by Anna Lowe
Chapter One
Cole Harper stood before the swinging saloon doors for a good minute. Maybe two. The sun had set, and the air had that crisp, cool quality it only got in high-altitude Arizona and only on spring evenings, when everything felt fresh and budding and new.
Sounds and smells from the saloon clawed at his shoulders, begging him to come in. Laughter rang out and chairs scraped along the floor. Country music poured from the jukebox, and a couple was starting to dance. The bartender thunked down an empty glass, poured a shot of Jack Daniel’s, and slid it all the way down the bar.
All that, he got without looking, just listening. Christ. What was wrong with him?
Go in, already.
Cole kept his thumbs hooked in his jeans and hunched his shoulders, trying to resist the urge.
Scents assaulted him, one after another in a thousand little punches. The peaty scent of aged whiskey, the charcoal flavor of a malt. The mouthwatering smell of spare ribs smoked over mesquite.
His tongue darted out to lick his lips before he could stop it.
Hurry up, already.
He’d been hearing that inner voice for a while now, and it was driving him nuts, like the itch on his arm. He’d been cut two weeks ago — a little bitty cut sustained in a fight in this very saloon, when he’d come along just in time to stop a couple of thugs from jumping the two waitresses. Unbelievably strong guys with weird, clawing nails he’d managed to avoid, except for that one scratch. His skin had healed now, but the itch remained.
An angry growl built in his throat at the memory of the intruders then faded away when he realized the sound was coming from him and not some passing dog.
Jesus, he was growling, now, too?
He coughed it away. Squaring his shoulders, he pushed the saloon’s doors wide and marched in, letting them swing behind him. He took off his hat, glanced in the mirror next to the sign that read, Check your guns at the door, and ran his fingers through the blond hair that curled and feathered to a point somewhere beneath his ears. Then he headed straight for his chair at the end of the bar. A chair some fool was occupying, which made the growl build in his throat again.
My chair. My spot.
The inner voice was ridiculously territorial. He clenched his fists, telling himself he would not pick a fight. Telling himself it didn’t matter who was sitting in which chair.
Except that fool sitting smugly in his chair needed to get the hell out. Now.
“Hey, Cole.” A voice like honey stopped him, and his head whipped around. And just like that, the tension strung through his body like a thousand-volt current dissipated. The sights and sounds and smells of the saloon faded away, and he was standing in a mountain meadow. It sure felt like that, anyway.
“Hi, Janna,” he whispered.
“Hey.” She smiled back.
Janna! Janna! The growl turned into a joyous inner cry.
She had her hair in two braids today, a perfect match for her bubbly, little-girl energy. Sometimes she wore it down and let it sway around her face like a liquid frame. Other times, she did this complicated braid thing he dreamed of slowly unraveling and running his fingers through. And sometimes, she just wore a ponytail, and he liked that, too.
He liked everything about Janna. A lot. Her laugh, her smile, her way of tilting her head to listen when he whispered in her ear. He’d liked her since the day he’d first set eyes on the freckled spitfire who’d started waitressing in the saloon not too long ago. Janna always had a sunny smile and sparkling eyes and a chipper voice. Her bouncy step and glossy brown hair were just as full of life as the rest of her. She had a way of looking at him as if she could see into him, and she didn’t even seem to mind what she found.
He tightened his fingers over his belt and ordered them to stay there. Because liking the vivacious waitress had slid right over to lusting for her in the past couple of weeks. Like he’d slipped and hit some dial that turned the testosterone up full blast. All he could think of was her. Or rather, him and her. Close. Unbridled. Uncontrolled.
Which didn’t make sense. He’d been there, done that with spunky cowgirl-types who could ride and rope and wrangle. What exactly did Janna have that turned on every switch in a burned-out cowboy like him?
Everything. She has everything. She is everything, the inner voice sighed.
When he could think straight, it scared him.
But he couldn’t think straight around Janna. She was all the girls he’d ever loved, times fifty. Times a hundred. A thousand. She made him imagine all kinds of crazy things, like standing knee-deep in wildflowers in a meadow in spring. A perfect, peaceful place so unlike the reality that had been haunting him these days. The ceiling fan of the saloon that turned in lazy circles became an eagle, wheeling on a Rocky Mountain breeze. As long as Janna was around, he was in heaven.
He clenched his fists against his sides. He was in the Blue Moon Saloon, damn it. And he was not going crazy. Not yet.
“How are you doing today?” she asked, propping her drink tray against her hip.
Not crazy yet, he nearly said. But getting closer all the time. She was the only thing keeping him sane. In the hours he spent alone, he went through the wildest mood swings. One second, he’d be enjoying the scent of leather and horse as he saddled up a ride at the stables where he worked, and the next, he’d be overcome with the bitterest fury, the weirdest urges. Like wanting to run naked at night. Wanting to tip his chin up to the waxing moon hanging over the desert and howl at it. To chase a deer, rip into it with bare teeth, and feast on warm flesh and blood.
“Been good,” he fibbed. “How about you?”
A customer walked past, and Janna stepped closer to his side.
God, she smelled nice. Like buttercups and daisies with a trace of forget-me-nots, the blue flowers that were exactly the color of her eyes. All of that blended together in a soothing scent that settled his soul.
Mine. Mate.
He shook his head and looked around, hoping to spot some guy hiding somewhere, throwing his voice. But there was no one. Just the dark, husky voice in his mind that he didn’t trust one bit. What was with the mate nonsense, anyway?
“Happy to see you.” Janna smiled and tilted forward on the balls of her feet. Just enough that if he wanted, he could kiss her.
It wouldn’t be their first kiss, either, because they’d been out dancing a few weeks back, before he’d started losing his mind. It was the first night he’d enjoyed in a long, long time. A great night, even, breathing her in and holding her close and only letting go long enough to whirl her around then pull her straight back into his arms, where he’d whispered in her ear and made her laugh and smile that incredible smile. Fast dancing turned into slow dancing, and slow dancing turned into a melting kind of grind, and the kiss was only the first of many he had planned to shower on her all the way back to his place.
But her friends had interrupted them, and though she’d all but snarled them off, he’d come to his senses and backed away for her own good. He could get drunk on Janna, but she deserved better than him.
Kiss her, the voice growled. Take her. Mark her!
He took half a step back. That voice was dangerous. Demanding. Crude. A man didn’t take from a woman. Not the kind of man he’d been raised to be.
Believe me, she’s asking, the voice shot back.
Well, if she was, he had to be the one who kept a clear head. So what if their bodies breezed into a crazy high just from being close?
Need her to survive the Change, the voice inside him murmured. Need my mate.
He shivered. Survive? Change? Mate? He truly was losing his mind.
Being around Janna slowed it down, though. She calmed him down. Well, most of the time. Usually, she made him think of a place like that idyllic meadow, where he could lie down with his head in her lap and settle into a profound peace. Sometimes, though, all he could imagine was rolling with her in that meadow. Stripping off her clothes and his and pounding inside her as she
wrapped her legs around him and raked her nails across his back. He’d imagine pumping his hips as madly as she’d pump hers while she screamed her pleasure and—
“You okay?” Her brow furrowed.
He took a deep breath and winced at the crushing hardness in his jeans. “Good. Yeah. Great.” A lie, but it was better than the truth. Not okay. Thinking of throwing you over my shoulder and fucking you nowhere near as gently as you deserve.
Her nostrils flared, and for the briefest of instants, he wondered if she’d like that.
He turned to the bar, trying to clear his mind — only to spot the asshole sitting in his chair again. His chair!
He clenched his teeth and his fists, because anger came with an awful, pinching pain under his nails and canines, like they were being pulled out by pliers. Or worse, pushed out from inside to make space for—
“Cole,” Janna murmured. The second she put a hand on his arm, the pain faded along with the fury. “I got this.”
She scurried ahead and smiled at the man while Cole glared from over her shoulder. Janna was tall, only a couple of inches under his six feet, and she had a self-assured poise that doubled her presence.
“We’ve got a table for you now,” she told the customer, pointing.
Cole gritted his teeth and told himself she was smiling at the guy because it was her job, not because the ass deserved it.
“Thanks, sitting at the bar is fine.” The man’s smile was aimed at Janna, but when his gaze turned to Cole, it faded fast. “On second thought…” He grabbed his drink and fled.
Cole glared at the man’s back until Janna stuck an elbow in his ribs, squelching the growl he wasn’t aware of until then.
“Look.” She patted the barstool and made her voice silky-sweet. “All yours.”
Her hand ran over his shoulder, and their eyes met.
All mine, the voice hummed inside.
“All yours.” She nodded.
His eyes went wide. Did she really mean…
She steered him onto the stool, and her hands on his waist felt good. Like dancing had been — that feeling of rightness, of belonging, of a perfect fit.
He sat down and she came a little closer. Closer still, like she was getting sucked into the magic spell, too. It took everything he had not to pull her into the space between his legs and deliver a huge, bruising kiss.
“Janna!” the big guy working the bar called. Simon Voss, one of two brothers who ran the place. Well, they pretended to run the place. It was Janna and her sister, the waitresses, who made the place thrive. The brothers were good at security, though, and kept the customers on their best behavior when it came to Janna and Jessica. And Cole was a regular, so they were okay with him, not to mention grateful for his intervention that night of the attack.
Still, Simon shot him a look that said, Watch it, cowboy. Got my eye on you, too.
Cole wanted to protest. Hey, you can trust me! But he couldn’t even trust himself these days, so why should Simon?
Janna pulled away, and his heart ached just at that much space opening up between them. Then she ran a smooth palm over his cheek and whispered, “Be right back,” making his soul settle again.
“I’ll be right here,” he growled as she went. It was a promise and a warning to anyone eyeing her perfect ass. And there were plenty of suspects on that count. A whole saloon full of them, it felt like.
And jeez, the place was hopping tonight. Before Janna and her sister came along, the saloon hadn’t pulled in half as many customers. It was listless and dusty and dead — sort of the way he felt. But then Janna had filled it with laughter and smiles and life, and he started coming because…because…
Well, maybe in spite of himself.
Janna shot him one parting smile over her shoulder, making him go warm all over.
Mine, the inner voice growled. Mate.
“I’ll be right here,” he whispered, telling himself everything would be all right.
Chapter Two
All yours? Janna practically screamed at her inner wolf. What the hell was that? All yours?
We’re his, the beast hummed back in satisfaction, and he’s ours.
She cursed under her breath and cut a crooked path through the crowd of customers. Grabbing a full tray of drinks off the far end of the bar, she set off on another round of the saloon.
Stupid wolf. I am not anybody’s. I am my own person.
Admit it, her wolf growled. He’s our mate!
Shhh!
She looked around pensively, as if someone might have overheard that inner exchange. Most of the customers were humans who’d never pick up on it. But another shifter…
She snuck a glance at her sister Jessica, who could usually read her thoughts clear as day. But Jess was busy waiting tables on the other side of the saloon, grinning and glowing the way she’d been ever since she’d won her destined mate — Simon, the bear shifter tending the bar. He hadn’t seemed to notice, either, but then, Simon never really noticed anyone but Jess.
Janna let out the breath she’d been holding. Whew. The only other shifters were the four guys in the corner, strapping young wolves from Twin Moon Ranch, and they were too busy talking shop to pick up on the inner dialogue of a love-sick she-wolf.
“Draft?” She held up a glass.
“Mine,” one of the ranch hands lifted a finger.
“Wild Turkey?”
“Over here,” a second said.
“Jim Beam?”
“Mine,” the third man said.
Her gaze wandered across the saloon to Cole, and her wolf growled.
Mine.
She ground her teeth together behind the smile she plastered on top. “Anything else I can get you?”
“That’s it, thanks.”
She dropped off another couple of drinks at table four, checked in on the neighboring group, and cleared plates from table seven. Cole’s storm-cloud eyes tracked her the whole time. His gaze pressed on her like a physical thing. Like a blanket, thrown over her shoulders on a winter’s night in Montana.
Except she wasn’t in Montana anymore, and it sure as hell wasn’t winter.
Told you. He’s our mate.
She shook her head. How could the beast be so sure? God knew she’d gotten love and lust mixed up in the past. But this felt different. Spine-tingling different. Lightning-sparks-in-the-veins different.
My destined mate, her wolf growled.
It sure felt like it. But one thing didn’t fit. Destined mates were supposed to recognize each other on first sight. And she’d gone two whole weeks simply liking Cole. Okay, really liking Cole. Badly-wanting-to-tango-on-the-nearest-horizontal-surface kind of liking Cole. But there hadn’t been that instant connection of souls. That, Bang! Your life will never be the same revelation that mated shifters talked about.
Her attraction to him snuck up on her steadily ever since…since…well, since some point she couldn’t quite put her finger on, and then — whoosh! Her vague crush on Cole went to all-out desire. A day and night craving. A need that scared her.
Mate. My destined mate, her wolf cooed.
But wolves, as every female shifter knew, were not to be trusted. Not in matters of the heart.
Probably she was just crushing on Cole. Really, really badly. The man was hot as sin and an amazing dancer to boot. A charmer with a crooked, boyish grin. A man she could talk to every night for hours about the same thing and never get tired of what he had to say, or how he said it.
Yep. Just a crush. She’d get over it in, um—
Another two or three hundred years? her wolf snorted.
She was so wrapped up in arguing with her wolf that she worked on autopilot — and whoops, without even realizing it, she had headed his way with a plate of key lime pie she was supposed to be delivering to another customer. God, what was she doing?
“Got just what you need.” She smiled and set the plate in front of him.
Her heart beat a little faster, seeing the little-boy gr
in spread on his face. One of the many Cole quirks she’d fallen in love with over the past couple of weeks. One second, he’d be all broody warrior, harboring some deep, dark wound she was dying to heal. But just as quickly, the lines around his mouth would fall away and he’d be a kid again, all twinkling eyes and aw-shucks country charm.
“My favorite,” he murmured, as he did with anything she brought him.
His scrappy blond hair curled just below his ears. Fine, golden strands that waved this way and that. So, so tempting to run her fingers through. His full lips quivered the slightest bit, and she had to bite her own to resist reaching for his.
Mate, her wolf sighed.
She forced herself not to bat her eyelashes or pucker her lips. Not to do anything that gave her — lust? love? — away. But her nipples kept standing up, and the scent wafting off her shoulders was the sticky-sweet fragrance of arousal.
Janna.
Her head whipped around, and the goofy love music playing in her mind broke off with the screech of a needle ripping across an old-fashioned LP.
Soren was calling to her from over by the bar. The bigger of the two bear brothers stood with his beefy arms folded over his chest, glowering. The very picture of a clan alpha. A none-too-pleased clan alpha, nodding her toward the back of the saloon.
Shit, shit, shit. Someone had noticed her fawning over Cole, after all.
Cole’s eyes followed hers, and she darted into his line of sight, because the last thing she needed was for a headstrong cowboy to get into a glaring contest with her two-hundred-pounds-of-solid-muscle boss. Cole might be made of the roughest, toughest stuff, but he was still human, despite the growl building in his throat.
Wait, a growl? Her head whipped back to Cole.
She smoothed a hand over his chest without thinking, and the noise stopped. Everything stopped for a moment, and the whole world ceased to exist. Zoomed a million miles away, in fact, until all that remained was the sensation of little licking flames passing between their bodies. Telling her to step closer. Closer…
