by Dakota West
“People, man,” he said. “Well, that was the most exciting part of my week.”
“Thanks for coming,” Elliott volunteered.
Greta was staring at the burned husk of her car, like she was seeing it for the first time.
“Shit,” she said. “That’s my car.”
Shane and Elliott both looked at her, then at each other.
“He set my car on fire,” Greta said, disbelief still in her voice. “I’m going to murder him.”
The fireman made a sympathetic face.
“Good luck with your insurance, ma’am,” he said.
Then the firemen got back into their truck and drove away, leaving the three of them standing next to the black shell.
“Come on,”Shane said, wrapping an arm around Greta. “Let’s go back inside.”
“That asshole,” she said, but let herself be led back up the front stairs.
Once there, she wrapped a blanket around herself and paced the living room floor, muttering to herself, half about the ways she was going to murder Zeke and half about her insurance.
Then, she stopped.
“I’m sorry about your driveway,” she said.
Shane just laughed out loud.
“It’s a driveway,” he said. “I’m just glad he didn’t torch the house.”
Greta looked like the thought hadn’t occurred to her yet.
“Good point,” she said.
“Come to bed,” Elliott said.
“I should go home,” Greta said. “I’ve got to get up and call my insurance company in the morning, then go down to the police station and give a statement, and there’s a delivery coming to the bar and last time they fucked it up so I want to be there—“
Shane bent down and kissed her on the mouth, hard.
“You can get up early here,” he murmured.
Greta took a deep breath, then exhaled.
“I’m really sorry he almost set your house on fire,” she said.
Elliott shook his head. “Not your fault,” he reassured her.
“You don’t mind if I stay over?” Greta asked. “Really?”
Shane fought the urge to laugh out loud.
“Of course not,” he said.
“It’s that or a taxi,” Elliott teased.
She stuck her tongue out at him.
“All right,” she said. “Thanks.”
Elliott led the way upstairs.
Epilogue
Greta
“Buy you a drink?” the wolf offered to the blond college-age girl sitting next to him at the bar.
She smiled and batted her eyes. Washing glasses down at the end of the bar, Greta just sighed.
These sorority types from Cascadia State were a little irritating, but she was starting to get used to them. This one had been here a couple of times, and Greta had to admit that she seemed perfectly nice.
Also, she kept getting drinks bought for her, and not $3 Bud Lights either.
“Sure,” the girl said.
Since she was half-listening in anyway, Greta came over and leaned on the bar.
“What can I get you?” she asked the girl.
The girl cast a quick look at the wolf, probably taking in his gray eyes and long sideburns. Technically speaking, Houston was a handsome guy, not that Greta was interested.
“How about a buttery nipple?” the girl asked, letting a smile turn up the corners of her mouth.
The wolf just grinned with the grin of a man who knew how his night was about to go.
“Sure thing,” Greta said.
Then she turned away so the girl wouldn’t see her roll her eyes, and grabbed a couple of bottles of liquor, almost at random, since she didn’t really know what was in a buttery nipple and wasn’t going to put the effort into finding out.
She just wanted to say ‘Buttery Nipple’ out loud, Greta thought. All she wants in a drink is liquor.
She poured Amaretto, grenadine, vodka, and a tiny bit of butterscotch schnapps into a double shot glass and handed it to the girl.
“Your tab?” she asked Houston.
He just nodded.
“Where’s Jack?” Greta asked.
“He’ll be here in a couple minutes,” Houston said.
Then he winked at the girl, who’d turned pink. Greta turned to ring up the order.
“I don’t think butter is the best choice for a nipple,” Houston said, looking down at the girl.
Greta had to fight not to wrinkle her nose in front of them.
As she rang up the sale, the door swished open, and Elliott and Shane walked in.
“Hey there,” Greta said, an uncontrollable grin breaking over her face. It had been six months since their first date, but her heart still thumped in her chest whenever they walked into a room.
“Hey yourself,” said Shane. “How’s it going?”
“Can’t complain,” Greta said. “Want a drink?”
“Can I have the bartender?” asked Elliott, settling onto a stool.
Greta rolled her eyes at him.
“I bet you use that line on all the bartenders,” she teased.
“Just the pretty ones,” he said.
“We got that juniper IPA in,” she said. “Want to try it?”
“Sure,” Elliott said.
“The usual?” she asked Shane, and he just nodded. Greta grabbed their drinks, then came over to stand with them at the bar.
“You guys smell like curry,” she said. “You go for indian food?”
“Oh, I nearly forgot,” said Shane, a glint in his eye. “I brought you something.”
He lifted a lunch bag onto the counter and put it in front of Greta, who clapped her hands in delight.
“I love it when you bring me dinner,” she said.
She opened the bag and just inhaled.
“Yesss,” she said, her eyes closing. “Where’s it from?”
“Our kitchen,” Shane said.
She pulled tupperware out of the bag, along with a spoon and fork. She wanted to hop from foot to foot in excitement — Shane’s Mumbai curry took him all day to make, and it was mindblowing.
“Oh! I almost forgot,” she said, pulling the lid off the container. “My real estate agent gave a showing today, and she said the people were really interested. Even talked about putting in an offer.”
“That’s great!” Elliott said. “I told you that house wouldn’t be on the market for two weeks.”
“Don’t count your chickens and all that,” Greta said.
She pushed the fork into the tupperware and took a huge bite of the curry, then didn’t say anything as she chewed and swallowed, savoring it.
“How is it?” asked Shane.
“Awesome,” said Greta, already lifting another forkful to her mouth.
“We’re gonna have to move again,” Elliott said to Shane.
“You don’t have to move,” Greta said around a mouthful of curry. “I have to move.”
“Sure,” said Elliott, a teasing smile on his face. “We’ll just sit on the front porch and sip lemonade as you carry your couch up the stairs.”
Greta swallowed.
“Speaking of carrying things,” she said, “could one of you go grab another keg of Newcastle for me from the cellar?”
“I’ve seen you lift those things, no problem,” Shane said.
“I like watching you do it,” she said, grinning.
Shane grumbled, but he went to the back of the bar and descended the stairs. A few moments later, he came back up, a full keg on his shoulder.
Balancing it carefully, he lifted the bar counter, walked through, and set the keg on the floor, muscles tensing and rippling as he did.
“Thanks,” Greta said.
He walked up behind her, put his arms around her, and gave her a big, loud kiss on the cheek as Greta laughed.
The bar patrons all pretended not to notice. They saw a lot of this sort of thing, and while they were slightly suspicious of the newcomers, and didn’t understand El
liott’s job even a little, most were pleased to see Greta so happy.
“Unprofessional,” Greta said, still laughing.
“I’m not the one who’s at work,” Shane responded, rubbing his face against her neck.
“You two are embarrassing,” teased Elliott.
“Okay, unhand me so I can eat,” Greta said, and Shane let her go, walking back around the bar to the other side. “You guys should bring me dinner every night.”
“You should hire someone to work the bar so I can cook for you at home every night,” Shane retorted.
Greta stuck her tongue out at her mates, then took another bite of curry.
“We’ll see,” she said, a smile tugging at her lips.
The End
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Shifter Country Wolves
Book One: Running With Wolves
Book Two: Betting On Wolves
Coming August 7
Book Three: Fighting For Wolves
Coming August 14
Book Four: Uncaging Wolves
Coming August 21
Book Five: Longing For Wolves
Coming August 28
Shifter Country Bears
Read the whole series!
Book One: A Bear’s Protection
Book Two: A Bear’s Nemesis
Book Three: A Bear’s Mercy
Book Four: A Bear’s Journey
Book Five: A Bear’s Secret
Copper Mesa Eagles
Book One: Predator
Coming September 4
Book Two: Prey
Coming September 11
Book Three: Pariah
Coming September 18
Contemporary Romance Novels
(As Roxie Noir)
The Savage Wild
An Enemies-to-Lovers Romance
The Dirtshine Trilogy: Rockstar Romance
Never Enough (Dirtshine Book 1)
Always You (Dirtshine Book 2)
Ever After (Dirtshine Book 3)
Slow Burn
A Bodyguard Romance
Torch
A Second Chance Romance
Convict
A Criminal Romance
Reign
A Royal Romance
Ride
A Cowboy Romance
Loaded
An Enemies-to-Lovers Romance
EXCERPT: Chapter One of Betting On Wolves
Houston
The gate opened, and the kid on the steer busted out of the corral and onto the sand-covered arena. All the spectators held their breaths at once, a hush falling over the crowd.
The clock ticked. Houston was so close that he could hear the animal’s hooves pounding against the sand as it bucked and twisted, running and leaping, going hell-for-leather to get his rider off.
Next to him, his mate Jack let out a long, low whistle.
“Kid’s good,” he said to Houston. The two of them were standing up against the barrier, as close to the action as they could get these days.
“He is,” said Houston, his own eyes glued to the action. The kid couldn’t have been more than twenty, maybe twenty-one, and now he was starting to slip off the steer, his face a vision of concentration and agony.
The clock hit eight seconds. The kid tilted more and more. Nine seconds and he was thrown, landing hard but then rolling over all in one motion, getting on his feet and running like hell for the safety of the corral.
Gracefully, the rodeo clown swooped in to distract the steer, while a couple of cowboys waiting in the wings roped it.
Jack and Houston both exhaled at the same time, and the buzz of the crowd crescendoed again as people began to stand from their seats, coming down out of the bleachers.
Jack was grinning, shaking his head, beer in his hand as he leaned against the concrete barrier between himself and the arena.
“The steers they got these days,” he said. “I wouldn’t last two seconds on one of them.”
“Well, not now,” said Houston, nodding at the arena. “These guys are nineteen, twenty? You’re old enough to realize you’re gonna die someday.”
Jack chuckled.
“Don’t look so worried,” Jack said, a sparkle coming into his bright green eyes as the skin around them crinkled, just slightly. “Every time I think of getting back on one of those things, my ribs start hurting all over again.”
Houston took a long drink of his own beer, draining the flimsy plastic cup.
“Good,” he said, and then tossed it in a trash can five feet away, right in front of a blond woman wearing a tight white denim jacket, curls cascading down her back. She wore some of the tightest pants he’d ever seen.
Houston turned back to his mate, Jack’s eyes still on the blond.
Glad we’re on the same page, he thought wickedly. They usually were, especially when it came to women.
“Promise?” Houston asked, grinning.
“Promise,” Jack said, grinning back.
Houston kissed him hard, grabbing Jack’s belt and tugging the other man’s hips against his own.
“Disgusting,” said a fat, older woman as she walked by, giving them a death stare.
“Right in public like that,” said the man with her, who looked like he’d been muscular at some point maybe twenty years earlier.
Houston pulled back. The blond woman had walked behind him, and he could see Jack’s eyes tracking her as he thought.
“Nah,” Jack finally said. “I think she’s got a wedding ring on.”
Houston turned to take a look at the same time that she peeked back at them, a faint blush on her cheeks. The moment she saw Houston looking at her she turned her head back around quickly, putting one manicured hand on the arm of the guy next to her.
Houston shrugged at Jack.
“Her loss,” he said.
“Let’s go find another drink,” Jack said. “Plenty of women in Vegas, right?”
They sauntered out of the enormous arena, following the crowd of people out onto the sidewalk, then into the main casino. Even though it was barely 6 p.m., it always felt like midnight in a casino to Houston, with all the flashing lights and loud noises. Casinos never had windows or clocks, after all — part of their strategy to make people gamble more.
Jack nodded at a bar in the middle of the casino floor, filled with people who’d just been at the rodeo sitting on plush leather chairs and laughing at the tops of their lungs, jeans and cowboy boots everywhere.
“I got my fill of cowgirls the last couple nights, to be honest,” Houston said.
Not that he hadn’t enjoyed it. The blond two nights ago, the one with the cute accent and cowboy boots who’d handed Jack her panties, then winked and walked to the women’s bathroom? He’d forgotten her name already, but he’d sure enjoyed their time together.
The brunette with dark eyes, olive skin, and a definite twang to her speech the night before? Bella, or Beatrice, or something? It turned out she’d always wanted two men at once, and Houston and Jack were more than happy to oblige.
Jack nodded, his eyes lingering on a girl wearing a plaid shirt tied around her midsection and cutoff shorts. Houston understood every inch of Jack’s look, the unnameable hunger behind his green eyes: despite trying harder than anyone they knew, they still hadn’t found their mate.
Well, trying was a generous term. Since they’d met in their mid-twenties, they’d always assumed that, sooner or later, one of their conquests would turn out to be their mate, and then they’d settle down with her.
Only, that hadn’t happened. All the other wolf shifters in their pack were happily mated, getting married, expecting, and Houston and Jack felt stuck in the same pattern they’d been holding for years. They’d briefly tried dating, even internet dating, but it had never gone well. Besides, they had a bit
of a reputation back in Rustvale.
Houston was starting to think that she didn’t exist. Part of him just wished that he could somehow know that she didn’t, so he could go ahead and settle down with Jack on their ranch instead of constantly wondering whether they’d find her.
They walked back outside into the cool desert air, the neon everywhere making the street nearly as bright as day. Jack nodded at a casino with a replica Eiffel tower standing outside it, then looked at Houston.
“That looks like a classy place,” he said. “Want to give it a shot?”
“Why not,” said Houston.
Inside, they sauntered over to the casino bar, got two Jack Daniels on the rocks, and turned to watch the floor.
Cocktail waitresses walked around, but Houston and Jack hated to bother someone who was at work. As his eyes roved over the casino floor — maybe a redhead tonight? — Jack elbowed him in the side.
A gaggle of girls, five strong, was walking across the casino floor, laughing and giggling to each other. One of them spied Houston and Jack, standing there, then said something to her friends. Moments later, all five were whispering and giggling to each other, tottering on their too-high heels, their hips wiggling back and forth in their tight dresses.
Obviously, they were going somewhere. Dinner and a club, most likely.
The girls changed course, coming toward the bar. They were all human, which didn’t surprise Houston at all. Human girls were always the curious ones, the ones who felt especially naughty going to bed with two wolf shifters at once. Shifter women didn’t need to get drunk in Las Vegas to find shifter men for their fantasies.