Trixie woke with a start, the quiet of the mountainside unfamiliar and oddly eerie. The sound outside the motel wasn’t the same as in a city—not a blustering of constant noise and passersby—but it was a regular symphony compared to this. The relative silence pressed in on her. The bunkhouse heater rattled uncontrollably, fighting to keep the inside of the small space warm despite the cold that nipped at the doors. She was tangled in a mess of blankets, several more than she’d gone to sleep with. No doubt Malcolm’s doing.
Lifting up onto her elbows, she glanced around in search of him but came up empty. The blankets fell from her shoulders. Her bare nipples tightened with the onslaught of cold. From the looks of it, he’d ridden out several hours ago. She smiled slightly. Maybe he was more of a cowboy than she’d expected. He might have ridden his bike nearly as much as his horse, but he certainly knew how to hang his hat on a woman’s bedpost only to disappear come dawn like in those old western movies.
Wrapping herself in the blankets, Trixie padded from the bed. Malcolm had left out a pile of old clothes for her. A pair of jeans he might have swiped from one of the pack’s females and one of his shirts along with his leather coat. She’d no doubt be swimming in them, but they’d keep her warm until she dug for something more weather-appropriate through the garbage bags in the trunk of her car, which was still parked at the ranch’s perimeter. She’d normally wear whatever fit her fancy, weather being of little consideration compared to how she looked, but if she did now, Malcolm would never let her hear the end of it.
A grin curved her lips. Bossy and stubborn as he was, there was something strangely endearing about that, about him wanting to protect her and keep her cared for in all ways, even on things she didn’t typically deem important.
She pulled on the clothes he’d laid out for her, settling into their comfort in warmth. The pair of female boots he’d scrounged up for her surprisingly fit her petite feet, and it felt odd to be flat-footed. Her arches were used to the curve of her heels, so the boots stretched the calves of her legs in an awkward way, but she’d get used to it.
Thankfully, she’d kept some makeup in the clutch she’d taken with her to the Blood Rose the night before so she wasn’t a total hot mess.
Red lipstick painted on, mascara back in place, and curls sufficiently arranged, she headed out of the bunkhouse. It was well into the afternoon. She always slept late. The Coyote’s hours meant most days she was lucky to be up before 3:00 p.m. Add in all the times Malcolm had brought her to finish the previous night, and by her guess from where the sun hung in the sky, it was almost four. Malcolm and the other hands would likely return by sundown.
In the meantime, she wandered out to the cabins, where she’d left Dumplin’ to stay with Dakota. Surely Malcolm had reported to the pack on their unsuccessful stint at the Blood Rose. She was still feeling salty about the knowledge that Dani was dating Cillian, but she hadn’t decided what she was going to do about that yet. She had her own issues to contend with.
One thing at a time.
It didn’t take her long to find Dakota and Dumplin’. Though whether she’d ever be able to coax the dog away from the pack’s veterinarian remained to be seen.
Dumplin’ was asleep on the guest bed in Dakota and Blaze’s shared cabin, snoring among a large assortment of pillows that looked more comfortable than anything Trixie regularly laid her head on, the dog bed she’d supplied for him long forgotten. He looked like a canine king.
Beside him, a plate of various kinds of raw game meat had been laid out like some strange, canine charcuterie board, and his collar and leash were nowhere to be found.
When Trixie had asked, Dakota had made such a disgusted face that she had more than a passing feeling the collar and leash had been burned. Or buried by a certain she-wolf’s paws.
Trixie tilted her head to the side, watching Dumplin’ as he let out a particularly loud snore. She was pleased he’d been treated well, but…
“I think you’ve gone a bit overboard with the whole dog-sittin’ thing, darlin’.”
Dakota waved a dismissive hand. “Nonsense. He’s one of the pack now.”
Trixie didn’t have the heart to comment on the fact that the Grey Wolves seemed more concerned with the comfort of a plain ol’ dog than the wounded heart of one of the pack’s most lethal warriors, but she knew firsthand Malcolm didn’t make loving him easy. Though neither did Dumplin’, but at least he was more scared than he was mean.
But Malcolm was afraid, too. In his own way. Of being hurt again. So much so he lashed out in order to protect himself. Same as Dumplin’ did, though she didn’t think he’d appreciate the comparison, even if they were both grumbly, scarred, and a teensy bit snarly.
Her chest ached at the passing thought that when she left here, her parting would do little to help change that fact. Her stomach roiled.
Trixie patted the Rottweiler’s head, as much to nudge him awake as to calm herself and ignore her troubles a little longer. “I appreciate you taking care of him. I really do. You didn’t need to go through so much trouble.”
Dakota smiled. “It wasn’t any trouble at all. Poor thing. He’s been through a lot.” Her brow furrowed with unusual knowing. Like she was looking at a person instead of Trixie’s pet.
Trixie quirked a brow. “You…you can’t talk with him, can you?”
Dakota shrugged like it was no big thing. “Well, no. Not exactly…but other canine features aren’t really that difficult to read when you spend half your life as a wolf.”
Trixie glanced toward where Dumplin’ was now staring up at her, tongue lolled and panting. She supposed that put her joke about leading Malcolm around on a leash in new perspective. Heat colored her cheeks. If either of them would end up on a leash, it’d be her. In everything they did, he was in charge, dominant. It felt…nice to let someone take care of her in that way. Make decisions so that for a short time, she didn’t have to.
Her decision-making didn’t have the best track record. Look where it’d gotten her.
Dakota smiled, full of mirth, at Trixie’s blushing as if the other woman could read the thoughts in Trixie’s head, but she didn’t comment.
At least there was one wolf on this ranch rooting for him. Likely more, if only Malcolm would allow himself to see it, if he’d stop wielding coldness like a weapon and allow himself a bit of happiness instead of living in the past. Trixie’d been telling him he needed to move forward for several years, but men never listened. He’d need to come to the conclusion in his own time.
Maybe he would, even without her.
She’d asked Dakota for a tennis ball for Dumplin’. “He wouldn’t prefer to chase down some game out in the woods?” the veterinarian had asked curiously before finally ceding to Trixie’s request. How the she-wolf had managed to make it through human veterinary school, Trixie would never know. She supposed it involved a lot of awkward questions about wolf vs. canine behavior and confused glances.
Humans tended to sweep stuff like that under the rug, forgetting it easily.
After grabbing some food with Dakota, Trixie spent the rest of the afternoon wandering around Wolf Pack Run with Dumplin’ by her side. Leashless per the pack’s request. Occasionally, they stopped and she tossed the tennis ball for him, though more than once, to her shock, it hadn’t been Dumplin’ that’d brought it back but instead one massive wolf or another.
Vicious warriors, her ass. They were overgrown puppies. All of them.
A part of her had known that from the first time she’d laid eyes on Malcolm. The growling and snarling was only a ruse to protect the soft underbelly underneath the hardened exterior. One that’d be harder to crack in time, considering her situation.
Betrayal cut deep. She knew that from her own past.
The sun hung low in the sky, nothing but a thin sliver behind the snowcapped mountains by the time Malcolm and the other hands rode back in with the last of the steers that’d be put up for sale that season. Trixie watched from a distance as they herded the cattle into the semitruck that’d take them to market. It struck her as kind of sad, which she figured proved that she didn’t have the stomach or the desire to get dirt beneath her nails for ranching, but it also wouldn’t stop her from tucking into a good burger on occasion. If that made her a hypocrite, so be it.
When the hands had finished their work, they led their horses back to the stables. Trixie stood at the mouth of the stable entrance, Dumplin’ by her side as Miles and the other hands filed in. Malcolm brought up the rear.
“You wanna pet him?” Malcolm asked.
“You talkin’ about the third arm you keep between your legs or the horse?” Trixie grinned. She said it only to embarrass him, make him laugh. The dark chuckle that tore from his throat was worth it.
“What’s his name?” she asked, nodding to the horse.
“Clover.”
She crossed her arms over her chest. “Pretty Irish-sounding horse name for a man who looks like he’s from the Mediterranean.” The olive tone of his skin was still tanned deep even though it’d been months since summer.
“My mother was Italian,” he admitted.
“Hmmm, so we’re looking for a really romantic-sounding last name then,” she teased. “Rossi. Morelli. Tedesco. Resciniti.” She ticked each one off on her fingers.
Malcolm scowled, unamused with this game. “You want to pet the horse or not, Trixie?” She knew better than to think he was actually annoyed with her.
He was trying to protect himself, as always.
Tentatively, she stepped closer to him and the animal. She reached out a nervous hand. “Can you believe with all the cowboys I’ve dated, I’ve never once ridden a horse?” The heat of her breath swirled around her face in the cold Montana air.
“Never?”
She shook her head. “Never.”
“Do you want to?”
Trixie blinked. The idea of her on a horse was novel, new. “I–I don’t know.”
“Come on. He doesn’t bite. Not as much as Dumplin’ anyway.” Malcolm nodded to the dog at her feet.
Dumplin’ let out an annoyed growl. His scarred face twisted until he looked downright nasty. A spittle of drool dripped from his bared teeth. She wasn’t exactly certain what the Rottweiler disliked about Malcolm. He’d taken well enough to the other shifters.
“She was mine first,” Malcolm said to the dog, holding its gaze in challenge. “Get the fuck over it.” His eyes flashed to his wolf.
Trixie let out an amused sigh. Apparently, they were in a metaphorical pissing contest over her, from the looks of it. The truth of which was only highlighted by the fact that Dumplin’ circled where he stood before lifting his leg on the side of the stable and peeing.
Malcolm snarled. Wolf eyes flashing and teeth bared.
“Quit it, you two,” Trixie said, sounding like she was talking to two tussling children instead of a rescue dog and a Grey Wolf warrior. “I guess I’ll give it a try. Why not?” She smiled, maybe a little unconvincingly as she nodded to the horse. “But…it might take me a few minutes to work up to it.”
Twenty minutes later, she was out in the paddock with the large beast, Malcolm leaned against the other side of the fence, watching. It’d taken only about two minutes for Malcolm to lead them in there. The rest had been spent waiting for her to build up the courage.
“Still working up to it?” Malcolm made a show of glancing at his wrist, though he wasn’t wearing a watch.
“Yes,” she snapped, circling the horse like it might rear up at any moment.
It hadn’t so much as trotted around the pen, but that didn’t mean it wouldn’t go wild at any minute. That was how horses worked, right?
Malcolm, more than a bit amused by her reservation, reached over the fence and swatted her on the ass. She let out a startled yelp.
“Get on the horse, Trixie,” he said.
“I am. I’m going.” She stepped closer. Thank goodness she was wearing these dirty old cowgirl boots instead of heels for this. Though Malcolm likely wouldn’t have let her near the beast in anything less than what he deemed appropriate ranch gear. Slowly, she approached. The horse didn’t back away, but it was so big. One of those hooves could crush her, or at least do a fair bit of damage, and she didn’t heal as easy as Malcolm did. Her wrapped hand was still a reminder of that. Though at the moment, Clover was only standing there, blinking his dark eyes innocently.
“Get on the horse, Trixie,” Malcolm said again.
“I am!”
Malcolm cupped his hands around his mouth to make his voice louder. “Get on the damn horse, woman,” he called across the paddock with a laugh.
“Quit rushing me,” she shot back. She blew out a steadying breath. Better to rip it off like a Band-Aid, she supposed. Slowly, she inched toward the beast, placing a foot up in the stirrup and holding onto the saddle’s horn like Malcolm had told her to do.
The horse stirred slightly, causing Trixie to pull back. But from the look of it, the creature was simply letting her know he was aware of her, clued in to her presence. Steeling herself, she tried again. This time, she lifted herself up and over with a small squeak of nerves.
When her bottom settled into the saddle seat, she let out a little whoop of triumph. “I did it,” she squealed. She sounded like she was a kid again, first learning to ride a bike, though then it’d been her mother watching from beside the swing on their wraparound porch, a lit Virginia Slims cigarette balanced between her off-white teeth. Not a man who made her burn with need every time he looked at her, who made her feel like she was worth something.
Malcolm was slow-clapping like she’d accomplished something worthwhile rather than an easy feat he did every day. Hell, he could probably do it in his sleep. “You did it,” he said, not a hint of patronizing amusement in his voice.
Now that she was settled, the horse started to move, moseying forward to circle the paddock. Trixie plastered herself flat against the beast’s neck, wrapping her arms around him so she didn’t fall off. “Oh Lord, what’s he doing? Sweet Jesus, he’s gonna buck me off.”
Malcolm laughed. “You aren’t going anywhere, Trixie. He knows what to do. Even if you don’t.”
The horse circled the paddock once, slow and easy, though Trixie didn’t dare sit up in the saddle. “I’m riding a horse, Malcolm.”
“I see that.”
Clover’s tail came up from behind and flicked her once or twice. She cringed. “Why’s he doing that?”
Malcolm was chuckling again, shaking his head. Okay, maybe he was patronizing her, at least a bit. “You’re scared and he knows it. Everything you feel, he feels. Relax a bit and he will, too.”
Blowing out a slow breath, Trixie did as she was told, inching upward until finally she was sitting up in the saddle.
“Take his reins. He isn’t in charge. You are.”
She did. The smooth leather settled into her hands. She could see farther across the landscape from here, the dips and curves. She relaxed a bit, allowing her body to fall in rhythm with the horse’s instead of working against it.
“That’s it. Better.”
Trixie nodded. “Malcolm.”
“Yeah, Trixie?”
“I don’t know how to get down.”
“I got you,” he said, chuckling. He hopped over the paddock and came up beside the horse, taking the reins from her. He tugged them gently, bringing the animal to a stop, before he hooked her under her arms and lifted her off.
She wrapped her arms around him, far more comfortable in his arms than she’d been on top of the horse. To her surprise, he kept her there, flush against him.
“That wasn’t so hard, was it?”
“Easy for you to say.” She glanced down. “Trust doesn’t come easy for me.”
“Me neither,” he admitted. He tilted her chin up toward him. “But you make it easy.”
The kiss he laid on her lips was slow and easy. Not the flurry of heat or heady emotion she’d felt from him before. Soft. Slow. Comfortable. The kind of kiss shared with someone who wasn’t only comfortable but permanent. Trixie pulled back, emotion caught in her throat. She needed to tell him the truth. Even if it hurt her, she’d bear it, as long as she didn’t have to hurt him. He’d already had more than enough pain for a lifetime.
She opened her mouth, trying to find the words, but the buzz of the phone in the pocket of his leather coat that she wore interrupted them.
“Hey, Malcolm,” someone shouted in the distance.
Trixie glanced over his shoulder. Blaze.
“Go on,” she urged.
Malcolm nodded, heading toward his packmate as Trixie glanced at the number on her phone. She didn’t recognize it. Her stomach plummeted. The phone kept ringing, vibrating in her hand, demanding she answer it. She knew better than to think she could ignore the will of a powerful man without him bringing down a world of hurt on her.
Once Malcolm was a safe distance away, joining Blaze, she answered.
“What do you want?”
“Tsk, tsk, tsk.” Stan’s voice came from the other end of the line. “That’s not how this works, Trixie. You don’t get to make demands.”
She lowered her voice to a hiss, careful so Malcolm or Blaze couldn’t hear her. Shifters’ hearing abilities were uncanny. “It’s not a demand, asshole. It’s a question.”
“Careful. We’ve already been through this. I’m giving you this opportunity out of the kindness of my heart.”
Sure he was. Trixie’s hand clenched into a fist.
“What do you have for me?” Stan asked, not allowing her to even gather her wits.
“Nothing. Not yet. I haven’t been here long enough,” she said.
“Don’t lie to me, you rancid bitch.”
The taste in her mouth was vile, but she pushed through it. “I’m not lying,” she shot back. “You think the moment I get here they’re going to tell me all the pack secrets? I’m still earning their trust, proving myself.” And trying her best to help them in the process, though Stan didn’t know that.
“You’re too busy fucking around with that mutt you call a boyfriend. I always knew you were easy.”
Trixie clenched her teeth. As if being easy and enjoying sex was one of the worst things a woman could be. She disagreed. “He’s not my boyfriend. He’s nothing to me.” Another whispered lie. This one even more bitter. She couldn’t risk Malcolm hearing her.
“Now I know you’re lying,” Stan said. The bear shifter had his own talents. No one worked their way that far up in the Triple S without being brutal, ruthless.
Trixie glanced over her shoulder to where Malcolm and Blaze were conversing a safe distance away before she turned back to the mountain landscape before her. Wolf Pack Run was gorgeous, breathtaking. The lands backed up to Yellowstone National Park, and the views were stunning. But at the moment, the open sky felt so large, like it could swallow her whole and no one would miss her. “I’ll have something for you. Soon,” she reassured Stan. “Just give me a bit more time.”
“Remember what’s at stake, darlin’,” Stan said, mocking her accent. “You step one pretty little toe out of line, tell that boyfriend of yours what we’re up to, and our little contract transfers to him. I’ll own him.”
Trixie stiffened. “You’re lying. Boss’s contracts don’t transfer.” Not unless someone was stupid enough to accept the debt as their own. The only reason she hadn’t told Malcolm already was because Stan had threatened to go after Jackie and his family, and they were innocents in all this. That’d been bad enough.
But the thought of Stan coming for Malcolm…
She’d meant it when she told Stan he wouldn’t stand a chance, but would the scales tip if Malcolm didn’t even see the attack coming? She couldn’t put him in that position.
“You want to risk it?” Stan asked, playing her like the in-love fool she was. That was the problem with caring for someone. It made you weak, easy to manipulate. She’d thought she’d learned that lesson the first time.
“You have less than twenty-four hours. If you don’t deliver, your little coyote friend dies first.”
Stan hung up, leaving her standing there freezing in the whistling Montana wind.
Malcolm’s hand touched her shoulder, making her nearly jump out of her skin. She spun to face him. The fire in his eyes burned through her.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, latching onto the first thing she could to distract him, so then he didn’t ask her the same.
Malcolm’s expression turned grim. “The Execution Underground is here.”