by Caroline Lee
What were the odds? Sure, there had to be more than one man in the west using the name “The Wolf”, but Hank could only think of one who used the Spanish version. No one else had the guts to go up against that reputation. The El Lobo down in Texas—a big, bad son-of-a-bitch who worked alone and cultivated a mustache you could lose a sheep in—was the reason that Hank’s right shoulder ached in this cold. Three years ago he’d set out to take down the desperado, and Lobo had ambushed him. He remembered lying there in the dry Texas dirt, feeling his blood seeping out of his shoulder, and wondering how in the hell someone could shoot a Colt revolver that accurately from that distance.
And now this same desperado was chasing Red across half the Territory? What the hell had she done to deserve that? What was he after?
He’d spent the day with her, in between her naps on his lap, and while she was fun as hell to tease, he couldn’t imagine her taking on Texas’ most notorious gunslinger. Take chances? Sure. Run head-long into danger without really thinking things through? Definitely. She’d curled up next to him easy enough, hadn’t she?
The day had been pleasant, with her cuddled up on his lap like a kitten. He hadn’t even minded the slight ache in his arms from supporting her for so long. As the spare horse plodded along behind them, he asked her questions about her home—which she happily answered—and her urgent reason to get there—which she didn’t. He learned more about her family, and lost count of all the kids she named as her brothers and sisters; she’d been right about there being too many “Marys”. It was obvious that she loved them, and the couple who’d raised them—her “grandparents”—deeply.
They’d shared lunch right after fording a creek, swollen with early spring run-off, and after, she stood patiently beside his horse, waiting to be lifted again. He hid his smile when he showed her how to step on his boot and climb into his lap; she’d just assumed this was where she’d be finishing the journey, and he found that he didn’t mind one bit. Her enthusiasm, her wit, her adorable little frowns when he teased her… She was growing on him.
About an hour ago, she’d fallen asleep on him again. He glanced down at the little woman snuggled up all trustingly in his arms, and resisted the urge to tighten his hold on her, knowing that she only looked so at peace because he was warm and comfier than her horse. Instead, he shifted his grip on the reins and clucked to both horses, sending them into the outskirts of Haskell.
He liked Haskell; he’d come through here two months ago on his way north chasing Tomtom Piper. That bounty had netted him enough to finally snag a piece of land and settle down, although only the good Lord knew what he was going to do with his time once he built a little house. Maybe he could find someplace like Haskell down in Arizona, although it wasn’t likely. The man who ran the hotel here in town—with the unlikely name of Theophilus Gunn—had filled him in on the history, and how this place had been built from the ground up by one of the local ranchers, a guy by the name of Howard Haskell. Apparently his word was pretty much law, but he actually cared about the people in the town, rather than just making money, so most of those laws were pretty easy to obey.
As a man who’d managed to scrape out a living hunting down the sons-of-bitches who made a point of not following the laws, Hank knew that Haskell, Wyoming was probably a one-in-a-million place. The rest of humanity wasn’t nearly as community-minded. But that just made the town nicer to visit, and Hank had been looking forward to a good meal and maybe a real bed. In fact, Gunn had told him all about the town’s baseball league, and Hank wouldn’t mind seeing them practice.
And the sleeping woman in his arms wasn’t going to change that plan. He’d never actually agreed to take her to Everland, and he didn’t have any intention of it. She was fool enough to get off the train, so he’d put her right back on it. Whoever she was scared of—this imitation calling himself El Lobo—would be long gone by now, heading east on whichever train she’d been on. So, Hank would just plop her on whatever train was heading north towards Everland, and wash his hands of the hasty, too-trusting little Red.
And why in the hell did that thought make him want to wrap his arms around her and never let go?
Maybe he did squeeze her, because she gave a little moan and began to stir just as he directed both horses down Haskell’s main street. “Hey, Red.” The sexy little purr she gave out when she snuggled even closer against him made him hard, and he shifted uncomfortably in the saddle. Whoa there, down boy. She might be beautiful, and she might be curled up against him like a cat, and she might have woken up draped over him that morning like sweet, warm syrup poured over—This ain’t helping, stupid. Hank swallowed, and forced himself to concentrate on where he was directing the horses. She wasn’t the kind of woman he let himself get hard for.
So yeah, maybe his voice was a little harsher than necessary when he tried again. “Hey, Red, wake your fool self up. We’re here.”
“Everland?” Dangit, how’d she manage to sound sexy even when she was confused?
“Haskell.” His resolve faltered when he watched her yawn and—Oh God she stretched right there on his lap, and looked even more like a satisfied kitten. Hank had always been partial to cats.
“We’re stopping here for the night. Got any money?”
She turned towards the building with the “The Cattleman Hotel” sign out front. It might’ve just been because she was interested in the town, but Hank got the impression she was avoiding his eyes too. “Not much on me right now.” Well, that made sense. She’d probably purchased her ticket in Salt Lake, and hadn’t figured that she’d need much between there and Everland.
“That’s alright. I’ll cover the rooms.”
“Thank you.” Her voice sounded small. Smaller than usual. “I’ll add it to the amount I owe you once we get to Everland.”
Hank didn’t quite snort. Paying for her hotel would make up for the fact that he wasn’t going to take her to Everland; wasn’t going to pick up her promised reward... but she didn’t know that. She figured she’d just pay him back, and maybe—a few months ago—it’d have been worth it to him to make it to Everland. A hundred bucks was a lot of money. But after the Piper bounty, he had what he needed, what he wanted. Enough money to build a home for himself, and he was beyond ready. He’d been waiting long enough; even a few days’ side trip to get a brave, reckless little hothead like Red to her grandmother seemed like too much. The train would get her there safe enough, and he’d be on his way.
Meanwhile, they were here in Haskell for the night, and he was planning on splurging on a hotel room. Two hotel rooms. And after holding her on his lap for the last few hours, he’d decided that he very definitely did not want to spend another night tangled up with her. Separate hotel rooms would mean that he wouldn’t have to worry about waking up aching for her because she was draped trustingly over his chest again.
Hank shifted again and tightened his jaw. Maybe once he got her settled, he’d go visit Miss Bonnie’s girls. They’d been real welcoming last time, and he needed something to distract himself from thoughts of thick red hair and deep blue eyes and kitten-soft lips and—Come on, Hank. Get it together.
Yeah, so maybe he practically dumped her on the boardwalk in front of the hotel, but she didn’t seem to notice. He’d get the horses taken care of later; for now he just needed her on the other side of a closed door, and he’d tell her just that if he had to.
She was going to Everland, and he was going to Arizona.
She was just staring up at the hotel sign, so he put his gloved hand on the small of her back, and sorta pushed her through the door. Even through her thick red cloak and all those layers, even through the late March chill, Hank could feel her heat. It made him want to do something stupid… like pick her up and press her against the building and make sweet love to her with his mouth.
Yep, things were getting mighty tight in the trouser region, and Hank bit back a curse. He didn’t need this. Didn’t need her.
When they wer
e inside, he dropped his hand and stalked towards the desk, pulling off his hat and gloves and running his hand through his short hair. The familiar action did little to calm him, though.
“Mr. Cutter, wasn’t it?” The man behind the desk was as tall, thin, and white-haired as Hank remembered. His jacket bore The Cattleman emblem over one breast, and looked neater than anything Hank had ever worn. He was smiling right now, in that knowing way Hank had noticed during his last visit.
“Good to see you again, Mr. Gunn.” The hotel manager seemed pleased to be remembered. “We’re in town for the night, and would like a couple of rooms.”
And that’s when Hank made the mistake of glancing at Rojita. She’d moved towards the desk as well, and had pulled off her fancy red cloak. It had covered her from the heavy hood all the way to the ground, and without it, she seemed… even smaller. More delicate. It was draped over one arm while she peeled off the gloves she’d been wearing, and Hank was surprised to see that the gown underneath—gray and worn—looked serviceable instead of elegant. But with that dark red hair falling all across her shoulders, she looked anything but plain.
Then she met his eyes, and he had to swallow past a suddenly dry throat. She was looking at him so… so darn trustingly, it was unnerving. She’d just met him, didn’t know anything about him. She’d offered him money to escort her safely, and didn’t have any idea of what kind of man he was, what kind of man could be waiting for her. And now she was trusting him again, and damned if Hank wasn’t showing her that she could trust him.
“Two rooms, Mr. Cutter?” Gunn’s question cut through the haze Hank saw whenever he met her eyes, and drew him back to the hotel lobby. He should probably thank the man, but when he turned, Gunn’s expression was entirely too knowing. So Hank just raised a brow, daring the manager to say something.
Gunn took the dare. Flicking his eyes between the two of them, his lips curled into the smallest of smirks, the older man asked blandly, “You’re sure you two need separate rooms?”
God in Heaven, was his condition that obvious? Hank was too embarrassed to even look at Red, to see if she was blushing at the manager’s assumption. So he just growled, “I said two, didn’t I?”
“Indeed you did, sir.” Gunn wasn’t smirking when he filled out the ledger and handed Hank two room keys, but he was so obviously not smirking that he might as well have been. Hank, scowling, slapped some money on the desk and pretended not to notice the way Gunn kept glancing between the two of them.
Taking a deep breath, Hank turned to Red and held out one of the keys. “Here, honey.” Dangit, why’d he go and call her that? Her eyes widened at the familiarity, and he almost groaned when he saw her cheeks pink. She wasn’t some shy miss, he knew that well enough; it had to be Gunn’s assumption that made her blush, and Hank was darn close to blushing himself. He cleared his throat. “The hotel serves a pretty good dinner, or Mr. Gunn can send up some food if you’d rather just rest some more.”
As she realized what he was telling her, he saw disappointment cloud her expression, and felt like a real low-down coyote. But then she straightened her shoulders, and stuck her chin out, and he almost smiled at her gumption. “You won’t be eating, Mr. Cutter?”
Good, honey. Keep calling me that. Because the more times he heard his given name on her lips, the more he wanted to make her cry out for him, to call his name to the stars, while he showed her what lips were really made for.
And that’s why he wasn’t eating with her tonight. He wiggled the key a bit, and she hesitantly reached for it. “Nah, I’ve got someplace else to visit.” Miss Bonnie could introduce him to one of her girls, and he’d be able to get rid of this damned ache.
But that’s when her fingers brushed against his, as she took the key. It was the first time he’d felt her skin, without the gloves, and the warmth shocked him. It traveled up his arm and through his chest, and made him instinctively tighten his hand around hers. There they stood in the hotel lobby, her staring up at him in shock, and he wondered if she felt it too.
It felt far more perfect than a simple touch had any right to.
She was the one who snapped out of it first. Narrowing her eyes and taking a deep breath, she pulled her fingers from his, and then nodded smartly while he stood there staring like an idiot. Then, not meeting his eyes again, she swept past him towards the stairs, and he watched her backside sway under the gray wool.
Behind him, Theophilus Gunn cleared his throat just slightly. “You could’ve at least asked for adjacent rooms, Mr. Cutter.”
Hank cursed and stalked for the door without looking back. He needed a drink.
And a woman.
It was only later—after he’d sold both horses at Herb Waters’ livery, after he’d purchased one north-bound ticket and one east-bound ticket on tomorrow’s train, after he’d settled in at Bonnie’s with a whiskey and a parade of her fine-looking girls—that he’d realized he didn’t want just any woman. He wanted one with a cascade of dark red hair, and eyes that looked at him like he was her only hope, and lips that pouted when he teased. He wanted one that riled easy and forgave easy, who curled up on his lap to sleep trustingly. He wanted Red, and he barely knew the woman.
He was in trouble, alright.