A sharp little intake of breath escaped her lips as she tore her gaze away. He wondered briefly if she’d seen the heat in his eyes, seen what her proximity did to him.
“Why here?” she asked, nodding to the door.
From the sudden change in subject, he sensed she’d seen every bit of what she did to him. Yet she didn’t retreat. He watched her as she worked, rubbing the dried blood away. “Well, I figured sleeping in a spare stable was better than the cold gro—”
She shook her head. “No. I mean why do so many shifters make their homes here? Because western Montana is a natural habitat for the atypical Northern Rocky Mountain wolf? Because of the proximity to Yellowstone down in Wyoming?”
“That and force of habit. We’ve been here for centuries.”
“Centuries.” She rubbed gentle circles at the edges of the wound and down lower onto his chest, cleaning the dried blood away. His cock stiffened with each movement of her palm drawing closer to the steady beat of his heart.
He tore his gaze from her and focused on a spot on Black Jack’s stall to distract himself while she worked. If he didn’t look away now, he’d do something they both might regret in the morning, sweet as it would be. He chanced a look at her again. She chewed her lip in fascinated interest. Damn if he didn’t long to nibble on that himself.
“And your pack is…?”
“The Grey Wolves,” he supplied.
To this day, it felt strange on his tongue. Though they were now his pack, he still felt like an outsider, and his past still haunted him. When he’d joined the pack, Maverick had made him swear his life with the Wild Eight was behind him. Wes had kept that word and never returned to his birth pack, and the Grey Wolves had accepted his surrender without further condition. But as hard as he tried, he couldn’t escape himself. He’d always be Wes Calhoun, the man his current packmates had once sworn as their enemy.
“So why did that other wolf attack us? It was a grey wolf, too. Wouldn’t it be your packmate?” She found the last clean section of the shirt and poured the remaining whiskey over it.
Wes shook his head. “By species, yes, but it wasn’t from the Grey Wolf Pack. That was a Wild Eight wolf. They’re the Grey Wolves’ enemies.”
“If they’re werewolves, too, and you’re the same species of wolf, why are they your enemies?”
“We likely wouldn’t be if it wasn’t for humans and their damn need to control everything.”
She paused. “You mean to tell me I’m not the only human who knows of your existence?”
“No, you’re not.” Though outside the Execution Underground, she was likely one of the few. The human-run clandestine organization was into some serious Area 51 high-level secrecy shit. All the way up into the highest echelons of the government. “But if you hadn’t set that trap, you wouldn’t be here.”
“My brother set it, not me.” She clutched his hand in her own, holding his forearm steady.
He raised an eyebrow.
“I was trying to find a more peaceful solution. My brother has different ideas about how to run the ranch. We have an average-size cow-calf operation. Mostly run by me with the occasional help of a few hired ranch hands. It was our father’s, and my brother is still pissed our dad left me in charge. He’s a born-and-bred cowboy.”
Wes was only vaguely aware of her words or the burning sensation of the alcohol over his wound. His focus zeroed in on the feeling of her palm in his. When was the last time he could honestly say he’d just held a woman’s hand in his? The sweet, supple softness of her skin against his was doing unimaginable things to his head.
Her eyes darted to Black Jack again, who had taken to kicking all of his hay to one side of his stall. “So the other humans. Who are they?”
Wes blinked several times as he gathered his thoughts about him. “You sure are full of questions.”
“You try being abducted from your pasture by a man who is part beast and tell me you wouldn’t have questions,” she challenged with a hint of a smile tugging at her mouth.
If he was honest, something about her sass heated him to frustration—and far baser urges. It involved a gentle snap from one of those riding crops hanging on the wall, and that round ass bent bare before him. The thought made him instantly hard again. Damn it.
Cooped up in this stable so close to her, his sensitive nose latched onto her scent like a lodestone. He blew out a long sigh. Down, killer.
“There’s an organization called the Execution Underground,” he answered. “It’s an elite group of humans who hunt supernatural creatures like us. They do so under the guise of protecting humanity.” Having come over with the Europeans in the 1600s, the human hunters never hesitated to kill their kind if and when it suited them.
“And what do they have to do with this?” She stroked the material over his forearm. She must have assumed the strain in his voice to be from the wound.
“They place rules, regulations on supernaturals, on packs like us. Some of us want to cooperate to keep the peace, like the Grey Wolves. Others don’t want to roll over and play dead without a fight.”
“Like the Wild Eight?”
He gripped her hand tighter, but not for the reasons she seemed to think. “Yeah, that’s what they say they’re about: freedom for shifters. But they’re really no better than a well-organized street gang. They only look out for their own interests. They cause trouble that eventually comes down on the rest of us.” He saw that now in a way he hadn’t years earlier. The way the actions of the few affected the many. “And they won’t stop until they claim my life.”
Her eyes grew wide. “You must have done something to really piss them off then.”
“You could say that.” That was all he intended to share on the topic. “All you really need to know is that for tonight, you’re safe with me. I won’t let anyone harm you, and once this blows over, we’ll get you back to your ranch as soon as possible.” With one last squeeze of her gentle hand, he forced himself to pull away from her. Any more of this, and he wouldn’t trust his better judgment to hold him back.
Pushing to his feet again, he gathered a saddle blanket from the storage shelf and tossed it to her. She caught it and stood, stepping away from where she’d sat beside him. He returned to the spot he’d claimed as she crossed to the other side of the stable. “Now, unless you plan to be running on little more than air in the morning, I suggest you get some sleep.”
Chapter 4
There was no way in hell she was going to sleep. Naomi watched as he latched Black Jack’s stall closed and moved to turn on another row of nearby heat lamps. Whether the man was her captor or guardian or a bit of both, she wasn’t sure. Especially after that kiss he’d laid on her, though she was fighting hard not to think about it.
The lamps cast an orange shadow, part warm glow and part darkness. The color highlighted the golden undertones of his skin, showing where he’d been kissed by the sun on more than one occasion. It made the white slashes of the scars across his chest look even more ferocious. Naomi imagined he spent a fair amount of time out in nature. Even in human form, he seemed to belong there among the trees and the mountain foliage and the rushing streams. The thick muscles of his body and that suntanned skin spoke of long days on a farm or ranch like her own. She’d inferred as much when he’d referred to his flock, though she’d yet to learn how a werewolf could live like a born-and-bred cowboy.
Black Jack watched the man, his dark, orb-like eyes both resigned and slightly annoyed. As her captor moved around the stable, plugging in all the heat lamps in hope of raising the freezing temperature of the space even a degree or two, his movement was somehow languid, predatory, and she was surprised it didn’t alarm or upset his horse more than it did.
“You’re an alpha.” The words toppled from her lips before she stopped herself.
He turned toward her and raised a blond eyebrow.
> “Call it a hunch,” she said.
“You’re a quick study.”
She shrugged. “I’m a biologist.”
His cold eyes met hers. In this light, she’d yet to see their color now that he stared back at her with a human’s gaze, not a wolf’s.
“A rancher biologist?” A smirk curled his lips.
She held those mysterious eyes without fear. Probably not her smartest idea to hold the gaze of an alpha wolf. That signified challenge, but she wasn’t about to be mistaken as weak. “Former biologist, by trade anyway.”
He hooked his thumbs through the loops of those damn jeans. The thin trail of blond hair at his navel that led further south to his…
Well, for her hormones, apparently all it took was saving her life, an unexpected kiss, and hauling her off like some sort of wolf caveman to turn her into an adventurous vixen. Cross-species mating be damned. She’d never thought herself the type to be interested in dark and mysterious, yet here she was, her nipples tight at the thought of how he’d felt above her, against the oak tree, then when she was nestled in his lap atop that wild mustang. She still didn’t even know his name.
But she supposed it had been a long time. Her last encounter with a man had been with David Lawrence, the PE teacher, when she’d been teaching biology on the res several years ago. Before her father’s passing, before she’d taken over the ranch. Sparks hadn’t flown, and needless to say, it was a one-time occasion she hadn’t been looking to repeat. She had the feeling that wouldn’t be the case with a man like the one before her.
“Around these parts?” He quirked a blond eyebrow in her direction.
She gathered the impression that the thought of her studying wildlife like him amused him.
“Partially. I went to California for my career briefly. It’s a more biologically diverse landscape than here.” She shrugged. It was a clear attempt to brush him off, but she could tell he wasn’t buying it.
“And?” He leaned against one of the stalls. “What had you runnin’ away from these mountains aside from biological diversity?” he mocked.
He’d caught her fib. She knew what he was thinking. Montana—and the Beartooth and Absaroka Mountains near Yellowstone, in particular—could hardly be described as anything other than biologically diverse.
“I answered your questions. You answer mine. Fair is fair, Miss Kitty.”
She frowned at the awful nickname and crossed her arms over her chest. “Why do you assume I was running?”
“People come up to these mountains to get away from their lives. Tourists from around the world pay good money to spend time on these lands, to get a little taste of playing cowboy on a ranch for a few days and breathe some fresh air. Those of us lucky enough to be born out west don’t willingly leave mountain views like these, not unless there’s a reason to run away.”
“And how would you know? Have you ever run from something?” She gave him the once-over. From the plethora of scars and tattoos she’d seen across his chest, she wouldn’t be surprised in the slightest.
“This isn’t about me.” A dark smile twisted his lips. Sexy, yet somehow slightly sinister.
Her female parts went on high alert.
Down, girl.
For a moment, she toyed with the idea of telling him the same lie she told everyone else, that she’d simply wanted to see the world beyond the scope of these mountains, but somehow, she knew that those searing eyes would see right through her. What could it hurt to tell him? They would only know each other for the night. “I was running away from the ranch. It’s my family’s, and I’m the oldest. I’ve known I would be responsible for running it since I was a kid, but I don’t know… I guess I thought maybe if I created another life for myself before that happened, I wouldn’t be stuck there.”
“You wanted to be a biologist, not a rancher.”
She shrugged again. “Maybe. I don’t know. Honestly, I earned my master’s in biology at MSU in part because I liked it, but also because I figured that whenever I was forced to come back to the ranch, at least it would be somewhat applicable. If I was going to run the ranch, which I knew eventually I would, I needed to be better trained, better prepared, better…everything. The men in the ranching and farming industry hardly have tolerance for women in the trade, let alone a woman of color. Even though I’m half-Caucasian by my father, my skin and features don’t afford me any privilege. If I didn’t know my way around the hard work of a cattle count, our ranch’s reputation would have suffered. So, really, I don’t know. I never had enough room to figure that out.”
The irony of that wasn’t lost on her. She lived in Big Sky Country. There was enough room, enough space and sky and stars for everyone, it seemed. Everyone except for her. She’d always been too caged by the weight of a future already decided for her.
“Then you ran off to California when you finished school?”
“Only for three months before my father got sick. Pancreatic cancer that spread throughout his body. He was gone within a year.”
“I’m sorry,” he said.
She nodded. “So I came back, and I’ve been running the ranch ever since.”
He crossed his arms over his chest. “But you wanted California?”
“For a little while, but that wasn’t the life for me.”
He pegged her with a hard stare. “And what is the life for you, Miss Kitty?”
In the dim lighting of the stable, with the cold mountain winds whistling beneath the wooden doors, it felt like a deeply personal question.
Her brow furrowed as she averted her gaze. Her whole life, she’d always been told what was expected of her. It had never mattered if she wanted to run the ranch or not, if she wanted to keep these mountains as her home. That was simply what she’d been supposed to do. And since her father’s death, she’d never once stopped to question it. She wrung her hands together. Finally, she managed a whisper of a response. “No one’s ever asked me that before.”
A sort of sad contemplation filled his steely eyes. He watched her as if he saw straight through her, as if he already knew the answer to her heart’s hardest question before she did. “Well, Miss Kitty, rancher and former biologist…” His tone was mocking, instantly cutting the tension between them. She wanted to slap the smugness right off his handsome face. “I’m back to my original suggestion… Get some sleep. You’ll need it.”
He grabbed a saddle blanket for himself from the shelf and padded toward the middle of the stable. He sat down on the cobblestones, allowing his back to sink against one of the stalls, and tossed the blanket over his lap. He gestured toward the other side of the stable a little more forcefully than necessary.
Gritting her teeth, she did as she was told and marched to the other side, where she sat down on the cobblestone floor. The cold of the stones seeped into her bottom, even through the relative protection of her jeans. She pulled the saddle blanket over her and lay back, staring at the wood-beamed ceiling. Her suede jacket hardly protected her any better from the cold than her jeans did.
A shiver ran through her.
Might as well try to sleep, since he wasn’t letting her go.
She lay there for what seemed an eternity, counting the ceiling beams and listening to occasional purring snores from Black Jack. She tried to sleep, but between the freezing-cold cobblestones beneath her, the sound of the mountain winds whipping around outside, and the thought of the heated kiss she’d shared with her captor, sleep failed to claim her. The kiss was the proverbial elephant in the room—or stables, as it were. Neither one of them seemed willing to broach the topic.
It was just as well. She chalked it up to nothing more than being caught up in the momentary forced closeness. He probably hadn’t mentioned it because it didn’t mean a thing to him.
But she’d enjoyed it, though he was a werewolf and a stranger. She tried not to let that thought m
ake her stomach all kinds of queasy.
After a long while, a frustrated grumble broke the silence in the stable. “Come here.”
She rolled over and looked toward her captor. She’d thought he was asleep by now. “Excuse me?”
He was lying on his side, propped up on one elbow and facing her. “You heard me. Your teeth are clattering louder than a whole chain gang. Come here.”
She glared at him. “If you think I’m sleeping next to you, you’re insane.”
“If you want to freeze your sweet ass off all night, suit yourself.” He rolled onto his back and placed one arm behind his head.
She glared at him. From the looks of it, he was probably used to any woman readily jumping into bed with him, captive or not.
He patted the space next to him with a satisfied smirk. She knew full well how warm he was, and he damn well knew it.
“Woman, I haven’t got all night,” he said, repeating his words from earlier.
Damn him. Anger fueled her, because she didn’t want to freeze all night, because the part of her that was still hung up on the passion in that kiss wanted to be beside him, stranger or not.
Pushing up off the floor, she stomped over to him, making it clear that despite the necessity, she was clearly dissatisfied with this arrangement. She lay down beside him, shoulder to shoulder, pulling the blanket over her. Even with only their shoulders touching, she was already a bit warmer because of his close proximity.
Before she could stop him, one large arm snaked beneath her waist and lifted her. She gasped. With one arm across her shoulders and another in the crook of her lower back, he pulled her flush against him, until their legs were tangled together. Her breath caught. The warmth of his body was a sweet, burning relief, and immediately, her eyes grew heavy. She wanted to protest, but she could barely find the words. His eyes held hers.
Cowboy Wolf Trouble Page 5
