by T. S. Joyce
He twitched his chin at Frog. “You’re squeezing her too tight.”
Frog did look distressed at the tight hug. “Oh. She marched over to her car and settled Frog into the car-seat box with all her toys and blankets and snacks.
When she turned back around, he was staring in the window of her car. “Your smirk is not appreciated.”
He shrugged his shoulders up to his ears and said, “I didn’t say anything.”
“I told you I’m a crazy cat lady.”
“Oh, I believe it. This is the ammo,” he said, opening his black duffle bag wider to show her boxes of what she presumed were real-life murder nuggets.
She began unloading her groceries from the cart into the trunk of her Mustang.
“No wonder why you bottomed out on that dirt road. Your rig ain’t much bigger than Frog is.”
“I get forty miles to the gallon,” she said primly. “Much better than your eco-unfriendly truck. It might be super-hot that you drive that, but you probably spend a fortune in gas and you’re clogging up our environment with your fumes.”
“Good thing I finished in the money last bucking season. You want to drive it?”
“What? No. I like my car, thank you very much.”
“You’d look like a queen sitting up in my rig. And you should take it as a compliment that I asked you. I’ve never let anyone of the fairer sex drive my truck.”
“Why not?”
“Because y’all are shit drivers.” His smile said he was teasing, but she still felt prickly.
“You like to bait me.”
“Yes, ma’am, I do. Your eyes get all fiery, and I like the sass on you.”
“Hmmm. Well game over. I’m unaffected.” She yanked a little present from one of her grocery bags and offered it to him.
The grin fell from his face when he saw what was in her hand. “You got me body wash?”
“I smelled them all. This one is my favorite.” She flicked her fingers. “Now, you’re turn.”
A devilish smile ghosted across his face. “I’ll make you a deal,” he said as he placed the pink nail polish in her hand. “You go home and think about me and all the nice things you said, process whatever you feel about me. If you want to be friends in real life, not just on social media, you paint your nails hot pink. And I’ll go home and think about tonight, and maybe I’ll smell like the body wash you like. Or maybe I’ll decide you are a pain in the ass and keep smelling like a flower. Only time will tell.”
“Deal. But I won’t see you again, so how will I know what you smell like, and how will you know what my nails look like?”
“I’ll see you at the herd dinner, remember? Two days. I’ll text you the address for Dead’s ranch.”
“I work on Fridays.”
“Do you work on Saturdays?”
“No. I have the weekends off.”
“Perfect. Plan on staying the night. It’s about two hours from your place, so you’ll have to leave right after work.” Train Wreck set the black duffel bag in the trunk of her car with the bags of groceries. “The gun is unloaded. Bring it with you to the herd dinner, and I’ll give you a lesson. Dead and Raven have a shooting range out at their place.”
She fidgeted with the nail polish he’d given her. “Can I bring Frog?”
“You better bring Frog. She’s fuckin’ awesome.”
“Are you going to be in town for a while?” she asked.
“You want me to pick you up on Friday? Call it a date? You want me to open your door for you and tell you your butt looks good in them Wranglers you been wearin’?”
Okay, she liked his deep southern accent, and sometimes he really turned it on. Charmer.
“Not a date, per se. We can call it carpooling. Two hours each way is a long drive.”
“I’ll pick you up at six.” Train Wreck reached forward and swatted her ass. “Wear these.”
And then that man tossed her a cocky smile over his shoulder, sauntered around the front of his giant truck, got in, turned the engine over, and roared out of the parking lot.
She was left speechless, holding hot pink nail polish, with her cat wailing to leave, a hot man’s gun in the trunk of her car, an empty shopping cart that was coasting slowly away in the breeze, and a deep desire to wear Train Wreck’s T-shirt to bed tonight just to have his fabric face plastered across her boobs.
It was official.
She was now a super-fan.
Chapter Seven
Damn the rain.
Usually, Train Wreck liked storms. In the city, rain meant umbrellas and slick spots in the road, frizzy hair. In the country, it was fuel for the hay to grow and nutrients for the animals, and Train Wreck was about as country as they came. Any other day, he was grateful for the clouds that opened up and showered the earth, but tonight?
Damn the rain.
Tonight, the rain had messed with all the smells here in the dark barn in the center acreage of Two Thorns Ranch. This was a barn hidden from view by groves of trees. It had one road in and out of it, but there were four-wheeler tracks that pointed in the direction of Sloane’s house.
The Hagan bulls weren’t here.
Train Wreck knelt by a set of fresh tire tracks in the mud near the loading chutes. Some heavy equipment had been here to sink into the mud this deep. A semi, perhaps. He’d just missed them. Those bulls were headed somewhere awful right now, and he couldn’t do a damn thing about it.
Closing his eyes, Train Wreck inhaled again. He smelled ozone, earth, pine tree, and the overwhelming scent of cow crap, and in the mix of it all… the scent of shifter.
Bulls and bull shifters smelled different. Bulls were all hide and hair and wild, but bull shifters? They were a mix of the animal and the man. They’d been here, but now all that remained were the bulls from the front of the property. He’d seen the gray one in the pen right in front of Amber’s office. Which meant these had been moved today while he’d been shopping with her.
But why? Why would he put his prize bulls back here in place of the shifters he’d just sold off?
Train Wreck lifted his gaze to the camera hanging off the eve of the barn, aimed right at him. Sloane was fucking with him.
Clever.
He must’ve figured Train Wreck would come sniffing around here, so he set a different kind of scene than the one he’d thought he would find. All that remained were natural bulls. Not a shifter in sight.
Those Hagans were probably terrified. Or pissed. It was hard to tell the difference in those monsters sometimes. They were a different breed of shifter. Leather tough and bred to be brawlers. They lived in cult-like herds, the males and females paired up for strength of their offspring, not as love matches. Hagans did damn well in the bucking bull circuit, but even better in the underground fighting circuits. Dog fights had nothing on bull shifter fights.
He stood and made his way to the fence. The camera followed, so he threw up a two-fingered wave. Hidey ho, asshole.
That was some faith in Train Wreck if Sloane put his money-maker bucking bulls out here unprotected. Brave or dumb, he couldn’t decide yet.
Or maybe he just had it in his head that Train Wreck wouldn’t hurt his bulls. Train Wreck bunched his muscles and jumped clear over the fence, landed on the other side in the mud with barely any impact. And the camera followed.
Western Center, this bull was named. Train Wreck had researched his prey. He knew every bull on Sloane’s property and all the stats on them. When he was a kid, he’d watched the natural bull circuit, and sometimes he’d pretended to be one of those bulls when he would Change. One of Western Center’s great-great-great grandfathers had been Train Wreck’s favorite bucking bull, once upon a time.
Western Center trotted along the back of the gate, stopped, and turned back the other way.
“Shhhhh. Whoaaaa,” Train Wreck crooned, holding his hand out.
This bull was aggressive with humans, but not with other animals. Not unless he was in a pasture of cows and breeding.
When he was alone like this, though? Or with other bulls? He didn’t aim at animals. No, he hated humans.
Train Wreck wasn’t human, though. He just looked like it sometimes, but he didn’t smell like it. And he didn’t feel like it, not to other animals.
Western Center slowed down his pacing and eventually stopped, his ears erect, head jerking from side to side as he looked from Train Wreck to the other bulls in the next pen who had gotten closer out of curiosity.
“I’m not your competition,” Train Wreck murmured. He jerked his head to the side at the other bulls in the next pen. “They are. I’m a friend.”
Western Center’s ears lowered, and after a few moments, he walked slowly toward Train Wreck. This was the part where normal men would get nervous, but not Train Wreck. He could tell what Western Center was saying just by his body language. Just by the vibes he gave off.
They let you in the pen with me. Usually, I’m alone. Who are you? What are you? Western Center stretched his thick, muscular neck out and sniffed Train Wreck’s offered palm.
Train Wreck could hear the whizzing sound of the camera moving, and it made him smile. Sloane was probably shitting himself right about now. This bull was worth about a million dollars, if his winnings were anything to go by.
Train Wreck reached out and scratched Western Center’s head. The bull allowed it for a few moments before shaking his huge dome and angling his thick blunt horns at Train Wreck. “Okay, okay, I would do the same thing if anyone tried to pet me,” Train Wreck told him.
He gave the bull his back and strode over to the side of the fence closest to the camera.
The rain was really pouring now, and a little waterfall was streaming from the front of his Stetson. It was cold out, but he didn’t feel it much. He never did. The animal inside him kept his inner furnace on high all the time.
He leaned against the back of the fence and tipped his hat to the camera. Western Center meandered over to him and stood beside him like, What now?
Now, my friend, we fuck with your owner.
Train Wreck climbed up the fence and angled the camera straight to his face, just sat there perched for a few moments, looking into the lens. And then he smiled and said, “I’ll see you real soon.” He hopped off the fence and sauntered through the mud toward his truck, and threw a little wave over his shoulder.
He would have to alter his plan, but that was okay. The Hagans were headed toward the medical testing facility that the asshole, Sloane, had sold them to, but they wouldn’t be there for long.
Train Wreck would make sure of it.
Chapter Eight
This was the part of her job Amber absolutely loved.
She had negotiated lower prices for hay and grain from the two top sellers in the county today. It wasn’t part of her job description, but the cost had seemed high, and she’d done her research all morning in price comparisons. She’d gone to those sellers with better cost spreadsheets.
Uncle Sloane was happy, Aunt Helena was unimpressed but quiet, and Friday afternoon had passed in the blink of an eye. Thank goodness.
She was all packed and ready to head to the Montana border as soon as she got off work in exactly five minutes.
Her phone vibrated on the desk, and she saved her work before she looked at the text. It was from Train Wreck. Or Wreck as she had labeled him in her phone.
It was the very first time he’d texted her. A sinking feeling filled the pit of her stomach. He was backing out of tonight, wasn’t he?
Her pink painted nail hovered over the button that would open the text. Maybe he wasn’t wearing the body wash she’d picked out.
When she opened the attachment, it was a video.
Train Wreck was standing in front of his camera, and behind him was some kind of bucking arena. He was wearing Wranglers and nothing else. Nothing. Else. His skin was slick with sweat that dripped down his defined pecs and perfect abs and, oh glory, she couldn’t pry her gaze off his muscles if she tried.
“So, I’ve been thinking,” he talked casually to his camera. “About you. Obviously.” He looked off to the side and showed her his profile. A chiseled cheekbone and that perfect silver beard. “Is tonight a time where I’m supposed to get you flowers or something? Because I can pick some up. But then I was thinking I don’t even know what flowers you like, or what if you’re allergic to them? I haven’t done this in a long time, and I don’t even know what this is. I dated a girl, like, four years ago, but then I just focused on my career and there hasn’t been dates since then. I mean…there’s been girls. But not girls I take on dates. That makes me sound like a dirtbag. But I wasn’t trying to be something I couldn’t be…well, whatever. I think I’m just making this video to say something out loud.” He looked back into the camera. “You make me kind of nervous. And for the life of me, I can’t decide if that’s a good thing or if I hate it. I don’t even get nervous before I buck at an event. Anyway…” He scratched his lip with his thumbnail and looked around at the arena. “I’m doing a workout.” He slid those dark brown eyes to the camera and looked uncertain. “Do you want to see?”
She messaged back immediately, Show me. But before she hit send, she deleted it and connected a Facetime call to him.
He picked up on the second ring, running his hands through his hair as though he was trying to put himself together. He parted his lips to say something, but she interrupted him.
“Any flowers that are light pink and, yes, show me.”
His uncertain look morphed to a slow smile. “You’ll look at me differently if you see me Change.”
On purpose, she rested her cheek on her hand so he could see her nails. The smile faded from his face just a little and then returned softer.
“Okay,” he murmured. He turned the stand the phone was attached to in a slow circle to show her the entire arena and then steadied it back on the bucking chute. “I don’t have anyone here helping, so I have to leave the chute door open just a little.”
When there was a clanging from the barn attached to the office, Amber froze, listened, and then lowered her voice to say, “Why don’t you work out with your friends so they can pull the chute for you?”
“That’s…complicated. I’m not part of their herd. Two Shots Down’s mate, Cheyenne, is the only representative for bull shifters right now, and by her contract, she can only manage the top three bulls. I tried last year. Tried my ass off, but I didn’t make the top three. I’m on the outside.”
The way he said that with such hollowness in his voice made her insides ache. What a lonely thing it must be to feel like an outsider. She understood that down to her bones. Mixed race, pulled back and forth, never feeling like she really made sense to people. Torn between a family that was good, like her mom and grandma, and not-so-good, like her aunt and uncle. That feeling of being an outsider was very familiar to her.
“Pants down, Train Wreck. Let me see what you got.”
“It’s big,” he assured her. “Don’t get scared off when you see it.”
“Oh, my God! I was talking about your bucking! Not your dick size.”
He offered her a wicked smirk that stirred up her treasure cavern before he gave the phone his back. He strode away, his arms flexing with the smooth effort to unzip his jeans. Sweat glistened off his tanned shoulders, and he tossed a look at her over his shoulder before he shoved those wranglers down his muscular thighs.
Now, she’d never been to a strip club, per se, but if strippers looked like this? She would go bankrupt giving them all her money.
Perfect. Ass.
She wasn’t even a butt girl! Boy butts weren’t a thing, were they? But his muscular back, delving into two indentations right above the swell of his cheeks, made some twisted horn-ball part of her wish she could use his ass as a pillow every time she closed her eyes for the rest of her life.
Powerful legs. Yep.
Devilish smirky-smirk. Check.
Perfect shades of silver in his sexy-boy hair and beard. Uh huh.
/>
Train Wreck pitched forward and Changed into his bull so fast his hands didn’t hit the ground. His hooves did. The arena dirt exploded outward, and he kicked up into a trot immediately, his tail twitching behind him.
His coat was gorgeous. He was two shades of gray that faded to black at the edges. He had cream on his belly and throat and face. His horns were black, thick, and had been ground down to take away from the sharpness. That was required to be a bucking bull shifter in his circuit. It kept the riders safer. He had a huge muscular hump between his massive shoulders, and with every step, he was the epitome of power and agility.
That was Train Wreck. That was him.
He jerked to the side and dodged into an open gate for a holding pen, and she could see his progress as he wound his way through the maze of open alleyways until he slowed and came to a stop in the bucking chute. The brute filled the entire thing. He rammed his head against the metal front panel once, and the resounding clang was so loud the camera vibrated.
With a toss of his head, his horn clipped the open gate, and it flew open. Train Wreck rocketed out of the chute. That’s the only word she could think of to describe it. He leapt upward ten feet in the air before he came back down to earth and landed on his front hooves. Twisting to the side, he leapt again and again, then spun violently the other way. Raw. Savage. Dangerous. Amber couldn’t even imagine a rider on his back, how they would survive a fall from so high or from being flung to the earth so hard.
He was sharing something so personal with her—his Change.
Train Wreck had been right. She did feel differently about him.
Now, she liked him even more.
“What are you doing?” Helena asked from right behind her.
With a gasp, Amber disconnected the Facetime call and pressed the face of her phone to her chest. “W-watching bucking bulls.”
Helena’s green eyes were narrowed suspiciously at Amber. “No phones while you’re working.”
“Oh! I’m off work. Also, I finished everything on the list today and some of Monday’s work.”
