Feral (Wolf Ranch 3)

11

WILLOW

“Um, wow.”

After how dominant Rob was in bed—and out, I wouldn’t have taken him for a cuddler. But there I was, wrapped up in his arms, the soft fur of his chest tickling my back. He’d brought a washcloth to clean me up, and he now lay behind me, his muscled arm draped over my waist, his hand cupping my breast.

“Tell me about yourself, Natalie Shefield.” Idly, his thumb played with my nipple which was quite distracting. Even after everything we’d just done—and my bottom was a little sore—his touch was arousing.

I winced at the name. Natalie Shefield. It sounded so wrong on his lips. I wasn’t the sappy type, but damn if I didn’t want to hear my real name in his deep rumble right now, especially after what we did. There didn’t need to be affection or commitment tied to sex. Hell, I was the queen of that country. With Rob, it felt different. The connection was intense, almost visceral and perhaps that was why it felt so guilty. That while I gave myself to him so completely just a few minutes ago with my body, I could only lie to him with my words now.

There couldn’t be any truth in my words, that the real me had to remain a secret. Not only outright lying but lying by omission too.

I rolled in his arms to face him. Up close, I could see his dark beard coming in. He was the kind of guy who had to shave every day. I wondered if he ever grew a beard, maybe in the winter and what he’d look like. Hell, what it would feel brushing over my thighs.

He was watching me, patient and quiet. What could I say? I searched my mind for something true. “I like Greek salad and gyros,” I blurted, thinking of the gyro place by my apartment in Phoenix.

He grinned. “That might be tough in Cooper Valley, but I’ll look into it.”

I smiled back, suddenly floating. He wanted to find me a gyro shop? Who was this guy? We just had the randiest sex ever, and now he was acting like Prince Charming, post orgasm? That never happened. Usually it was pants on and out the door—for both of us. I mean, usually if a guy stayed, I was shoving him out the door. I didn’t do sleepovers or morning afters.

This one wanted to find me gyros. And I seemed to like it.

“What’s your plan here? You sticking around? You told Boyd you didn’t want to sell the place.”

Aw, fuck. I really wanted to keep this about the real me, but it seemed that would be impossible. I drew a breath. I had no idea what the real Natalie’s plans were. I’d spoken with her before I arrived, knew she was getting a Master’s degree in music theory—where I couldn’t even hold a tune in the shower—and probably settling here in Montana because she was barely getting by as a musician in the big city. While she may have thought a mortgage-free ranch would be cheap, the bad roof was an example of the way this place might bleed her dry.

“Yeah, I don’t know yet. I’m kind of figuring things out as I go.”

Not a lie.

“Are you going to look for a job? Or… try to ranch?” he asked doubtfully.

I pushed up on an elbow, puffing my chest up. “What, you don’t think I could ranch?”

He dropped to his back, hands up like he was surrendering. “I didn’t say that. I’m quite sure you could do quite a few things on your own that most single women couldn’t. Handle a weapon, for one. You gonna tell me what that’s about?” He glanced over my shoulder at the nightstand where my gun had been the day before.

“It’s downstairs on the kitchen table.”

He frowned.

“I was on the roof, remember?”

I noted the look of concern on his face again. Like he thought I was on the run or someone was after me. Why I needed to move a gun around the house with me. I should be thankful for him not being the kind of guy who worried a little-ole-thing-like-me might shoot herself. He wasn’t questioning my abilities, just the need for it.

It was damn sweet of him, his protectiveness, even though he was way off the mark.

“No one’s after me,” I said.

Huh. I also noted his eyes were darker than I thought. I could’ve sworn they were golden before. And I’m pretty good at remembering faces. It was part of the training.

“What color would you say your eyes are?” I asked, not only curious but eager to change the subject.

He stared back at me, his expression suddenly blank. After a beat too long, he said, “Well, that was an obvious redirect.” Yeah, he’d caught on. “You think I’m dumb enough to fall for that?”