High Moon

by Kati Wilde

  “So you’re staying in Fortune City?”

  “Not long.” That can’t change. “I’m heading out tomorrow morning.”

  “Where are you laying your head tonight?”

  I sure as hell wouldn’t mind the space between her thighs. “The Ponderosa.”

  Her face scrunches up.

  No need to ask why. “It’s not so bad as long as you don’t sniff too close.”

  “I’d recommend not getting close enough to actually smell anything.” She shudders. “I don’t know whether it’s better to close your eyes and pretend there’s nothing there, or to keep your eyes wide open so you don’t accidentally touch something that’ll never wash off.”

  “I’m in favor of keeping my eyes open.” Pretending never did anyone any good.

  “But seeing doesn’t change what’s on those sheets.”

  “I’ve seen worse.” Not much worse.

  “Hang around a while, maybe you’ll see better. Supposedly there’s a whole lot of fancy hotels coming in soon.” Something in her scent changes, a mix of unease and irritation that yanks every nerve in my body into high alert. Then she seems to shove whatever she’s thinking away, and glances at me with eyes as dark as midnight. “So where you from, Ethan?”

  “Montana, originally.”

  “Originally?” She latches onto that. “And since then?”

  “Too many places to name. A lot of places not worth naming, either.”

  Makena chuckles, like maybe she knows exactly the kind of places I’m talking about. Then she casts me another curious look. “So you’ve been drifting a while?”

  “A good while.”

  A knowing expression tilts her eyebrows. “Does that mean you’re running or searching?”

  “Searching.” Hunting.

  “Well, I’m sorry to tell you, but no one ever found anything in Fortune City.”

  I found something. Unfortunately, I’m not staying. “Maybe I’ll be the first.”

  She smiles faintly, as if what I said sounds nice but not very likely, then slows the truck as we approach a gravel driveway. I haven’t been paying any attention to our surroundings, I’ve been so focused on her. But now I see the painted wooden sign announcing that I’ve reached the Riverbend Ranch. A stacked split rail fence runs up to a two story farmhouse. In the distance, high-tensile fencing parcels out a large spread of pasture bordered by a swift-flowing river. Through the truck’s open window, I inhale a multitude of scents. Horses, cattle. More faintly, the dogs that were in the cab with her before—and the male human, too. A husband, father, brother? Impossible to tell just by smelling what he left on the wind.

  Whoever the man is to Makena, he isn’t waiting for her at home. The windows in the house are dark. Inside, the two dogs are barking up a welcome. Up past the house stands a big barn, with the strong scent of horses and hay coming from it. The house, the barn, and all of the outbuildings seem in good repair. I’ve been in plenty of places where they aren’t. Sometimes it’s a lack of money, sometimes it’s a lack of effort. By the look of it, Makena’s been putting as much as she can of both into this ranch.

  She pulls the truck into a large open carport that shares space with a livestock trailer and a tractor, then gestures to another outbuilding. “We’ll see if you can find what you need in my uncle’s shop,” she says, but heads in the opposite direction, toward the house. “Give me a second and I’ll open it up for you. I’ve got to let the dogs out before they explode.”

  Her uncle. That must be the man I’m smelling. Not that it makes a damn bit of difference. I’ve got no claim on this woman.

  Even if she’s already got a claim on me.

  As soon as she opens the door to the house, the dogs tumble over themselves greeting her. Can’t blame ’em. I pretty much went tripping over my own feet when I first saw her, too. And I can’t swear to being too steady now.

  Then the female gets a whiff of me. Her soft growl alerts Makena, whose gaze flicks toward me in surprise, as if she isn’t used to the dogs reacting that way to anyone. Scratching the female’s ears, she tells the dogs it’s all okay, to settle down—calling them Thelma and Alf.

  She heads back my direction, the dogs at her heels. Both have their hackles up, growling and flitting around her legs like they’re trying to warn her away. But Makena keeps coming, frowning down at them as they draw near enough to me that their courage fades. Whining, Thelma all but crawls on her belly while staying by her mistress. Alf hangs back, trembling and snarling.

  Makena looks down at Thelma in disbelief, her tone reassuring. “It’s all right, girl. This is Ethan.” Shaking her head, she says to me, “Usually they’re thrilled to meet anyone new. I don’t know what’s gotten into them.”

  I do. Poor damn dogs. I go down on my heels, holding out my hand, locking my eyes on Thelma’s. “It’s all right, girl. C’mon.”

  She scuttles forward, a mix of Golden Retriever and some other breed that broadened her face and gave her a bit more weight. She sniffs my hand before whimpering and rolling over, showing her belly. Sweet girl. I scratch her throat, then give her ears a good loving, aware of Makena watching us like she doesn’t know what she’s seeing. Then Alf—an old, mottled-brown hound—comes closer, tail between his legs, shaking all over. He shows his belly a second later and I give him a good scratch as a reward, letting him know he’s a good boy.

  “They were worried I was here to cause trouble,” I say gruffly. “But we’re all friends now.”

  “And now you’ll pay the price of being their friend,” she says dryly, because the moment I stop scratching Alf, Thelma pushes her head beneath my palm, looking for more pettings. “I hope you didn’t want to use that hand again.”

  Now that I’ve met her, I’ll be using my hand a hell of a lot more often than I used to. But for now, I oblige both dogs for a few seconds, then send them off to find the trees they both desperately need after being cooped up in the house. Makena blinks in surprise as they run off, as if their obeying an order is as unusual as them growling at strangers, and gestures for me to follow her when I rise to my feet.

  “Every time one of our vehicles dies, my uncle strips all of the parts that he might use again. And he had a Ford about the same year as yours, so maybe there’ll be a hose that’ll fit.” She unlocks the shop door, flips on the light. “Tools over there”—she waves to one side—“parts over here. You’ll be okay digging around, looking for it?”

  Everything looks well organized. “I’ll manage.”

  She nods. “I’ll be up at the barn, getting those animals tucked in. I shouldn’t be long.”

  I watch her head off, all long legs and easy stride and sweet ass, before I pull my brain out of my dick and start searching for that hose. It takes me all of a minute before I’ve got my hands on it, then I spend a second debating whether to help her out in the barn. But some animals, especially horses, act up around me the first couple of times. I might do more harm than good.

  Fuck, but I need to help her. Somehow. She’s done me a good turn here, offering up this radiator hose and her time. And I bet she won’t take a few bucks in exchange. She’d just wave it off, say something about being neighborly.

  But I’m not feeling neighborly. I need to help her out before I go. And if it means sticking around for a few more hours, talking to her and listening to her laugh, learning more about who she is… I can’t.

  Goddammit, I can’t. And this shit was exactly what I was afraid of. This tight pain in my chest, as if the very thought of leaving rips something out of me, this desperate search for any excuse to stay. But the longer I stay, the worse it’ll likely get.

  Thelma comes trotting over, sticking her nose into my hand, whining softly. My throat’s feeling too raw to say much, so I crouch and give her a good rub. Alf joins in, both of them trying their best to lift my heart out of the shitter. Wolfkin aren’t real good at hiding what they’re feeling, because there’s no point in trying. You grow up around family who can smel
l what’s going on inside you, the same way these two dogs sense what’s going on inside me. Of course, unlike family, the dogs don’t have a clue why anyone feels like they do.

  But I don’t have a clue why Makena is affecting me like this, either, so I’m in good company.

  Since a dog’s answer to any worry is to play, soon enough Alf finds a grubby tennis ball and drops it at my feet. I oblige them by throwing it, then throwing it again—a mindless task that lets me take another, slower look around the place. Everything seems in good repair, but I don’t know of any rancher who doesn’t have a to-do list as long as their arm. A pallet of roof shingles sitting beside the barn gives me an idea of at least one of those items.

  Makena emerges from the barn a few minutes later, grinning when she sees how the dogs have roped me into a game of fetch. “I hope they let you find that hose first!” she calls across the yard.

  “I found it.” I head in her direction. “But I’ll tell you what—if this hose doesn’t do the trick and you end up towing me into town, I’ll come back tomorrow and get those new shingles up on your barn.”

  She glances back at the pallet. “You don’t need to do that.”

  Yeah, I do. “If not that, then something else. Because a tow back to town is a big owe.”

  That pretty smile curves her lips, but the shake of her head dismisses my offer in the sweetest way possible. “It’s nothing. And if that hose fits, you won’t even need a tow. So let’s get you back to your truck and find out.”

  My first thought is, Fuck my truck, but I don’t argue. I don’t say much at all as we load up in her rig—all of us. Thelma and Alf scramble up onto the seat between us and settle in, Alf with his head on my lap and gazing soulfully up at me, Thelma pushing her way in for another scratch around her ears.

  Makena snorts a little laugh as she starts up her truck. “You want me to get them off you?”

  “They’re all right.” They’d know if I wanted them off me.

  And keeping my hands busy petting them means I’m not reaching for her, which is what I’m aching to do. We head down the driveway in silence, with Makena throwing a few more glances my way before she says, “I was just thinking: if the hose doesn’t fit, it’ll make more sense to tow your truck back here instead of all the way to town. You’d fix it yourself?”

  “I would.” No point spending money paying someone else.

  “It’d be easier to fix it at my place than in the motel parking lot. Not to mention, as of today I’ve got an empty bunkhouse that you could stay overnight in”—a worried note in her voice is gone as quickly as it came—“and it’s a hell of a lot cleaner than the Ponderosa is. In the morning you could take my truck into town to get the parts you need.”

  Which all sounds as crazy as it is reasonable. She’s right that it’d be a lot easier. But she doesn’t know me from Jeffrey Dahmer. “How do you know I won’t take off in your rig?”

  She shrugs. “I figure a man who offers to spend an afternoon on the roof of a barn to repay someone for a tow isn’t going to steal a truck without feeling obligated to pay for that, too. Plus the county sheriff is one of my best friends. If you took it, I’d probably get it back.”

  I guess she’s got me there. Remembering that fleeting worry I heard, I ask, “Why is your bunkhouse empty?”

  Her face tightens, that smile going flat. “Our only remaining ranch hand left to take care of his family.” She slants a look at me. “So if you’re looking for a job, we’re hiring. Room and board included.”

  Every goddamn thing inside me rides up tight and hard. I want that job. Working with this woman, helping her day in and day out, sleeping in a bunkhouse just a few feet from her front door. And it wouldn’t be the first time I stopped for a few weeks—or a few months—to earn some cash and figure out the next steps I’ll take, looking for my family’s murderers. But I’ve got a feeling that if I stop here for any length of time, taking any steps away will be akin to ripping myself in half.

  My voice deepens as I force a reply. “I’m heading out of town in the morning.”

  Her expression doesn’t change. She continues looking out the windshield, gives a little nod. I can’t make sense of her quiet, “Probably safest for you that way,” and I don’t get a chance to ask as she pulls right up in front of my truck, so her headlights are shining into the grille. The dogs tag along at my heels as I get out, then settle at my feet when I stick my head under the hood. Makena holds a flashlight for me as I start in on the busted hose—though I don’t need the light. I can see in the dark just fine. Still, I don’t say a word to stop her. Having her so close is a fucking incredible experience. I’m not so lightheaded and dizzy now when I breathe her in. Her scent hits me as hard as it did from the first, but it’s as if I’m slowly adjusting to this new kind of air. Makena’s air. The stuff that she exhales, that her body perfumes…I’m taking it all in. And I can’t get enough of it. I want to bury my nose against her neck and between her thighs, and fill myself with her sweet fragrance.

  Instead I keep my hands busy and my mouth shut. Makena’s quiet, maybe lost in her own thoughts or assuming I need to concentrate on the job in front of me. And all the while that she’s watching me work, her gaze locked on my hands, maybe it’s just my imagination—or wishful thinking—but tension rises thickly between us, and the silence begins feeling as heavy as the hot weight of my cock.

  My voice holds the rough edge of a growl when I tighten the final clamp and ask, “Will you start her up?”

  She slides into the driver’s seat. The engine rumbles to life, and Makena comes around the front again as I search for any obvious leaks. I won’t know for sure until the engine temperature rises again but so far, so good.

  “This fix ought to get me back to town,” I tell her, but I’m thinking it could also get me back to her place, up to her room, and I could burn out the rest of the night deep inside her.

  Maybe she reads in my eyes what I didn’t say. And maybe this is just wishful thinking, too, but I swear temptation and longing sweep across her features before she tears her gaze from mine and heads to the cab of my truck.

  To get my phone, I realize when she comes back, her thumbs tapping across the screen. “I added my number to your contacts,” she says before handing me the device. “In case you don’t make it all the way back to town, now you’ve got someone to call.”

  Just that easy, she’s offering to help me again. I’ve known a lot of people in my time—some good, some bad. Knowing that Makena is one of the good ones shouldn’t feel like a kick to my chest. But it does. So my voice is gruff when I tell her, “Thanks.”

  She shrugs like it’s nothing. “It might not be much help if you break down again. There’s a lot of dead zones out here. So if you don’t want to risk that drive back to town tonight, the offer to stay at my place is still open. And you’d get breakfast in the morning.”

  Breakfast? This isn’t wishful thinking. But I want to be real damn clear. “Makena,” I say and her name feels so right on my tongue. “Are you offering me more than a bed tonight?”

  “No. Though I’ll admit that I’m tempted.” A smile wavers across her full lips before settling into a wry curve. “You push all my buttons. You’re built like a mountain, you’re good with your hands—and you rarely say more than five words at a time.”

  Shit. I know it’s for the best that she’s saying no. Yet even as her last point drags a grin from me, an ache opens up in my chest. “And your dogs like me.”

  “That, too. And you seem to like them, which is even better.” Her chin’s up, her bold gaze steady on mine. “But inviting a man back to the ranch—to my home—feels like more than a hookup. So I’ve never taken a guy home before. And I won’t start with someone who’s heading out of town tomorrow morning.”

  Jealousy claws at my gut, which is stupid for plenty of reasons. She’s all but saying that none of those men meant a damn thing to her. And I’ve got no claim on Makena, no reason to resent anyone that ev
er touched her.

  But that unfamiliar possessiveness takes hold of my mouth, anyway, because I need to know where I could have her. “Where do you take them, then?”

  “Not the Ponderosa,” she says dryly. “Because the one time I did, I’m pretty sure I got fleas.”

  I’d risk the fleas. But although asking her back to the motel might make a one-night stand easier for her, it sure as hell wouldn’t make anything easier for me. Taking Makena to bed would feel like more than a hookup no matter where I had her. Hell, just talking with her feels more meaningful than any sex I’ve ever had.

  And the sensible thing to do here is to get away before I’m in too deep to get out again. But what’s raging inside me isn’t sensible. It’s howling against the thought of driving away from her.

  But since I’ve got no other place to take her except the bed of my truck or the side of the road, there’s nothing to say except, “Fair enough.”

  She nods and takes a step back, as if preparing to leave. “That offer of a bed in the bunkhouse and breakfast still stands, though, if you want to avoid those fleas.”

  “I can’t. There’s some other business in town that I was supposed take care of tonight.” Asking around at the local bars, finding out about the Laines and that bear attack, and taking one more step toward hunting down the fuckers that killed my family. But so Makena knows that I wouldn’t be turning her down if it wasn’t something important, I add, “It’s a family obligation. That’s also why I’m leaving tomorrow.”

  “I see. Well, I don’t blame you for putting family first.” A touch of sadness softens her eyes—maybe because I’m going, maybe because of something regarding her own family, I don’t know. But the emotion’s gone as swiftly as it came. She squares her shoulders and says, “All right, then. It was good to meet you, Ethan. And maybe I’ll see you again someday.”

  She turns and heads toward her truck—and it’s instinct that sends me after her. Instinct and whatever it is that started pulling me to her after that first scent. Nothing sensible involved. She’s walking away, so I’ve got to follow. It’s that simple.