Cowboy Wolf Trouble

by Kait Ballenger

  “You want to take your grief out on someone,” Wes growled, “I’m your target, not her.”

  Malcolm drew back his arm. Wes saw the punch coming but didn’t bother to block it. The blow collided with Wes’s cheekbone, and his head snapped back. Pain shot through his cheek and radiated down his jaw. He bent over and clutched his skin where Malcolm had hit him. It would maybe bruise, but it would heal within a few hours.

  Wes opened his mouth, prepared to ask the bastard if the punch he’d granted him satisfied, when a high-pitched female shriek pierced Wes’s ears. While Wes had nursed his cheek, Malcolm had seized the moment to clutch Naomi by the wrist. The scent of her fear flooded Wes’s nostrils.

  He didn’t think.

  He grabbed Malcolm by the front of his shirt and threw the other wolf onto the wooden mess-hall table, pinning his fellow packmember with his superior strength. Naomi broke free of Malcolm’s grip. Several other packmembers scattered.

  A fierce snarl ripped from Wes’s throat. “I gave you the punch. For Bo. But if you ever lay another hand on her, I will tear out your throat. Understood?”

  Malcolm’s wolf eyes flashed in anger, and his mouth drew into a tight line, but he gave a curt nod. With a rough shove, Wes released him and stepped back. Every eye in the room was on him.

  He turned his back toward Malcolm and stepped away, expecting Naomi to follow.

  “Wes!” she shrieked.

  Wes spun toward Naomi’s voice. But it was too late.

  Malcolm drew his knife and thrust it in a downward arc toward Naomi.

  Most would have thought to jump away from the blade, but Naomi had clearly been trained in basic self-defense. She stepped forward, ducking under the blade’s arc. The move allowed her to block the downward trajectory of Malcolm’s forearm with her own, defending herself from attack. She latched on to his wrist like a vise and twisted the metacarpals of Malcolm’s hand in the opposite direction. With a sweep and a kick, she took out Malcolm’s kneecap. He crumpled to the ground, likely in part from sheer surprise—he clearly hadn’t expected her to fight back—as she stripped his knife from his hands. Within seconds, Naomi crouched on top of Malcolm with her knee poised against his throat and his knife in her hands.

  “Coward,” she hissed. “I’m half your size, and you need a knife?” She shoved the tip of the weapon beneath Malcolm’s throat. “If you ever touch me again, I will cut your balls off with your own blade.” She dropped Malcolm’s knife onto the floor beside him with a loud clatter and then scrambled to her feet.

  Holy shit.

  Wes swallowed down his curse. No one in the mess hall moved. Malcolm gaped up at Naomi from where he lay on the floor, stunned to silence and completely put in his place. Wes didn’t blame the bastard. She’d just taken down a werewolf twice her weight and strength, using her small size, speed, and the element of surprise against him. The woman was a veritable lioness in sheep’s clothing.

  And in self-defense or not, she’d just threatened one of the pack’s alpha males. Maverick’s warning of her affiliation echoed in Wes’s head, the doubt in his chest growing.

  He grabbed Naomi by the hand. “Let’s go.”

  Pulling her along behind him, he barreled out of the mess hall with Naomi’s hand still clutched in his. This situation was growing worse by the minute. He was digging himself deeper and deeper into a hole that he wasn’t certain he could climb out of. If she was a traitor, Maverick would have both their heads.

  In the years he’d been a member of this pack, never once had he raised a hand to another packmate. His past reputation had followed him through the Grey Wolf Pack like an unwanted stench that had taken him years to even begin to wash off. Couple his past with the current Wild Eight threat looming over them, and he might as well have been a pariah. He’d been careful never to pick a fight, to keep his head low, to ensure he didn’t stir up trouble. Many members of the pack were still distrustful of him. He didn’t need to give them more reason to be.

  But when he’d seen Naomi in Malcolm’s grasp, none of that had mattered.

  And now the human woman he’d brought into their midst had just threatened an alpha with his own knife. Not that the bastard hadn’t deserved that and far worse. He was lucky it had been Naomi to disarm him. Had Wes been on the other end of that blade…

  Her hidden skills spoke to more training with weaponry than most humans could boast. All the more reason that she could, in fact, be involved with the Wild Eight and vampires. The draining of her flock could be a clever ruse. The situation of him stumbling by mere chance onto a human the Wild Eight was targeting smacked of far more than coincidence. He’d staked everything on her innocence, yet what if she…

  His eyes caught sight of one of their ranching ATVs with the keys still in the ignition. One of the packmembers had likely ridden it over from their pasture and wouldn’t be riding it back out in the dead of night. All the ranching equipment on Wolf Pack Run remained communal, owned by the pack as a whole, so there was no reason for Wes not to use the available vehicle to his advantage.

  He climbed on, and Naomi followed without question. They rode out into the night and up a short distance into the mountain forests that lay just behind the main compound to one of the vacant mountain cabins used to house rare visitors. It was a short but safe distance from the mess hall, isolated enough from the main part of Wolf Pack Run that they weren’t likely to run into other wolves for the rest of the night.

  After they climbed off the ATV, Wes led Naomi up the pine porch steps and into the cabin. He switched on the inside lights, and the bright, recessed lighting illuminated the space. The small, one-bedroom cabin sported a recently redone kitchen with a marble countertop, a cozy living room with a flat-screen TV, a small bookshelf, and a fireplace. Farther inside, the master bedroom featured a large bathroom suite and an entrance to a porch with a hot tub off the back. Far and away better than the cold quartering stable of the night prior. Snatching two large blankets from the storage closet, Wes tossed one to Naomi before he cranked up the thermostat and lit the fire.

  “Make yourself at home.”

  Wes wandered out the open door onto the porch. He needed air, fresh air, to clear the frustration from his head.

  Naomi wrapped the blanket around herself and followed him with tentative steps. Wes stood at the edge of the porch, his gaze turned toward the never-ending expanse of Montana sky. A small clearing in the trees above allowed for a view of the heavens. Out on the mountainside in Big Sky Country like this, every star and constellation twinkled into view. A cool breeze brushed over them. It was warmer tonight, as if they’d gone back several weeks in temperature from the autumn cold they’d started experiencing. But Wes still felt the hint of autumn hanging on the breeze, the warmth fighting in a temperamental battle with the Canadian winds to make the air feel uncertain in a way only Montana weather could.

  After several minutes of prolonged silence between them, when his anger had finally simmered to a low boil, he broke the standoff. “Are you trying to get yourself killed, woman? It’s your first night here.” He didn’t yell, but stern censure filled his tone.

  Still, Naomi’s jaw dropped as if he’d slapped her. “Last I checked, it was him on the ground. Not me.”

  “Exactly.” He gripped a chunk of his hair. Maverick’s warning about her potential involvement with the Wild Eight echoed in Wes’s head. “Where did you learn to do that?”

  “My brother. He’s a Marine,” she said. “That wolf pulled a knife on me. What was I supposed to do?”

  “Maybe not make enemies your first night here by going full-blown Wonder Woman on one of the pack’s alpha males?” he suggested.

  She cocked her head to the side, confused. “You know who Wonder Woman is? Isn’t that a human thing?”

  That’s what she took away from this? Wes shook his head. He turned away from her, tossing his blanket on
to the damp wood of the porch before he took a seat. The sight of her struggling against Malcolm had twisted his gut with both fear for her life and doubt about her innocence. “You’re lucky Malcolm was so stunned by that little display that he didn’t shift right there and tear out your throat. That knife would have meant nothing if he’d shifted. What part of ‘lie low’ don’t you understand?”

  “The part where I’m supposed to let someone stab me to keep the peace!” She dropped down on the blanket beside him with an ungraceful flop and drew in a deep breath. “I didn’t ask for this.” As she said it, her breath hitched on the last word.

  Shit. He’d made her cry.

  She was right. She hadn’t asked for him, for this, for any of it. Yet here she was.

  Unchecked rage blazed through him, directed at no one but himself. Somehow, the sight of this tiny human woman in danger was worse than a knife through his cold, dead heart. Not so dead now, he supposed, considering the way it had thumped against his chest at the sight of Malcolm’s knife headed toward her.

  He shook his head. What was wrong with him? He shouldn’t care for her. He barely knew her. Yet seeing Malcolm attack her had terrified him.

  There was only one other time in his life he’d ever been so scared…

  Without thinking, he scooted closer to her so they sat nearly hip to hip and swiped one of her tears away with his thumb. She turned her head away from him with a pathetic-sounding sniffle, but he guided her chin back toward him.

  “I’m sorry…” The words slipped out before he could stop himself.

  It was the first time in his whole damn life he’d ever apologized for anything. He was Wes Calhoun. Former packmaster of the Wild Eight, son of the nefarious Nolan Calhoun, and one of the deadliest wolves to walk these mountainsides. He apologized to no one.

  Except, apparently, her…

  They lingered there, his hand on her cheek. The moonlight and the glow from the cabin windows bathed them in a pale, gentle light, bright enough that he could make out the elegant details of her face, the slender curves of her body.

  His cock hardened in rigid anticipation. He traced his fingers over the bandages she’d applied on her shoulders and throat, his touch whisper soft, a silent apology for those small injuries. Man, she’d be the undoing of him. He wasn’t supposed to want her, to touch her. He’d taken her captive to protect her. He’d been down this path before, knew the deadly consequences, and yet…

  He lowered his hand. They were playing with fire, and they’d both be consumed by the flame if he didn’t cut the heat and tenderness between them now.

  As his hand fell, she turned away from him, staring out over the mountainside, her eyes scanning over the land. While she wasn’t looking, he subtly adjusted the erection straining against his jeans.

  “How big is it?” She broke the momentary silence between them.

  Wes froze. Apparently, he hadn’t been as discreet as he’d thought, but he hadn’t expected such a blunt ques—

  “You do know the acreage of your own ranch, don’t you?” she asked.

  The ranch. She was talking about the Grey Wolf ranch. A low chuckle passed his lips, the moment providing some much-needed levity. “Big enough to impress.” On both accounts. “The Grey Wolf ranch is about 126,000 acres of operation, some deeded land, some state grazing lease. Our cattle herd is about 4,300. About 3,200 bred cows and 1,400—mostly heifer—calves, plus plenty of bulls, yearlings, and ranch horses.”

  Her jaw dropped. “You mean to tell me the Grey Wolves are sitting on a…hell, I’d estimate a seventy-million-dollar operation?”

  He shrugged. “That’s just the land and livestock. Likely more if you consider all the homes and additional utility buildings.”

  She gaped at him. “You guys could buy my ranch out in a second.” She said it as simple commentary, but as she spoke, her shoulders lowered, and she folded further into herself. There was something she wasn’t sharing.

  If he hadn’t been watching her so closely, the movement would have been barely perceptible. The slightest hint of vulnerability overtook her body language, and any bit of humor he’d felt from her previous comment disappeared. “I thought you wanted to preserve your father’s legacy.”

  “I do.” Her answer came swiftly, almost too much so, as if she were too eager to show it.

  Clearly, she wanted that. She was here, trusting a werewolf she didn’t know with her safety and her life in part for the sake of her ranch’s well-being.

  “But…” He waited for her to elaborate, to open up to him and speak freely as she had seemed to do with Austin in the mess hall.

  She released a long sigh and pulled her legs up to her chest, cradling them against her. “You’re not supposed to talk finances with friends.”

  “Friends, huh?” He supposed it fit. Before she’d said it, he hadn’t been exactly sure what he would call them. Enemies? Adversaries? Captor and captive? Disobedient werewolf monster and his sexy human pain-in-the-rear?

  “Don’t let the descriptor go to your head,” she warned, drawing her attention back to him. “You’re still a mangy wolf.”

  “As mangy as they come,” he grumbled.

  He allowed his gaze to wander over her. Bathed in the moonlight, with that small coy smile curving her lips, she was breathtaking.

  He tore his gaze away and looked out over the Grey Wolf lands. If she had any idea how truly wild he was, she wouldn’t be sitting beside him, so close that her scent wrapped around him. His eyes scanned the dark slanting hills beneath the foundation of the cabin. How different would this moment with her have been if he’d been born a Grey Wolf packmember, if his past wasn’t so dark that he needed to keep her at arm’s length?

  The question seared into him, in part because the heart he once thought long dead already knew the answer.

  * * *

  Naomi stayed there beside Wes, sitting in silence for minutes that seemed to stretch into hours as they both stared up at the swirls of starbursts above. Her avoidance of his question about the ranch hung in the air, building heavy tension. She felt an aversion to answering the question as keenly as she felt the answer dancing on her tongue.

  She’d never shared this part of her life with anyone. Yet somehow, she found she wanted to tell him. The events of the evening had left her feeling bare, and what fear could there be in opening up to him? In a few days, they would go their separate ways, and whatever was said between them would fade to a distant memory. And it already felt as if his eyes saw right through her.

  She steeled herself. “We’re an average-size calf-cow operation. Only two thousand acres. Our finances are hurting. We have plenty of overhead costs, yet not enough hands or cattle to truly turn a substantial profit or save a cushion for when the price of beef is low. We’re getting by, but we’ve been trying to find investors to make the changes we need to keep the ranch afloat.”

  His deep voice was low, comforting. “That’s nothing to be ashamed of, Miss Kitty. You’re doing what you need to do to save your family legacy. That’s admirable.”

  She shook her head. “No, it’s not admirable. It’s…it’s one of my biggest personal failures.” She released a long breath, the smoky heat of it twisting around her face in the cold mountain air. “It’s my fault,” she confessed. “We would have had the money if we hadn’t had to use what was set aside in my dad’s estate to pay his medical bills.” She wrapped her arms tighter around herself both to keep warm and to hold herself together. “He didn’t want chemo, and I pushed him into it. I didn’t want him to die. I wasn’t ready for it. And…”

  Her voice trailed off, leaving the words unspoken, but as he had in the stables, Wes saw right through her.

  “And you didn’t want to be stuck on the ranch?” he finished.

  Shame filled her. “I was so selfish. His death could have been a dignified one, at home and peacef
ul. Not lying in a hospital bed, hooked up to all those beeping and whirring machines. But I begged and pleaded with him to consider chemo until he did. And for what? All so I could drive his legacy into the ground, escape the life he’d carved out for me with the hard labor of his hands, to say what he chose for me wasn’t enough. That’s why I have to save it, because it’s my fault it’s in its current state.”

  “Don’t do that.” His words were commanding but full of gentle understanding.

  Her eyes shot toward him. “Do what?”

  “Don’t put yourself down for wanting more. It’s your life. Your choice, Miss Kitty. And if you think it isn’t enough, well, then it isn’t, no matter what your father thought was best for you or how hard he worked to give you the life he envisioned. He worked for that because he cared for you and wanted you to be happy, but if you’re not happy in the same way he was, you owe it to yourself to seek more.” His gaze seared into hers. “You’ll be miserable until you do.”

  The utter devastation in his eyes destroyed her. He shared her pain as his own. She could see it. “You say that like you speak from experience.”

  He looked away. “I don’t know what it’s like to have a loving father, but I do know what it’s like to fail to meet your father’s expectations, to be expected to uphold someone else’s legacy that is both your origin story and so damn separate from your own, it hurts. I know how selfish and wrong you can feel for forging your own path, but you have to do it. If you don’t, the resentment will consume you.”

  She wasn’t certain how to respond. In that moment, he understood her on a deep human level, perhaps better than anyone she’d ever known. His gaze, how he saw through her, made her feel as if she was baring her soul. Her darkest failures and her biggest fears.

  Pushing to his feet, he retreated into the cabin. She knew he wasn’t ending their conversation, but he was protecting himself in a way she knew all too well, closing himself off. She watched through the window as he sat down beside the fireside.

  A moment later, she joined him, rubbing her hands together in front of the dancing flames, basking in their warmth.