by Silver James
Tait was a heartbeat away from shifting when he recognized the sounds coming from Lauren weren’t screams of fear. Laughter? What the hell? She was shrieking in laughter.
“Stop it!” she ordered the wolfdog, breathless. “That tickles.”
Chewy licked her throat, her face, her arms. His muzzle nuzzled into her hair as her hands buried in the animal’s ruff. Tait’s wolf wanted Lauren to laugh with him, to pet him. Not the mangy half wolf. Him! And now his wolf wanted to slaughter the wolfdog for an entirely different reason. Jealous much? he chided his other half.
“Cheéte!” He barked Chewy’s Crow name.
Lauren pushed the wolfdog away and sat up. The animal immediately backed away, looking more than a little smug, and settled back on his haunches. Her mouth dropped open the moment she realized he was standing on the porch. Buck naked. Her eyes widened and her tongue took a long, languorous swipe over her top lip. His dick twitched and when those lips formed an almost perfect O, he almost went to his knees, ready to beg her to put that mouth on him.
Averting her eyes, she explained. “Sorry. I couldn’t sleep. I guess he’s…yours?” She blushed as her eyes returned, gaze roaming over him from the top of his head to his bare feet and back up. Slowly. He didn’t believe it possible, but his dick swelled larger and got even harder. He needed to fuck this woman. And fuck her now. His wolf was totally on board with that.
“Uhm,” she hummed softly. “Shouldn’t you…ah…maybe…get dressed? Or…something?”
Clothes. He needed some. Later. Because something sounded like a whole lot more fun than getting dressed. So yeah, he’d do that. Get dressed and stuff. Right after he claimed his mate.
Chapter 7
Whoa! What? Mate? No, no, no.
Tait didn’t have time for a mate. Didn’t want a mate. Moonstruck Wolves were brain dead and until Lauren was safe, he needed to keep his wits about him. Clothes. He definitely needed to put some on. He turned on his heel and bolted inside. He was a total fucking idiot. And what the hell was up with Chewy? Chewy didn’t like anyone. Cute? The mangy animal was not cute. He was half-wild, snarly, and mean. Just like him. And there was the damn thing all but begging Lauren for belly rubs. Damn woman. His inner wolf growled. The damn thing wanted belly rubs from her too.
Lauren watched him stomp into the house. Her fingers curled against her palms with the need to touch him. His butt should have odes written to it. She should stand up and follow Shooter into the house. Really she should. But her legs were quivering and there was no way she’d be able to get to her feet.
She glanced over at the dog. “So, what kind of name is Chawtay?”
She fanned her face. It wasn’t like she was a virgin, after all, but the very few men—okay two—she’d been with were nothing compared to the naked Shooter. He was…she sighed deeply. Magnificent came to mind. Not in a Greek god sculpture. Nope. All the Greek—and Roman statues she’d seen didn’t even compare to what Shooter flaunted as he’d stood there in all his natural and totally sexy glory.
Everything deeply feminine inside her was sighing or fangirl squeeing in delight. He was the kind of man Darwin’s Theory of Natural Selection was all about. This was a male who would claim his woman and after taking her until she was breathless, give her strong sons and daughters to carry on the bloodline. The dog nosed her and she pushed him away. Message received. She needed to stand up. And she needed coffee.
Tait stomped into his room and headed straight to the shower. He twisted the knobs to cold and yelped as he ducked his head under the spray. Too bad his raging hard-on didn’t get the memo. Giving up, he lathered and rinsed quickly, stepped out, dried and pulled on jeans and a shirt. He was hungry. He’d fix breakfast. Then he and Lauren would head into town. But first, coffee.
****
They’d found one thing to agree on—coffee. Lauren spent lots of time sniffing her cup to avoid the overwhelmingly powerful pull she felt to sniff Shooter. Citrus and smoke, like orange peels and fall leaves on a fire. She gulped the rest of the coffee in her cup and put distance between them while she poured a refill. “So, what’s the agenda today?”
“Shopping.”
She laughed. “Could you say that with any less enthusiasm?”
“Probably. Still needs to be done though.” The quickest trip would be to White Sulphur Springs but the county seat had less than a thousand people. As a stranger, Lauren would stick out like a sore thumb, especially since he was known around town. Nope, the best thing would be the hour and a half drive to Helena. There was a big supercenter store there. One-stop shopping—clothes for her, groceries, and a few other things he wanted to pick up.
Lauren sipped her coffee as she looked through cabinets.
“Nosy much?” Tait teased.
“I’m looking for a to-go cup.”
“Absolutely not. There’s no place to stop between here and Helena. You drink any more coffee, you’ll have to pee on the side of the road.”
“Fine.” She groused, gulping the contents of her mug and setting it in the sink. “I’ll make sure to go before we leave.”
Tait checked his watch. “You have five minutes.”
****
It took her fifteen. But he wasn’t going to mention it. Nope. Not him. He kept his mouth shut. All the way to Helena. Tait did take pity on her and stopped at the first gas station on the outskirts of Helena. She jumped out of the truck and beelined inside while he topped off the tank. He was leaning against the front fender, arms crossed over his chest when she returned. She waggled a finger just under his nose.
“Don’t you dare say I told you so.”
He smirked. “Didn’t need to. You said it for me.”
“Ooooh,” she huffed.
Letting her climb in on her own, he circled the hood and settled in the driver’s seat. “You’ll need jeans, something warm to sleep in because nights are still chilly. Find a jacket, some sweatshirts. Socks, shoes. Any toiletries you need. We’ll make a second stop to get you some boots.”
Lauren was adding up the cost as he pulled into the parking lot of the supercenter. She adjusted her costs down, recognizing the name. Shooter’s voice intruded on her calculations. “I’ve got it covered, city mouse. Get what you need—enough to last at least two weeks. I won’t be making another run before then. Understood?”
She nodded, ignoring his infuriating name for her. At least Helena could pass for civilization. It wasn’t huge by anyone standards—except maybe for native Montanans. And it was the state capitol. They walked into the store and Shooter snagged two carts. He pointed her toward the aisles filled with shampoo, toothpaste, and other necessary things. As he wheeled his cart in the opposite direction, toward the grocery area, he called over his shoulder, “Meet me in front of the checkout lanes when you’re done.”
Lauren rolled her eyes and leveled a glower at his retreating back. Then she headed toward the pharmacy and toiletries beyond. She grabbed her favorite shampoo and conditioner, some pony-tail holders and a package of headbands. Deodorant. Toothpaste. Body wash. A loofah.
As she headed toward the clothing area, she kept her eye out for Shooter. She should hurry and catch up to him to make sure he got real groceries—more than steak and potatoes. Then she decided it might be more fun to make him wait, go through his basket, and make him go back for things she liked to eat. She grabbed three pairs of jeans—having caught a glimpse of a washer and dryer at Shooter’s. Two sweatshirts, some tees, socks, underwear, and two new bras. Nothing but good ol’ cotton for her. Nothing sexy. Nuh uh. No way. She found fleece pajamas and a robe. A couple of sweaters. She splurged on a purse and as she eyed her full basket, she backtracked to the luggage department to grab a mid-sized wheeled suitcase. If Shooter McSterious thought she’d leave these clothes behind, he was sadly mistaken. She grabbed a pair of flipflops, a pair of cross-trainers, and fuzzy slippers. She found a cute pair of knee boots and grabbed them, too, despite Shooter’s order about getting her sturdy boots else
where.
She wandered through the newsstand but didn’t see any books she wanted to read. Then she remembered her eReader. She rushed to the checkout lanes but found no sign of Shooter. Good. She whipped out her reader from her backpack, turned it on, and was thrilled to discover the store’s free WiFi. Logging into her on-line book account, she started downloading books from cloud storage and scrolled through new releases. Yes! That paranormal romance she’d been excited about was out. She one-clicked to buy it.
A group of girls stopped almost in front of her and she caught their deep sighs. She glanced up, pushing her glasses higher on her nose. Not girls, women, she noted. Then she realized they were staring at a man. A tall, muscled man in butt-hugging jeans, taut T-shirt, scruffy chin, and green eyes the color of moss. Lauren shoved the eReader into her pack, letting it continue downloading books. Then she wheeled her cart toward Shooter and the women, who were slowly advancing on him. Not that she was jealous. Nuh-uh. Not at all. It wasn’t her fault that her cart bumped the one belonging to the bimbos. She snarled at the flash of amusement lighting Shooter’s eyes.
“I’m sorry. You should watch where you’re going,” she told the woman pushing the other cart. She flashed a huge smile at Shooter. “Oh, honey. You forgot the diapers and baby food.” She batted her lashes guilelessly at the women. “Twins,” she announced.
Shooter covered his laughter with a coughing fit. He’d have to watch out for his city mouse. She might turn out to have teeth and claws after all. He was enjoying the flare of jealousy in her expression and actions probably a little too much. His wolf was all but play bowing before rolling belly up. The women scowled at him like their interest was all his fault and rushed off.
He managed to get them through check-out with no further incident, though Lauren hung over his basket mentally ticking off every item he’d bought. Her concern had changed to a low-level pleasure so he’d figured out at least some of her likes.
Their next stop netted Lauren a pair of western boots and a pair of sturdy hiking boots, a canvas rancher’s coat, and several bags of feed for Tait’s horses, Chewy, and the chickens that scratched around his yard and occasionally left eggs for him—if he was quick and could beat Chewy to them. The sun set behind them as they pulled through the gate to his small ranch. A mixed herd of deer and antelope grazed on one side. His cattle and the buffalo watched them from the other side of the road.
Excited barking announced Chewy’s arrival. Tait stopped the truck and got out to lower the tailgate so the dog could jump in. Lauren peered between the seats to look out the back window, laughing at the wolfdog’s antics. Something settled in Tait’s chest. It wasn’t anything earth-shattering. In fact, if he hadn’t been paying attention, he might not have noticed the gentle push and pull, the expansion and then embrace, like a man opening his arms to welcome his lover into them.
Is this how his dad had felt, each time he came to see his mom? Like him, Hayes McCord had been a lone wolf, never settling in any one place for long. His mother, a Crow Indian, had followed the glib Irishman until Tait was a toddler. Then she came home to the reservation in Montana. His father appeared several times a year—Christmas, Tait’s birthday, and other times—stayed awhile then drifted away once more. One year, when Tait was twelve, Hayes didn’t come. The day before his birthday, Tait had watched his mother collapse. He wanted to take her to the white man’s hospital. The tribal elders told him that doctors could not fix his mother’s broken heart. Eventually, Bureau of Indian Affairs police arrived to tell Magena that her husband had been killed in an armed robbery. Tait didn’t believe them. Hayes was bigger than life. And he was a Wolf. Wolves were notoriously hard to kill.
He’d shifted for the first time then—a horrible, painful experience with no one there to help but an old medicine man who chanted and drummed as a boy’s bones and muscles twisted with excruciating agony until a wolf stood panting in his place. If it hadn’t been for the drums, Tait would never have found his way back to his humanity.
The clearing of a feminine throat brought him back to the present. He’d stopped at the house, foot jammed on the brake pedal. “Are you all right?”
He didn’t reply, opting instead to get out of the truck and grab the bags from the back seat, hauling them inside. What the hell was wrong with him? He would not mate with anyone. He’d watched his vivacious, beautiful mother wither away and die as she pined for her Wolf mate. As he’d met other Wolves, he learned the opposite was true. If a Wolf’s mate died first, he either went off the rails until he managed to get himself killed or he didn’t waste time and just committed suicide.
“Shooter?” Lauren sounded lost. “Did I do something wrong?”
He glanced over his shoulder. “No.” He gestured to the bags with her items. “Go put your stuff up. I’ll get the rest.”
****
Lauren now knew every nook and cranny of the house, the barn, the storage shed, and the garage. Well, except for Shooter’s bedroom. Not that she’d been snooping or anything. She was just bored. Anything interesting had to be hidden behind the thick wooden—and locked—barrier between her and the man’s inner sanctum. She spent a lot of time sitting either on the front porch or the back deck, often with Chewy at her feet. Shooter had taken the time to explain the wofldog’s name. Too bad he hadn’t bothered to fill her in on his real name.
She closed the cover on her eReader and stretched out her booted feet. After three days, she’d gotten used to the restrictive footwear whenever she went outdoors. Inside, she resorted to her flipflops or the fuzzy slippers because at this point, she was all about the comfort.
Shooter had offered to teach her to ride. She hadn’t run shrieking. Then he called her “city mouse” again and she’d spent ten minutes dressing him down. Much to his amusement. Hating to admit it, she’d flounced off. She watched the horses nibbling grass and resolved that she’d make friends with them. She’d show the annoying man that she could adapt. Except for the no internet access thing. She was blowing through the books she’d downloaded like the wind in the aspen trees.
The door behind her opened but she didn’t bother turning around. Shooter cleared his throat. “You up for a road trip?”
She swiveled around to face him. “Where to?”
“I need to make a run into White Sulphur Springs, about thirty miles from here. I’ll take you out to dinner.” Tait had carefully considered the pros and cons of taking her to the small town. He was fairly well known but there were enough tourists starting come in that he and Lauren could probably fly under the radar, especially if he picked a busy restaurant.
“Do I need to change?”
He eyed the tee covered by a flannel shirt—one of his and didn’t that just make his wolf all stupid happy—and jeans she wore. She had on the western boots he’d bought her. “Naw. You’ll fit right in with the locals.”
Lauren crinkled her nose and with a pert tone in her voice, asked, “What? No sly comment about me being a city mouse?”
Damn but she could be cute. He shifted slightly to ease the pressure below his belt. His first priority was to stay out of touching—and kissing—distance of the woman. Good thing his pickup was big. “You comin’, or what?”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “Was that supposed to be a double entendre?” She rocked back when she noticed the flush creeping up Shooter’s face. Now wasn’t that enlightening? That long-ago kiss hadn’t been an aberration but for some reason, he was taking great pains to stay away. She glanced down at his belt buckle and barely managed to keep her eyebrows level. They wanted to climb up her forehead in surprise. He avoided answering her question by pivoting and ducking back inside the house.
****
Tait had a bad feeling. He’d had it ever since they’d left White Sulphur Springs. His wolf paced restlessly but neither man nor beast could explain their unease. There was a lot of flat land stretching beyond the two-lane highway and not much traffic. On a hunch, he slowed down and turned off the ligh
ts. His night vision kicked in a moment later. He picked up speed.
“Uh, Shooter?” Lauren’s voice quavered. “Did something happen to the headlights?”
“I turned them off.”
“Ho-kay. Want to fill me in on why?”
“Not sure.”
“Well, that’s enlightening.” Not.
“Just a feeling.” Yeah, like that feeling on his last mission—the one that went all to hell in the space of a breath. There was one small incline on this road, with a small turnout on it. He decided to pull off.
Shooter eased off the accelerator and as the truck reached a small rise, he steered off the highway. The pickup rolled to a stop without him hitting the brakes. He put the transmission in park. Lauren watched him through worried eyes.
“I want to check six,” he said, exiting. Legs braced, he stared back toward the soft glow of lights on the horizon. White Sulphur Springs. There were no lights on the highway. Which was all kinds of wrong. Granted, the highway wasn’t heavily traveled but locals used it, along with the occasion semi truck. The long ribbon of asphalt almost glittered beneath the nearly full moon. The night was cold and clear and his preternatural hearing could pick up sounds from miles away. No engine or man-made noise dogged their back trail. Panting from a human still unaccustomed to walking in high altitude was a different story. He didn’t turn around to look at her.
Lauren stopped next to him, gulping air, her breath puffing like a little steam engine. “Anything?”
“Nope. Looks like we’re clear.” But if they were, why was his wolf still antsy? Why was he?
“That’s a good sign, right?”
He hoped so, but no one had ever accused him of being an optimist. “Maybe.” He cocked his head, listening. He wouldn’t put it past those Black Root bastards to track them using a drone. But how? They’d have to locate Lauren somehow. He’d taken pains—except for the trip to Helena and now White Sulphur Springs, to keep her out of sight. Though the lights were off when he pulled off the road, they’d still be visible to a drone equipped with FLIR.