Quickdraw Slow Burn

by T. S. Joyce

  She was special.

  He’d washed his truck, but then Dead had stolen it, gone mudding, and left it in the woods for him to find because Quickdraw was “being weird,” according to Dead of Winter-the-Asshole.

  When the sliding glass doors of the airport opened, Quickdraw sat up straighter, studying the crowd that meandered through and spread out like cockroaches across the sidewalk.

  A family of four, then two dudes wearing brand new designer cowboy hats and Wranglers that had never seen a speck of mud, probably some city-slickers here for the rodeo, followed by a four-pack of ladies in their early twenties, a harried mother, two more pretend cowboys, and then…there…following them up was Annabelle.

  Every part of Quickdraw froze—all but his hammering heart.

  She was even prettier than he remembered.

  Annabelle stepped out into the cold breeze and pulled her long pink and black plaid peacoat tighter around her waist. She looked around, but she didn’t see him right away, so he got the chance to drink her in. Her hair was a deep burgundy that looked red in the sunlight but brunette when she was inside. Her eyes were hidden behind a pair of oversize sunglasses, and her full lips were painted the same color as the pink in her coat. She was tall and had those soft hourglass curves he loved.

  When he rolled down the passenger window and called her name, a smile took her face, and his heart pounded even harder. God, she was a stunner.

  He shoved open his door and jogged around the truck to help her with the pink suitcase she dragged behind her. He tossed it in the bed and then opened her door, but she hesitated there.

  He couldn’t be sure since she still wore sunglasses, but she seemed to study him. “Hi.” Her voice was so soft, so pretty. She probably sang well with a tone like that.

  “You’re here,” he rumbled, way lower than he’d intended. Fuckin’ bull was right at the surface. “I thought you wouldn’t come. Again.”

  She offered a crooked smile. God, she was pretty. And unique. There was this cute little gap between her two front teeth.

  Annabelle took his offered hand and crawled up into his lifted truck. He resisted the urge to buckle her seat belt for her. Girls didn’t like psychopaths. Dead of Winter and Two Shots Down had schooled him in “how not to fuck this up.” Although, he really didn’t know why he was taking girl advice from those two dipshits. If they didn’t piss off their mates at least twice a week, it was a slow week.

  There’d been a moment, right before she climbed into his truck, that he wanted to pull her in and hug her. That was fuckin’ weird. He wasn’t a hugger. Or a snuggler. Or a complimenter. Or supportive. Or really even nice in general. Cheyenne had nicknamed him the porcupine of the herd. Which he was fine with because they mostly left him alone thanks to his porcupine-ness.

  But with Annabelle? Pretty, strong, protective Annabelle? One night with her a month ago hadn’t been enough.

  “The rodeo ticket you sent me isn’t until this weekend,” she said as he climbed behind the wheel.

  “Cheyenne wanted us all here early this week since it’s the finals. I figured you could take a bit of a vacation, maybe get a break from reality, and see Raven more this way.” And spend more time with him, but he didn’t want to scare her off with his plans.

  “Are there still hotels available?” Her tone was careful.

  He slid her a glance as he pulled out from the curb and onto the airport exit ramp. “I figured you could stay in my camper, and if you want me out of it, I don’t mind sleeping in the bull pens. You ain’t scared of me, are you?”

  “I’m just…” She swallowed hard and stared out the window. “I just want to take everything really slow.”

  She was different. More careful. More reserved. He’d done something wrong, something to rub her fur the wrong way, but he couldn’t figure out what. “What changed?” he asked.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, I’m shit at this, Annabelle. You females are complicated like rocket science, and I ain’t a particularly smart man in that area. With me, you’re gonna have to say what you feel and let me react and adjust. If you keep it inside and wait for me to figure out what’s wrong? I won’t even know there’s a problem. I’m not sensitive like that. Now, if you’re in trouble and need some muscle behind you? Need someone to beat the shit out of anyone messing with you? I’m your man. Blood and fists, I understand. Feelings don’t come so natural to me.” He took the exit that would lead them out of the airport. With a quick glance at her pretty profile, he asked, “What changed? After that night, you texted me back right away for two weeks. I thought I was making you happy. You sure as hell were making me pay attention. And then you just stopped responding. Just went ghost on me. Is there someone else? I know we were just starting to talk, and I don’t have a claim on you, so it’s okay. Just say it like it is. If there’s someone else, I can back off.” That was a fuckin’ lie. If there was someone else, he was going hunting.

  Annabelle pursed her lips and looked over at him, shook her head. “There’s zero other boys. It’s not like that. I’m not seeing anyone.”

  Thank God. Now he didn’t have to obsess over some other man stealing her heart. “Okay, then it’s me.”

  “I can’t explain it right now. I just… Is it okay if we just settle in and get to know each other again?”

  Something was wrong, and he was a fixer. It was a knife in his gut not being able to cure whatever was ailing her. Hearts were a complicated thing he’d never understood, and probably never would. And Annabelle? Well…he didn’t really know her well enough to guess what he’d done wrong.

  “I can get you a hotel if you’d feel more comfortable there.”

  She let off a little sigh of relief. “I would.”

  Chapter Three

  Quickdraw was a brute in the arena, but in the quiet of his life, he was a gentleman. Sort of. If she ignored how thoroughly he’d fucked her last month. Ha.

  Keep your head on straight. You are here for business. To get to know him. To see his merit.

  He’d been hurt when she’d asked for the hotel, and that part had surprised her. Sure, he was pretending to be okay, but the look on his face had stung her heart.

  “I’m not scared of you,” she assured him as they passed a green sign that read Evansville, Population 2,544. “I don’t want you to think that. You’ve been kind to me.”

  He tossed her a glance and then put his focus back on the road. He was heavily tattooed from his neck down. She knew because she’d seen him without clothes. His torso and arms were almost completely covered, but she had a guess why. He was a man who hid behind the ink on his skin. Every interview she’d watched, he’s avoided all personal questions, or given some obviously bull-crap answer with a remorseless smirk etched onto his face. He’d tattooed himself with armor, but when she’d asked about them, he’d just said, “Chicks dig tattoos,” and changed the subject. Okay, mystery man.

  Right now, the tattoos covering his neck were stark against the pale off-white color of his long-sleeve thermal. The fabric hugged the curves of his massive muscles, and she could see every flex of his triceps and biceps as he turned the wheel. He didn’t wear a hat at the moment, but his longer black hair was all creased as though he’d been wearing the white cowboy hat that was sitting on his dashboard. His shirt was tucked partially into his jeans, and he wore a belt buckle with a longhorn etched into it. Her gaze lingered there. She knew exactly how big his dick was under the zipper of those jeans.

  He glanced over at her again, busting her, and Annabelle’s cheeks went up in flames with her embarrassment.

  He only grinned a knowing smile and focused on the road again, looking a little cockier than he had a few moments ago.

  “Things ain’t that wrong if you’re still thinkin’ dirty thoughts about me,” he uttered in that deep, gritty voice of his.

  Okay, this man was pure sex appeal, and she understood one-hundred percent why he had a couple million followers on Instagra
m. He was the hot-as-hell bad boy of the shifter bull riding circuit, number one and consistent with his rank, perfectly chiseled like a marble statue of a Grecian god with muscle, tattoos that were hot, a smile that would charm the pants off even the most frigid woman, and he had that don’t-care attitude that was irresistible in interviews. But his fans didn’t know the half of it. He was quick, and funny, and stupidly good in bed.

  And then there was her—an awkward, messy, in-between-jobs, semi-slobby, possibly knocked-up-out-of-wedlock werewolf who, at the moment, couldn’t change into her animal to save her life.

  One of them had all their shit together, and one of them did not.

  His fans knew the fantasy of him, but the reality, from what she’d seen, was even better.

  The crush she’d had all along that she had tried her best to convince herself was silly was still sitting right there at the surface of her heart.

  Dammit.

  “What kind of music do you like?” he asked.

  “Anything but country music and elevator music.”

  Good golly, she’d never witnessed a more offended look on any man’s face before.

  “You don’t like country music?” he asked.

  She laughed and shook her head. “Strike one against us. We don’t have the same taste in music.”

  His nostrils flared just a little, and then he said, “Siri, play the ‘Buck You’ playlist.”

  When a Yelawolf song came on, she sang out “Oooooh!” as she danced to the intro. “Okay, so you have a little taste in music.”

  “You better sing this song,” he murmured, chuckling at her dance moves.

  And she did. Badly, for she only knew twenty-five percent of the lyrics, but at least she attempted.

  He was smiling so big by the time she messed up her way through the last couple of lines.

  “I knew you had a good voice.” He picked up his phone and scrolled through a few songs. He stopped it at a Carrie Underwood song, but not a happy, lovey Carrie song. An Angry Carrie song. There was a difference. “Don’t pretend you don’t know any country songs,” he rumbled and then turned it up.

  She tried her best to level him with a serious look, but his smile was contagious so, yep, she sang right along with the song and showed off a little on the high notes.

  “Okay, I was going to take you out to a nice dinner and get to re-know you, but now I have a better idea.”

  “And what’s that?” she asked.

  “Hey, Siri?” He offered her a quick wink before he dragged his attention back to the road. “Call Raven.”

  Two rings, and Annabelle’s best friend in the whole world picked up. “Do you have her?” Raven asked immediately. “I’m gonna murder her if she chickened out.”

  “He’s got me, and you’re on speaker phone,” Annabelle said.

  “Aaaaaaah!” Raven yelled into the phone, making both Annabelle and Quickdraw hunch their shoulders against the pain. Shifter hearing wasn’t awesome all the time.

  “I have a quick question,” Quickdraw said.

  “Anything. What do you want? We’ve just been waiting around for y’all to get here.”

  “Did you just say y’all?” Annabelle asked.

  “It’s the best word in the world! You can use it for any plural of you all!”

  Annabelle laughed and shook her head. Never in a million years would she have guessed her little goth, tatted-up, motorcycle-boot-wearing bestie would be talking country.

  “I was going to take this little wild thing to a nice restaurant in Casper, but she just belted out a song in the truck.”

  “Oh, yeah, Annabelle has some pipes,” Raven said.

  “Mmmm hmmm,” Quickdraw agreed. “I can’t believe I’m going to ask to willingly hang out with you guys, but do you want to go to a karaoke bar with us tonight?”

  “Hell yeah!” Dead of Winter yelled in the background. “I have to go Google the best karaoke songs. Raven! I love you. I have to go research. We are singing a duet. We are singing a duet! Fuck you, Two Shots. We’re gonna be so good, and you’re gonna tank.”

  “I’m not singing,” Two Shots Down muttered in the background.

  “Um, yes you are!” said his mate and Quickdraw’s manager, Cheyenne. “I’m not catching shit from Dead for the next sixty-nine years about being chicken at karaoke.”

  “Okay, we’re ten minutes out from the RV park,” Quickdraw said. “Y’all get dressed.”

  “Raven!” Dead called from farther away. “Wear something slutty!”

  “Oh dear Lord,” Raven muttered, but there was a smile in her voice. She was happy. Annabelle could tell, and her best friend’s happiness settled something inside of her as well. She had chosen a herd with Quickdraw in it, so he couldn’t be bad. Raven was a great judge of character.

  There was static on the line, and then Cheyenne said, “Hey Quickdraw, remember when I said no drinking this week? Since it’s finals and all?”

  “Oh, yeah, I ignored that part, I had beer at breakfast. So did Two Shots.”

  “What?”

  “Thanks a lot, Rat,” Two Shots said.

  Quickdraw’s grin was all evil and handsome right now.

  Annabelle couldn’t help but giggle as he hung up the phone. Okay, she was really happy now.

  “I figured you could use a night with the group so you don’t have to just be around me,” he said softly as the smile faded from his face. “Maybe ease you back in to being comfortable.”

  Annabelle slipped her hand around his bicep to the crook of his inner elbow and squeezed it gently. “Thank you for being understanding.”

  She moved to pull her hand away, but he took his hand off the wheel and pressed her hand back into his elbow, then caught the wheel before he had to make a turn.

  Okay. He liked her touch. Maybe it was going faster than she’d promised herself, but she felt safe right now. That part was impossible to explain. Safe with a bull shifter. Bulls were pure power and aggression, but Quickdraw wouldn’t hurt her. She knew he wouldn’t.

  And her crush grew a little bigger.

  Chapter Four

  “Is he naked?” Annabelle asked, squinting her eyes out the front window. Dead of Winter sat in front of his camper in a lawn chair, beer in hand and his lady in his lap. And that lady in question was none other than Hagan’s Lace herself and Annabelle’s best friend, Raven.

  “Hell if I know,” Quickdraw muttered with a frown as he backed his truck beside his own camper. “He’s somehow gotten even weirder since he paired up with Raven.”

  When Raven stood, Annabelle belted out, “Oh, my God, no!” She closed her eyes really fast because she did not need to see her bestie’s boyfriend’s nethers.

  “He’s got freakin’ booty shorts on,” Quickdraw grumbled.

  Indeed, he did. It was the only thing he was wearing other than a pair of worn cowboy boots on his hairy legs, which was a ridiculous outfit because it was cold out. His nipples were all drawn up, but he was smiling big enough. Apparently, the cold didn’t bother bull shifters overly much.

  “Hey!” Quickdraw yelled at Dead as he got out of his truck. “I thought you were parked over there with Two Shots.” He jammed his finger to a few open spots at the end of the row. “I like my space.”

  Dead grinned. “Space denied. We’re a herd. We stick together like glue and glitter.”

  “Like corn on the cob and butter,” Raven chimed in.

  “Like sprinkles and cupcakes,” Dead said.

  “Jesus,” Quickdraw muttered under his breath as he made his way around the truck to help Annabelle down.

  “Like Two Shots’ face and that spiderweb this morning,” Dead added.

  Raven giggled and made her way to Annabelle, scooped her up and hugged her tight.

  Annabelle played, too. “Like gum and the bottoms of my favorite shoes.”

  Dead got a dreamy look in his eyes and held out his hands, palms out. “Like my hands and Raven’s boobs.”

  “Okay, that�
�s good, Dead,” Raven called out as she pushed Annabelle back to arm’s length. That stuff would’ve embarrassed the hell out of her six months ago, but not anymore. Now, Raven couldn’t seem to stop smiling. She wasn’t even blushing.

  She looked beautiful. Happy. Content. All the things Annabelle had wished for her friend over the years.

  “Hey, MooMoo,” Annabelle teased her with the childhood nickname she’d given her years ago.

  “Hey, Owoo. I was starting to think you would never come hang out with us again.” The happiness faded from her eyes just a little. “Is everything okay?”

  Uh, she’d lost her job, was quite possibly knocked up by a famous bull shifter from a one-night stand, she hadn’t been able to change into her wolf in a month and, lately, she’d been craving clam chowder covered in guacamole. Ew. Her whole life was weird right now.

  Annabelle plastered on her best smile. “Oh, I’m great.”

  “Lie,” said Raven, Dead, and Quickdraw all at the same time.

  The too-bright grin froze on Annabelle’s face. “I’m going to get freshened up. That was a long trip.”

  Cheyenne threw open the door of Quickdraw’s camper and sang out, “We’re getting ready in here!” She held the last word like an opera note, full vibrato, high octave and everything.

  Annabelle hunched and cringed at the high note. “Nailed it,” she teased.

  “Thank you,” Cheyenne said with a magnanimous nod of her head. “I’m warming up for my win tonight.”

  “I don’t think it’s a competition,” Quickdraw pointed out.

  “Everything is a competition!” Cheyenne disappeared, and the door slammed behind her.

  “Wait.” Quickdraw jogged over to his camper door and threw it open. “Why are you getting ready in here? And for God’s sake, why does it smell like girl in my RV?” His voice was very deep and loud, and his face was getting all red.

  Annabelle pursed her lips against a laugh when she got a whiff of the heavy perfume Cheyenne had sprayed inside the camper.