by J. L. Madore
I rode to the barn, Cowboy’s mother bumping and bouncing along behind the horse at a healthy clip. Sure, I could Flash her inside as I did with Hannah, but I wasn’t feeling that charitable. A few bruises would do her good. After what Cowboy suffered, it was the least she deserved.
I steered Hannah’s horse into an empty stall. There was fresh water in his bowl, and I dished a healthy scoop of feed into the trough. I’d come back and unsaddle him once I took care of the other honey-do items on the list.
After securing the stall latch, I closed the barn up.
I Flashed the wolf’s mother inside the drive shed and threw a couple of old horse blankets into the large cage built into the corner. After setting up a heat lamp to keep her from freezing, I Flashed back to the house to check on Hannah.
Still out.
Stepping over to the stone hearth, I started a fire. Once the wood crackled, I got Chief settled next to her and headed back to the scene of carnage.
This was going to be a bitch.
I peeled off my leather jacket and tossed it to the snow, then drove the metal blade of the shovel an inch into the frozen earth.
January digging—fun.
Most people thought that being a warrior to the god of gods was an enviable position filled with perks. I swung the shovel and dumped the teaspoon of soil I managed to unearth. In actuality, the perks were few and far between. Being a Talon Enforcer meant sweat or blood most days. Somedays, like this one, it meant both.
I fingered the damp hole in my side where the timber wolf caught me with a lucky claw. The stab wound from earlier had opened and now bled through the bandaging.
Perfect.
And Kobi said I didn’t know how to party.
Getting nowhere with the solid ground, I switched to Plan B. I Flashed the dead wolves behind the barn and started with the digging again. The slightly frozen crust on the manure pile was infinitely more obliging than frozen ground. It took no time at all to bury Hannah’s dead attackers under a heaping pile of shit.
Karma was real.
Hannah came awake with a start and stilled. How did she get to the couch? Who took off her boots and coat? Her body ached as if she’d been trampled. She remembered the tackle off Whisky Jack. The fall. The attack. Where was Carter? Cradling her wrist, she swung her feet to the floor and had to stop while the world spun. Was he in the house? Riley!
On the coffee table beside her sat a bottle of painkillers, a glass of water, and her Colt. She went for the gun. It hurt like a bugger, but she managed to release the magazine and check. Still loaded.
An icy chill shot up the back of her neck. She rose unsteady, shuffling her socks against the old wood floor. Stumbling down the back hall, she closed the distance to the bedroom across the hall from hers.
Please, please, pleeeease, let her be all right.
Listing to the side, Hannah braced her good arm against the wall to stay upright. Riley’s door was closed as she liked it. She turned the old glass knob and from the light of the descending moon, found her sister starfished and sprawled across her bed as always.
Except, it wasn’t as always. Someone was in her house.
Closing the door, she lifted her gun, checked her bedroom, and then started a room-by-room search toward the front of the house. When she made it back to the open concept country kitchen/living room, she noticed the fireplace. Alit with the glow of orange flames, the living room welcomed her with an unsettling warmth considering the situation.
She studied the rounded mound of dark fur in front of the fireplace. Chief was sawing logs, his feet twitching as he chased dream livestock around the fields. How could he be sleeping? Her collie was much too protective to ignore an intruder. Did Carter leave her there and go?
Why? She was sure he would kill her.
Confused, Hannah sat back on the couch. She bumped her hand on the edge of the pine table, and the knock sent a surge of agony up her arm. When the tears stopped stinging, she focused on the acetaminophen and water set out.
She swallowed four extra-strength tablets and clicked on the lamp. There. Sitting in the shadows of the corner.
Him.
Their gazes locked and his expression hit, his midnight-blue eyes as cold and volatile as the winter storm outside. Anguish squeezed her lungs. Not a gentle squeeze, like the frail hug her dad had given her before he passed. A sharp, suffocating squeeze. Like her horse bucking and collapsing across her chest, crushing her against the unforgiving ground.
He was the very last person she expected to find in her home—the last person she wanted to confront as her entire body relived the trauma of her attack.
“Get out.”
Hannah leaned deeper into the back of the couch and crossed her arms. A wave of panic hit, and it had nothing to do with the events of the night. She reclaimed the blanket that had covered her and breathed past the heaviness pressing on her chest. “I said, get out. I don’t want you here—Steve.”
He rose, like a dark lion stretching in the moonlight. She hoped he might respect her wishes. Instead, he stopped at the island and poured a cup of tea.
She didn’t think it would be that easy—never was with him. But tea? Really? Did he really think he could disappear for three years and patch things up with Earl Gray?
As she scrambled around in her empty head, watching him go through the milk and sugar motions, she couldn’t decide which was worse. The fact that he remembered how she liked it, or that he looked so calm when everything inside her circled in a torrent of emotion.
Dependent, weeping women who pined over the man who broke their heart made her sick. She owed him nothing. He left her. No explanation. No looking back.
No emotion showed on his harsh features, yet still, her adrenaline flared. With one brooding glance, her body lit with both anxiety and anticipation. It was always like that with him. One touch. One look. One step toward her and she was scrambling. As if on cue, he headed over with the tea.
It wasn’t just herself she needed to protect this time around. She raised the gun. “Stay away from me.”
Fury swept through her, strengthening her instincts of self-preservation. He had almost destroyed her. Not again. She was good on her own. They were good. The gun weighed heavily in her hand. What was she doing?
With the chaos of the night, maybe hysteria had set in.
She waved the barrel, and the man of her sexy nightmares stopped his approach halfway between her and the kitchen. Amusement crinkled the corners of his eyes, but he honored her wishes and waited for her to decide what to do.
What would she do? She wasn’t about to shoot him for blowing her off—that was crazy. She felt a little crazy.
Okay, a lot crazy.
He studied her. Gawd, he had that see-right-through-you gaze she hated so much. “Stop looking at me like that. Eyes on the floor.”
His acquiescence didn’t fool her. An alpha male like him—driven and fueled by enough testosterone to choke a horse—only rolled over when he wanted to. He was letting her win. An apology, maybe?
She didn’t need it. Didn’t want it.
Still, her brain didn’t muddle up so badly when he wasn’t looking at her. At well over six foot and carrying the weight to fill out his muscled frame, he didn’t fit a standard definition of handsome. No, that wasn’t exactly true. He was brutally handsome—emphasis on brutal—as well as intensely masculine. Rugged. Chiseled. Strong.
The first time she’d seen him strutting down sunlit Main Street, with his dark-hair, dark-eyes, and covered in black leather and tattoos, he’d scared the bejeebers out of her. She’d darted into the hardware store to clear his path and hidden behind a rack of rope, tape, and fasteners.
When he answered her ad for a summer farmhand, he’d stood in the barn, and she’d had no place to run. She’d fallen for the man behind the aggression, and even though she accepted and adored him, he still didn’t let her in.
Men. Always guarding their emotions like dark secrets tucked away
in the back a of drawer.
He killed Carter. The realization popped into her head. She didn’t know how she knew, but she did. Something sharper and more biting than alarm pierced Hannah’s chest—indignation and fury stabbed her deep and hot. She’d been saved by him, by the man who all but killed her himself three years ago.
The lethal air that once scared her to death worked in her favor tonight. He’d come back from whatever hole he’d been hiding in and rescued her. She gave herself a quick inward shake. “Thanks for the save, but I asked you to leave.”
He straightened, standing directly in front of her. Looming large, she felt the heat coming off him and the warmth of his breath. The smile curving his full lips looked no friendlier than he did. He set her tea down, lifted his hands, and—
She looked away. With her attention solidly focused on the things he’d set out for her on the coffee table, she threw him her frostiest look. “So, you break into my house and, while I lay helpless and vulnerable, you raid my medicine chest? I don’t know why I have to say this, but you’re no longer welcome in my personal space.”
He gave her a sardonic smile, and it didn’t matter that he didn’t speak, she knew what he was thinking. It wasn’t like he hadn’t been in her bedroom or that bathroom before. How many nights had they enjoyed that big four-poster bed? How many mornings had they played in the shower together?
She couldn’t think about that.
Her gaze dropped to his shirt hanging damp and pasted against his side. Was he hurt? Her foolish, pounding heart tangled in her chest. No. Stop. She didn’t care. “Please, go. I’m too tired, and in too much pain to deal with you tonight.”
He signed something, but she didn’t look. She wanted to, and that made her more annoyed with herself. She had to be careful. She needed boundaries. Riley needed her to safeguard their future more than Hannah needed to cozy up to her most amazing mistake ever.
Images she’d locked away broke loose and reminded her how amazing. Wrestling in the hayloft, cooling off in the creek during long rides checking fences, picnic blankets under the willow. The man might not speak, but he had heightened ways of communicating.
She got up to pace. Focus.
To keep from dwelling on her weakness for him, she let loose the questions crashing around in her head. “What happened with Carter and that wolf? Where’s Myra? How much trouble am I in? Why are you here? Now? Tonight?”
He curled his lip and got his hands moving. Last one first. You’re too reckless to keep yourself safe. Why the fuck would you challenge Weres alone at night? Are you crazy? You find two dead, and you go looking for the third?
He didn’t need a voice for her to hear the tone. She pointed a finger at his solid chest. “First off, the curse jar still has your name on it. Secondly, you don’t get to judge me after you up and disappeared. I searched for you, you know? That’s when I found out that everything you told me was a lie. Your childhood in New York, serving in the forces, even your name was a lie, Steve.”
At least he had the decency to look contrite. That was for your protection as much as mine.
Yeah, right. “You lied about everything and used me.”
Bullshit. I kept my deets private but everything that happened between us was honest, and you know it.
She backed away, needing distance. Her headache gained ground from a steady beat to a throbbing drum. She wanted to lock herself in her room and lie down. “What world do you live in where your name is a personal detail you can’t share with your lover?”
One hint, it’s not the same world as the one you live in.
He’d given her the “our worlds are different” speech the day before he left. It was a cop-out then. It was a cop-out now. His rant from a moment ago played back in her mind. He’d said, challenge Weres alone at night. “How do you know about Werewolves and what I did? Are you spying on me?”
If I were, you wouldn’t be nursing a broken hand.
“Yet you end up here at the very minute I need help?”
He scowled. I’m just that fucking good.
“Watch your tone. You don’t want to take me on tonight.” She huffed and swept the muzzle of her gun toward the door. “I’m not the girl I was three years ago. I don’t accept hedging or half-truths from anyone. Either tell me what’s going on or go and never come back.”
A glint of fire flashed in his eyes, and she read the threat. Her heartbeat picked up in her chest, her trembling body responding to his broody gruffness more than it should. Getting thrown off Whisky rattled more than her teeth.
You’re swaying, doc. You need to lay down and rest.
The endearment chipped away at her shield, and she fortified her resolve. “I need to get the cattle in before the storm hits full-on. That’s why I was out there at three in the morning in the first place. I got them rounded into the inner-paddock, but they can’t stay out.”
You’re in no shape to herd cattle.
“Tell that to my cattle. They’ll die if it’s as bad out there as they’re predicting. Unlike you, I don’t walk away and leave collateral damage behind.”
He almost caught his reaction. The subtle recoil and tightening of his jaw were visible because she knew him as well as she did.
Fine. You rest, I’ll bring them in.
“I don’t need you to do my chores. I’m—”
Yeah, yeah, you’re all that and more, but right now, you’ve got a broken wrist and were knocked off your horse, and almost killed. Get into bed. I’ve got this.
Part of her ached and wanted a hot bath. Another part of her—a part she didn’t want to look at too closely—thought it served him right to be out in the cold. Not that he could make amends. “Do you even remember how to work the herd?”
I remember how to work everything on this ranch.
He pegged her with a gaze so heated, she looked away. “Well, you worked me over like a pro.”
He shifted to get back into her line of sight. A genuine level of sorrow clouded his expression. I’m sorry I left, doc. Seriously, I regret it every fucking day.
Tired and a little woozy, she set down the gun, picked up her tea, and returned to the couch. The mug warmed her hand as she sipped against the rim. “After I found out everything you told me was a lie, you stopped mattering to me. You can stop regretting it—or let it eat at you. I don’t care.”
Let me explain.
“Why? I won’t believe anything you say.”
Hannah, on my honor as a soldier, I will never lie to you again. Not a half-truth. Not an omission for your own good. Nothing but the god’s honest from now on. My work is done, my reason for leaving resolved. I’m here because I want to be, and I’m not going anywhere until you hear me out.
She didn’t believe him. Sure, he sounded sincere, but the only person she could truly afford to believe in was herself—and Riley. The rest of the world paled in importance. “Okay, have your say. The first time I catch you in a lie, you’re out the door and out in the cold.”
He swallowed. Understood.
“Then tell me everything. Who you really are. Why you’re here. Where you went. Why you came back. All of it.”
He scowled. It’s late, and you’ve had a bad night. I’ll answer three questions and then you’re lying down. The rest will wait until tomorrow.
She laughed. “Assuming you’re still here.”
I’ll be here.
“That remains to be seen.”
He pulled the club chair around to face her. Go ahead—first question.
Was he serious? Her mind whirled with a dozen things she needed to know, but she started with something simple. Something that meant nothing and yet meant everything to her. “What’s your name? Your real name.”
His scowl deepened.
She didn’t care if he hated talking about himself, this would test whether or not he was capable of telling the truth. If it made him uncomfortable—all the better.
My birth name was Krastos, but I discarded it when my twi
n brother killed our mother, tortured me, and left me for dead. I adopted the name Savage ever after.
His brother what? The vulnerability in his eyes told her he wasn’t making that up. Okay, she’d circle back to the horrors of childhood later. Savage? That’s an adjective, not a name. Okay, two more questions. “How did you know to come here tonight?”
You called Cowboy’s phone and left a message with the details of your sitch. He wasn’t around, so I intercepted the follow-up order.
“Waylon?”
We know him as Cowboy. Where I’m from, almost everyone left one life behind to begin another.
For some reason, the idea that Waylon reinvented himself made her both happy and sad. She didn’t blame him for starting over, but there was at least one person in Woodsboro Creek that cared for him and always would.
Maybe two, with the addition of Savage. If he was capable of caring for someone. He was a soldier first. If duty called, he’d be up and gone. She wouldn’t delude herself into forgetting that. “All right, what are you here to do?”
Whatever is necessary to keep you safe. He didn’t conceal the lethal threat in his words.
“Us safe. Me and Waylon’s mother, right?”
You’re out of questions, but I’ll give you that one for nothing. Cowboy’s mother doesn’t figure into my concerns. If she survives, fine, but if wolves huff and puff and threaten to blow your house in, I’ll point them to the drive shed and give her up in a heartbeat.
“Waylon won’t approve of that.”
If it comes down to you or her, he absolutely will.
Her tea had cooled enough that she could swallow it without burning her tongue. “What makes you think so?”
Ste—Savage leaned over the back of the chair and shrugged. When we sign up for service, we each name anyone who matters from our previous life. It’s a watchlist to ensure those left behind are safe. There is one person on Cowboy’s list. You’re the only person we’re supposed to keep safe.
She shook her head and set her mug on the coffee table. “I’ve known Waylon since we were kids. Somewhere deep inside, he cares if his mother lives or dies.”