Shame the Devil (Portland Devils Book 3)

by Rosalind James

  “Oh—hic—shoot,” she said on a gasp. “This isn’t how I—hic—planned this to go.”

  “Glass of water?” Kris asked the barman, and when it came, he told Jennifer, “Sip it slow. Take your time. I’ll go deliver these, and then I’m right back with you. We’ve got nowhere to go but here, so just relax and take it easy, and when those hiccups are gone? You can tell me that wolf story.”

  When Harlan got to the table with the drinks, Dyma jumped up and said, “I should go talk to my mom. Owen says I was a jerk.”

  “I didn’t say that,” Owen said. “I said it came out wrong.” His tone was mild, the way he talked when he was running his football camp for kids, not the way he’d talk to a rookie. Which was good, if it meant he was treating her like a kid. Eighteen might be legal, but it sure as hell wasn’t twenty-one. A guy could get confused, because she sure was cute, but Harlan had three little sisters. Eighteen wasn’t twenty-one.

  Harlan said, “I’ll tell her. Hey, Owen, want to see if they’ve got a table for us in there? Ten minutes?”

  “You bet,” Owen said.

  Jennifer was half off her stool when he headed back to the bar, looking over at the table, at her daughter, but when he slid in beside her and said, “Hiccups gone?” She sat down again.

  “Yes,” she said. “I can’t believe the classiness of me. I told you about the bruise on my butt. I got the hiccups.”

  “Yeah,” he said, “but you also talked to that kid. I realize, looking back, what you did there. De-escalation. Did you think I was going to deck his dad? I wanted to, I’m not lying. What a gold-plated tool. But you were right. No point.”

  “And I was fifteen when I got pregnant with Dyma.” She looked him straight in the eye. “And sixteen when I had her.”

  “You say that like I should have an opinion about it,” he said. “Looks to me like you’ve done a pretty good job raising her.”

  “Really?” She set an elbow on the bar and shoved a hand into her curls. The corkscrews looked shiny and soft. He’d bet they felt that way, too. “I hope so. She can be a challenge. I had help, though. My grandpa. My mom, though she’s gone now. They were great.”

  “But not her dad.” He didn’t know why he was pursuing it. Because he wanted to know, he guessed.

  She went stiff. He said, “You don’t have to answer that. What am I doing? I’m supposed to be a whole lot smoother than this.”

  “Oh?” she asked, rallying with what he could tell was an effort. “I was right, then, about the ‘Trust me’ thing?”

  “Aw, hell,” he said. “Probably.” And she laughed, which was better.

  “Tell me about the wolf encounter instead,” he suggested. “I guess I’m interested in that partly because of this thing I read. Coffee-table book in the room, about all the Indian tribes who lived here, or who passed through, because it was a destination for about six of them. Made me think, when I was out there today. How it feels here … it’s full of shadows, isn’t it? All those people, all gone now. Now it’s like Sea World, everybody coming to look at the attractions and leaving again with their pictures. But it wasn’t like that before.”

  “Tell me.” She had a faraway look in her eyes now. He wanted to keep that look there.

  “You first,” he said.

  “Oh. Well, it was just what Dyma said. We were about halfway up this trail, and we came around a corner and saw two wolves, right across the river, feeding on an elk carcass. Which wasn’t nearly as far away as you’d think. More like across the room, and disturbing an animal with a kill … that isn’t good. I don’t really know how to ski, and I had to get out of those … those tracks they have on ski trails and grab Dyma, and I …” She clutched her glass tighter. “It was pretty scary. One of the wolves was big and brown. It was huge. But the other one … It was white, and it seemed … in charge, somehow. It turned and looked at us. It looked at me. It started to cross the river toward us, and I was so scared. I told Dyma to back up, to get going, but I couldn’t do it myself. Bad skier, like I told you, and anyway … it was like I was frozen. It didn’t cross the river, though. It just stood there and looked at me. And I think … I don’t know how I could tell. But I think its eyes were blue.”

  She shivered, a long, rolling shudder. He was getting fear. He was. But he was getting something else, too.

  Fascination. The kind of pull when you knew it was dangerous, you knew it was wrong, and you wanted it anyway.

  That kind of fascination didn’t necessarily end well. But how could you resist that ride?

  He said, “So what did you do?”

  “Once they went back to the elk, I did turn around. I told Dyma to ski fast, and I skied as fast as I could myself, even though I knew it wasn’t anything like as fast as a wolf can run. I told myself I’d fight if they came after me. That I’d hold them off as long as I could. At least it would distract them. That’s all I could think to do.” She tried to smile. “And I tried not to fall down.”

  His chest hurt, and somehow, he was taking her hand. It turned in his, and he looked into those golden eyes, at all the honesty and all the emotion there. Like he could see into the heart that had held only had one thought: to hold those wolves off so her daughter could escape. He said, “It really did feel like you could have died.”

  “It did, even though I don’t think wolves attack people. I mean, I’ve read that they don’t. But it felt … intense. Why did it look at me for so long, if it wasn’t thinking about attacking me?”

  He frowned. “Wait. How long is that trail?”

  “Uh … the guy at the ski shop said four miles one way? Four and a half? Something like that. But we didn’t get all the way up it.”

  “Jennifer. It was nearly starting to get dark when we met you. And it had started to snow.”

  “Oh.” She got still again. “You’re right. Well, that was … really stupid. The guy at the shop said we’d have plenty of time to get up there and back. He made it sound quick. I guess it depends how fast you ski.”

  He was still holding her hand. She didn’t make a move to pull it away, so he kept hold of it. He said, “Maybe what you felt wasn’t the real danger at all. Maybe the wolf did you a favor, getting you to turn back.”

  They’d have been alone out there otherwise, in the dark. Even if they’d had lights with them, skiing after dark here would be more than dangerous.

  It wasn’t so much the animals, or even the geysers with their near-boiling water. It was the disorientation, the impossible burden of being outdoors, in an unfamiliar place, amidst swirling snow, darkness, and cold. He was from North Dakota. He knew about snowstorms, and he knew about cold.

  They wouldn’t have come back from that.

  “Boy, do I feel dumb,” she said, and now, she did pull her hand away. “I didn’t know how slowly we’d ski, and I’m from a different time zone. But that’s no excuse.”

  She was looking upset, like she was imagining the same scenario he was. She and Dyma huddled in the snow in the freezing dark with no idea where the lodge was, Jennifer holding her daughter close, trying desperately to keep her warm, knowing that morning wouldn’t come soon enough.

  He said, “You know that thing I was reading?”

  “About the Indians?” He could practically see her yanking her mind away from disaster.

  “Yeah. The Mountain Shoshone, who hunted bighorn sheep out here. They didn’t use horses. Too steep for horses. They figured out ways to trap the sheep instead up on those slopes. And maybe because they were agile over high ground, good athletes, and they hunted the sheep in groups like that, the wolf was their main … deity, or whatever. The protector, and the creator. Brave and strong and loyal, that’s the idea. He was also the one who brought Death to the world, though, because without Death, there’s no room for new life. A realistic kind of god, not a miraculous one, I guess. And their legend says that in the beginning, Wolf walked and talked like Man.”

  “Like a shifter,” she said.

  �
�Yeah. The original shifter. So who knows? Maybe that wolf staring at you like that? Maybe it was the protector-spirit telling you to go back, keeping you safe. Maybe it wasn’t a threat at all. Maybe it was the opposite.”

  He felt stupid saying it. And yet it felt true.

  “Of course,” she said, “because of that, we skied straight into the bison and the snowmobiles.”

  “Yeah,” he said, “but you also skied straight into me. Just in time for me to tackle you out of the way of a snowmobile and bruise your butt.”

  “You telling me you’re a wolf shifter after all?” She had her head tilted to one side now, a little smile on her face, a little tease in those wild eyes, and she wasn’t looking nearly as much like a PTA mom. “You’re my white wolf, and you’re here to take care of me?”

  Whoa.

  “Maybe I am,” he said. “Life is strange and wonderful.” He swallowed another mouthful of liquid fire and let himself feel all of it.

  The buzz. The high. The risk.

  The thrill.

  10

  That’s a No, Then

  This was why you didn’t drink Tennessee whiskey.

  How had she made it through that dinner? By the time she was walking down the corridor again with Dyma, letting her daughter open the door this time, she wasn’t sure what had just happened, and she definitely wasn’t sure she’d responded in the right way to any of it.

  Although what was the right way? The way she’d been doing things hadn’t worked so great, that was for sure.

  At least she hadn’t risked humiliation before.

  She hadn’t risked anything else either, though.

  Face it. She had no idea what the right way was.

  So, no. She normally didn’t drink too much, and definitely not where anybody could see her. She didn’t flirt, either. Mark had sure been right about that. She didn’t dress like this, or let a man touch her hand and smile into her eyes, a man she’d never even met before. A stranger. She didn’t let herself imagine heading down the corridor and right through a bedroom door with that stranger, hands and mouths all over the place and clothes hitting the floor, because that wouldn’t lead anywhere but the Heartbreak Hotel. And she sure didn’t do all that in front of her daughter.

  She’d spent the whole dinner swinging between two completely different emotions. Sensations. Whatever. One of them being the look in Kris’s eyes, the brush of his hand against hers, the feel of his hard-muscled calf against her toe when she crossed her legs.

  Who crossed their legs at the dinner table? That wasn’t her, either. Or maybe it was, because if you got those kinds of tingles? You ended up crossing your legs.

  She was her daughter’s role model. That was the other emotion, because she was watching Dyma react in exactly that same way to Owen, seeing his eyes light up in appreciation, hearing his easy laugh. Dyma had teased him about being a rancher, then asked him about baby calves, and then, of course, had said, “Although I’m planning on becoming a vegetarian.”

  “Oh, yeah?” Owen had answered. With a smile, considering that Dyma was eating a hamburger at the time.

  “Just taking my chance while I’ve still got it,” she said. “Also, this is grass-fed, even though that’s totally not enough. How can you see what happens in feedlots and raise cattle? And, OK, even with grass-fed—what about slaughterhouses? And how they’re transported in those horrible trucks, and all the hormones and antibiotics? How can you let them suffer like that?” She looked at her hamburger and made a face. “And I’m such a hypocrite. I can’t believe I’m eating this. Seriously, I can’t. We watched Food, Inc. in my AP Bio class last month, and I got sick. How can I pretend to care about animals and still be part of letting that happen to them?” She set her hamburger down, put a hand on Owen’s huge forearm, and said, “How can we do this? Seriously. How can we?”

  “I can’t, I guess,” he said. “Must be why my ranch is Global Animal Partnership certified.”

  She grabbed his arm tighter. “Really? You’re kidding. Not that I know what that is.”

  He said. “You could look it up. I bet you’re great at research.”

  Jennifer wanted to tell him, Stop saying things like that. She’s already halfway infatuated with you. She wasn’t going to say “in love.” This wasn’t “in love.” This was, Oh, my god, he’s hot. I can’t believe this is happening. She knew, because she felt the same way.

  She at least had an excuse. She was a little drunk. Dyma, though? Dyma was just being Dyma. Was there anything more dangerous to a mother’s peace of mind than a girl like this, with too much confidence in her brains and not nearly enough knowledge of what the world could do?

  Dyma wasn’t checking for her mom’s reaction, no surprise. She was all about Owen. She asked, “Are you just telling me that? Messing with me?” Proving she had some caution, at least.

  “No,” Owen said. “I’m not.”

  Dyma said, “OK, first, I have absolutely no idea what it means, but I’m assuming it’s some kind of humane thing. Why? I mean, how did you decide to do it? And how can you be a rancher? You’re barely older than me. Oh, wait. You mean you work on a ranch, except you can’t, because you wouldn’t make much money doing that, and these rooms are three hundred bucks a night. Look around. We’re the youngest people here who aren’t somebody’s kids. Well, I’m somebody’s kid, but never mind. So is it that your family has a ranch?”

  “No,” he said. “Or yes and no.” Fortunately, he was still looking amused. Although, unfortunately, he was also looking at Dyma like he wanted to pick her up and put her in his lap, and not in a what-a-cute-kid way. More in a this-girl-is-too-adorable-and-I-want-to-kiss-her-bad way. Jennifer was very familiar with that look. Dyma was right, that probably was one reason she’d stayed with Mark. If anything, Mark found Dyma a little annoying. Which, come to think of it, wasn’t all that great. Why had she settled for that?

  (She checked Kris. No I-need-to-kiss-this-girl look. He wasn’t annoyed, either. He was just amused. Good.)

  Dyma asked, “What does ‘yes and no’ mean? Also, does it work? I mean, is it profitable enough? I thought the whole reason for factory farming was that you can’t afford to do it the other way, especially if you’re not corporate and don’t have economies of scale.”

  Owen asked, “What order do you want me to answer those in?”

  “Any order,” she said. “Oh—do you have pictures?”

  “Of what?”

  “Of the ranch. Ranches always sound like they’d be amazing. ‘Ranch’ is a great word. Romantic. Argentina, cowboys on the pampas with the snow-capped Andes in the background, all that. But I doubt they’re actually like that. Have I ever been to a ranch?” She considered that, and Owen let her. “No, I have not. I’ve only seen them in the movies. I believe the houses have generally been made of logs, and there’s been a corral somewhere. Also a bunkhouse. So there you go.”

  “Well,” Owen said, “the first answer is that my mom and dad and my brother and his wife work the ranch with me, but I own it, yeah.”

  Jennifer’s eyes were narrowing. This sounded like such a line of—well, bull. A bit like, “Well, yeah, my mom and dad live in this house too, but it’s actually mine.”

  She glanced at Kris, and he must have been able to tell what she was thinking, because he said, “He does own it.” Which still made no sense. If you inherited something, it would come from your parents. If it came from your grandparents, your parents would inherit it. So—no.

  Maybe Owen had won the lottery. Had anybody in the history of ever, though, won the lottery and bought a cattle ranch? And actually worked it? No.

  Next idea. Tech wunderkind. Nobody said they all had to be skinny and pale, right?

  She surveyed Owen. Plaid flannel shirt. Jeans. Boots. Workingman’s hands. No-nonsense haircut and close-cut, non-hipster beard. The enormous size and obvious strength of him, and something in the way he sat that told you he didn’t sit a whole lot.

  Not a tech wun
derkind. Even with a standing desk. Just no.

  “And the second answer is,” Owen said, “that you can sell humanely raised beef for a higher price, that’s how. Don’t get me wrong, though, there’s still not much glamour to it. You’re talking a lot of manure, and a whole lot of freezing mornings checking your fence line. Gotta love it to do it, or you wouldn’t do it at all. And the third answer …” He pulled out his phone and swiped around. “This is my place.”

  “Oh,” Dyma said blankly, peering at the phone intently. “You do have horses. And a log house. And mountains.”

  “Well, yeah.” He was still looking amused. “Horses kind of go with the territory. That’s why they’re on the license plate. And I don’t have mountains, not on my land. They’re in the background, but they sure look nice there, don’t they? Got some real nice high country, though, with white marble cliffs that are about the prettiest thing you’ve ever seen. You could quarry the stone out, but it always seems like a shame to do it.”

  “So you can ride a horse?” she asked.

  He smiled some more. “Hard to be a rancher out here if you can’t. Got to be a pretty big horse, of course. Good thing horses come in different sizes. Here. This is my best horse. Grizzly. Crossbred Percheron. He’s big, but a whole lot faster than he looks, and a pretty good cutting horse, too. The Percheron was a war horse. Heart of a lion.”

  “Kind of like you,” Kris said.

  “Aw,” Owen said. “Now you’re just being nice.” He started going through more pictures, talking about cattle breeds and diets and pastures and the high country, and Dyma sat there, totally absorbed. “I grew up on a ranch,” he told her. “Not this one, but my dad was a ranch manager. And, yeah, I saw a lot of things. So when I got in a spot to set up my own, I figured—here’s my chance to do things differently, right?”

  “Right,” she said, and smiled back at him. Hugely. “That’s so awesome. Show me Grizzly again. He’s so beautiful.”

  Jennifer thought, Of course he’s liking you that much. You’re telling him he’s awesome and complimenting his horse and asking him questions about himself. Which was when he put his phone away and said, “So what about you? You sound like there’s a life plan. Let’s hear it.”