenance of her grandma’s cottage—her cottage!
And the bastard had taken the money and let it … practically fall into ruin!
She’d been so furious when she saw the state of disrepair she’d fired the bastard outright without even considering that she needed to press charges.
And now the son-of-a-bitch had either taken off or he was in hiding!
Either way, she had no help fixing the mess he’d left the place in.
She was wrapped up so deeply in her internal venting that it wasn’t until she heard a stick crack that she realized she was no longer alone.
She jerked at the sound, whipped a quick look in that direction—and then lost her balance and fell off the roof.
Luckily, the sheriff broke her fall.
Almost as if he was trying to catch her, he caught the full brunt of her tumble when she slammed into him and bowled him over. They landed in a tangle in the knee high weeds that filled her grandmother’s once neat little garden.
Stella didn’t move for several moments. She was so stunned it took her a few moments even to focus her mind to assessing damage reports from her nerve endings. She registered a good bit of impacted areas but virtually no pain, but she couldn’t decide if that was because there wasn’t any real damage or if she was just still too shocked to feel the pain she was going to feel.
“I’m glad to see you again, too, cher, but did your grandma never teach you only bad women throw themselves at men?”
Stella lifted her head and stared at him in blank faced, slack jawed disbelief, trying to grasp whether there actually was a flirtatious innuendo in the comment or if she’d knocked something loose in her head.
He grinned at her cockily. “Of course I’ve always had a warm place in my … heart for bad women.”
Stella blinked at him. “I fell.”
“Right into my arms, cher. The stars have aligned.”
Stella blinked at him again and pushed herself up a little, examining the body she was plastered against.
She could feel hard things she was abruptly certain she didn’t want to examine too closely.
He didn’t try to stop her when she rolled off of him and mowed down more weeds. Instead, he rolled onto his side and bent one arm for support, propping his head on one hand. “You ok, cher?” he asked, all seriousness now.
Stella pushed herself upright with a grunt and examined herself visually. “Scraped up a little but I guess I should thank you for breaking my fall ….” She frowned thoughtfully, trying to recall what had happened.
He pushed himself up and got to his feet, brushing off the dirt and debris from the collision with the ground. “You’re welcome. Anytime.”
Stella sent him a sharp glance and felt heat rise in her cheeks. “Sorry ….”
He frowned. “Ah! No, Cher. I caught you on purpose.” He shrugged. “I startled you and made you fall. It was the least I could do.”
Stella bit her lip, struggling with amusement and finally gave in to the urge to tease him since he seemed inclined to flirt anyway or at least tease her. “Dumb. Not that I don’t appreciate it, but I could’ve done a lot of damage falling on you like that.”
He chuckled huskily. “You ain’t much more than breath and britches, little bit. I wasn’t worried about catching you. I was worried about … damages you might have if I didn’t.”
The comment startled a laugh out of Stella. She wished she was breath and britches! She was actually more athletically built because she’d always loved to dance and she danced a lot.
At least she had before.
Before the snake she’d loved once upon a time had spent years tearing her down and making her feel self-conscious.
She shook the thought as soon as it intruded. She’d actually become pretty adept at simply not thinking about the years she’d wasted on a relationship that was never going anywhere—that hadn’t gone anywhere.
But she discovered it was easier now, that pushing it to the back of her mind didn’t leave her feeling hollow.
Because the man standing in front of her smiling appreciatively made her little heart pitter patter just a little faster, excited her on some primal level she wasn’t accustomed to.
Granted, he was drop dead gorgeous—the complete package. She supposed the broken nose and the perpetual five o’clock shadow should have been a turn off. Clearly, he was more than a little rough around the edges. But she found it had the opposite effect. He turned her on. She had only to get a glimpse of him and she was running into walls and tripping over imaginary cracks trying to get a better look.
And his voice! Oh that deep, rumbling voice made her kegels clap frantically!
She couldn’t decide whether she was just desperate for sex because of the long dry spell or it if was all him, but she strongly suspected it was just him—which made her a little uneasy even though she’d managed to discover that he was single.
The problem was that he was single!
And a few years younger than her.
But the single part—well a man that reached his thirties that was still single was generally one that couldn’t be caught because he liked playing the field.
“Uh … I guess we sort of got off to a bad start the other day—well, last week when I got to town.”
He remembered the meeting very well, but he frowned thoughtfully.
“At the gas station …?”
“Ah!” he responded, nodding. “When you called me a nosey bastard?”
Stella blinked at him in shock, feeling her face heat with embarrassment, but she saw the gleam of amusement in his eyes and relaxed. “I didn’t!” She pretended to think it over. “Ok, so maybe I was thinking that, but I know I didn’t say it that way.”
He grinned at her. “I knew that’s what you were thinking.”
“I suppose it comes with the job ….”
He shrugged. “Actually, I just sort of have a nose for trouble,” he said wryly, tapping that particular feature with an index finger. “That was what led me to the job.”
“So now I’m ‘t
rouble’?” Stella asked teasingly. “I suppose that means I couldn’t interest you in a cold drink?”
His dark brows rose, but he ignored the provocative comment, much to Stella’s chagrin, making her wonder if she was coming on to the local law enforcement a lit-tle too strong.
“You certainly can interest me in a cold drink,” he responded.
Wondering if she’d gone way over bounds, Stella struggled to maintain a polite attitude as she led him inside her grandmother’s cottage. It was hard to ignore the fact that he stayed just inside the door while she headed to the fridge for the offered beverage, glancing around her place with a keen eye, she didn’t doubt, for detail.
“Sorry about the mess,” she muttered. “The guy that was supposed to be caretaker seemed to have a little problem understanding his duties.”
Rafe studied the water marks on the ceiling and then surveyed the bags of what his nose told him was garbage. He was frowning when he took the glass of iced tea she offered. “Oh? In what way?”
Stella studied him a little doubtfully, but he seemed genuinely interested. Struggling with the anger that rose in her and threatened to boil over every time she went back over all the bastard’s trespasses and failings, she settled on the ragged couch and motioned him toward the chair facing it and launched into her tale of woe.
Pete Marchant had been hired by her father five years earlier when the original caretaker—a man her grandmother had chosen—had reached an age where he’d needed care himself and had retired to a nursing home.
Marchant had insisted that the place was already a wreck when he’d been hired and that he’d done all that had been asked.
It was a lie. When he reported that anything needed to be repaired, he was sent money based on the materials assessment and hours.
Trusted.
He’d been trusted too much and had too much leeway for theft.
Because that was what he’d done as far as she could see. He’d requested money for repairs and then just spent it. None of the work that was supposed to have been done had been.
Big Bad Wolf Page 1
