Wicked Cowboy Wolf Read online

  Mae had never seen so many scars, tattoos, and scruffy beards in her life, and was that…? She blinked. Yes, it was. One of them was actually wearing an eye patch. Even beneath his Stetson, it made him look like a pirate.

  Which she guessed wouldn’t be that far-fetched for this crew.

  With narrowed eyes, they watched her, quiet tension filling the room as they assessed her with suspicious eyes. She knew she looked the worse for wear, considering she’d just walked several miles in the evening humidity, but they weren’t staring in disgust. Instead, they looked as if they would eat her for breakfast with a side of nails…

  Her stomach gave another lurch. What had she gotten herself into?

  Murtagh was the first to break the silence. “Ach,” he swore. “He dinna so much as offer ye a ride back?”

  “I rode back on one of the spare horses, but I…uh…had a little run-in with a wheelbarrow shortly before that. It was my own fault.” She swallowed the nervous lump in her throat, her eyes refusing to leave the other wolves who were still staring at her as if she were about to be made into minced meat. “I didn’t ask for a ride.”

  “Ye should no’ ’ave had to.” Murtagh set his beer stein down on the tabletop with a heavy thud. Golden liquid sloshed over the edge. “I tell ye, if my da had raised that boy, he’d ’ave—”

  “We know,” the other wolves groaned. In unison, they faked their best Scottish accents. “He would ’ave cuffed ’im ’round the ears,” they mocked before settling into a round of jesting laughs.

  The tension eased slightly, and Mae finally felt as if she could breathe again.

  Murtagh grumbled, easing down from the chair where he sat. “If I’d ’ave known he left ye out there, I would have come fer ye myself hours ago.”

  One of the younger wolves clapped him on the back with a smirk. “Always the gentleman, Murtagh.” Despite his youthful features, a large red beard consumed half his face.

  “Shove off, Boone,” the dark-skinned cowboy with the eye patch grumbled. “You would have gone out and helped her too. Poor thing looks like the cat dragged her in.”

  A wolf so covered in tattoos he didn’t seem to have any bare skin left raised his glass. From his features, he was clearly of East Asian descent. “Or a group of rogue wolves.”

  Eye Patch grinned. “But even mussed up, she’s a pretty little thing.”

  Boone shook his head. “Of course she is. With how long a flame—”

  Murtagh shot Boone a pointed look, silencing him instantly. “Rogue willna be keen on either of ye speakin’ like that of the lass.”

  “I didn’t mean anything by it, Murtagh. I was just saying—”

  “Just nothing,” Murtagh said.

  “Don’t be so uptight, Murtagh,” Eye Patch grumbled.

  “We’ll play nice with her,” Boone added. “We swear it.”

  “I’m standing right here, you know,” Mae interjected. They were talking as if she couldn’t hear them. Placing her hands on her hips, she used the tone she reserved for when the Grey Wolf cowboys needed to be whipped into shape. “Being a pack wolf doesn’t make me deaf.”

  At that, the group turned their attention toward her.

  “And for that matter, I might look like something the cat dragged in, but I’m no worse than any one of your motley crew,” she said.

  The rogue wolves exchanged silent glances. For a moment, Mae was certain they might throttle her. Apparently, she’d overstepped her bounds. All of them against her wasn’t good odds. She gulped, resisting the urge to clap a hand over her big mouth, but to her surprise, the rogue wolves burst out laughing, deep belly laughs that shook the whole kitchen island. The relief that settled over her was immediate.

  Eye Patch thumped the tabletop as he roared, “I like her already.”

  The other men raised their mugs in agreement.

  Murtagh nodded. “She’ll be giving ’im a run fer it, all right.” He ambled over to Mae’s side. From the slight sway in his step, the Scot had clearly had more than a few drinks. They likely all had. Tossing a large tattoo-covered arm around her shoulders, Murtagh nodded at each wolf as he introduced them. “This is Yuri. Our Japanese transplant.” He nodded to the other tattooed wolf. “Sterling,” he said, nodding to Eye Patch. As his eyes fell on the last wolf, his Scottish brogue thickened. “And ye’ll ’ave to ken this is the wee lad of the bunch, Boone.”

  Boone looked about as pleased as a wrangled bull to be called a “wee lad.”

  Boone and Murtagh’s conversation devolved into back-and-forth bickering, while Sterling and Yuri watched her. Sterling grinned. Beneath his Stetson, his gold tooth glinted in the light. “I heard you demanded to be Rogue’s partner.”

  Mae gave a reluctant nod.

  Sterling banged his fist on the table a few times to get Boone and Murtagh’s attention. “Tell us. What did you tell the Rogue when you stopped him out in the pasture?”

  Mae hesitated. “I…I told him I’d be damned if I’d be treated like his prisoner.”

  Sterling’s grin widened. “And what did he think of that?”

  Mae shrugged. “Well, he wasn’t very pleased.”

  “He wasn’t very pleased,” Sterling echoed. The rogue wolves burst into another round of drunken laughter.

  “I would have paid all my winnings to see his face,” Yuri laughed.

  Mae couldn’t help her slight grin.

  Murtagh was shaking his head at them. “Enough with ye now. She’ll be wantin’ a bath and some food in ’er belly.”

  At the mention of food, Mae’s stomach gave a rumbling growl. She hadn’t eaten since dinner yesterday evening, and a shower sounded like heaven at the moment.

  Murtagh turned his attention to a hall that presumably led to the kitchen. “Daisy!” he hollered. “Daisy!” He glanced toward Mae. “Daisy’s one of our ranch hands,” he said.

  The she-wolf who appeared a few moments later looked nothing like a Daisy. Large and stately, she was nearly as tall and wide-shouldered as the men—an Amazon if there ever was one. Her frizzy brown hair was swept back into a makeshift bun. “What the hell are you hollering about?” she asked. “It’s supposed to be my night off.”

  “Can ye fetch some food?”

  Daisy scowled. “Just because I’m a woman doesn’t mean I’m getting your dinner for you.”

  “It’s not because you’re a woman. I meant on account of the fact that ye were in the kitchen,” Murtagh said.

  Daisy scowled, and Mae fought down a laugh at Murtagh’s expense. That comment didn’t fare much better.

  Daisy placed her hands on her hips. “Fetch your own damn sandwich, you—” Her voice stopped short as Murtagh nodded toward Mae. At the sight of her, Daisy’s eyes lit up before a smile crossed her lips. “Another woman on these godforsaken ranchlands,” she said. “Thank goodness.”

  Before Mae could protest, Daisy had ushered her into the kitchen.

  Mae and her companion made casual conversation as they both raided the kitchens. Daisy, who’d been born a rogue she-wolf rather than becoming one by circumstance or choice, confessed everything about life at Black Hollow Ranch. According to her, female rogues were less common than their male counterparts, particularly out in the western states, so having another woman to talk to was a treat.

  By Daisy’s account, only she, their male chef, and a few stable hands lived in the mansion full-time. They kept the ranch in order while Rogue and his men traveled. Apparently, Rogue owned multiple ranches throughout the west, not to mention several other “not-to-be-disclosed” underground operations.

  Together, she and Daisy persuaded the cook, who the rogue wolves affectionately called Frenchie, to create a vegetarian dinner option for her. The chef assembled a fresh caprese salad, complete with cherry tomatoes and basil from the ranch’s small garden peppered with fresh mozzarella from a ne
arby dairy farm and homemade balsamic vinaigrette.

  Mae was so hungry she ate every bite.

  An hour later, she felt a bit more herself again. She sat at the table in the midst of a game of poker with Daisy and Rogue’s men. Though Mae had been wary of them at first, as the evening drew on, she warmed to the group considerably. Murtagh was more bark than bite. Boone was so young and green, he was relatively harmless. Yuri was a quiet, stoic type, and Sterling, bless his sweet heart, had even trudged out to the pigpen in the dark and retrieved Tucker for her.

  With her belly full and satisfied, Mae cradled a sleeping Tucker in one arm. “Read ’em and weep, boys.” She grinned as she laid down a straight flush before she swept all the chips on the table toward her.

  “Shite!” Murtagh banged his fist on the tabletop.

  “She’s a damn card shark. I swear you’re counting them,” Boone moaned. He shoved more chips toward her.

  Mae grinned. She was counting them, but considering they were only playing for fun, it didn’t hurt anything. She’d learned the trick in a game theory class she’d taken as a math elective for her finance degree back in college. Art would have been her preferred choice of major, but considering her artistic talents wouldn’t lend much help around the ranch and she was good with numbers, she’d ended up with finance.

  At least it left her with a few card tricks up her sleeve.

  “You just don’t like to lose to a woman,” Daisy cackled, her tone full of sass. She shot Mae a mischievous grin. “Are the Grey Wolf cowboys such sore losers at poker?”

  Mae laughed. “Typically.” She smiled at the rogue wolves around the table. “This has been fun, and dinner and the snacks were delicious,” she announced.

  “’Tis all right if ye don’t like meat, I s’pose,” Murtagh grumbled. His mood had gone south. Oddly enough, he seemed displeased with the snacks Frenchie had brought them.

  Mae smiled. “Better than all right. That’s the best meal I’ve had in a long time.”

  Murtagh grumbled again, muttering something under his breath about heading to bed before he made his exit.

  Mae glanced toward the other rogue wolves. “Did I say something wrong?”

  Daisy shook her head. “No, it’s not you. It’s just…” Her voice trailed off.

  “Murtagh isn’t too fond of Frenchie being the new cook,” Yuri finished.

  Mae raised a brow. “Why not?” The cook had seemed friendly and accommodating. Not to mention his culinary skills were outstanding.

  The group exchanged knowing glances.

  “It’s nothing personal. We all love Frenchie,” Boone said. “But he replaced our old cook, and sometimes Murtagh gets…moody about the old days.”

  Mae’s brow furrowed. “Because he liked the old cook’s food better?” That didn’t make a lick of sense. There was something they weren’t saying.

  “No. No. Cassidy was a horrible cook,” Yuri said.

  Sterling faked throwing up beneath the table.

  “Have some respect,” Daisy chastised.

  Boone leaned forward, twisting his mug of beer around on the table. He was clearly underage, but none of the rogues seemed to care that he was partaking. “Murtagh would have eaten anything Cassidy made, even if it tasted like pig’s ass—and not the good kind.” He shot a glance toward Tucker as if imagining what he might taste like before he said, “Cassidy was Murtagh’s younger brother.”

  Was. Mae caught the distinction there. Her heart sank. She didn’t know any of them well, but Murtagh had been kind to her, and the thought of anyone losing someone they’d loved for so long pained her.

  Briefly her thoughts turned to Jared…

  She knew what grief was like, to have love in her heart that had no place to go.

  “Murtagh’s only sour about Frenchie sometimes because he’s Cassidy’s replacement,” Sterling clarified, bringing her back to the moment.

  Yuri nodded solemnly. “Cassidy crossed the rainbow bridge three months back, thanks to the vampires’ serum.” He growled. “Those bloodsucking fuckers.”

  Mae stiffened. Rogue had mentioned that his kind had been targeted in the early serum tests, but he hadn’t said the victim was someone close to him. From the sounds of it, Murtagh had known Rogue for years, which likely meant his younger brother had as well.

  “I’m so sorry to hear that,” Mae said.

  “Death is a way of life for rogues. We don’t have a pack to protect us,” Boone said.

  “Couldn’t you join a pack?” Mae asked.

  Silence fell over the group. The question hung heavy in the air, as if she’d asked if they liked to eat children for breakfast.

  “I mean…that is, if you wanted to,” she added, trying to amend her error.

  “It’s not that easy for us. Too many things to disqualify membership. Criminal background checks, previous pack history, and more,” Sterling said.

  Boone scowled. “The cards are stacked against rogue wolves.”

  “But things will be better once we have the antidote.” Daisy stood and gathered several empty beer bottles off the table. “Rogue will make certain of that.”

  The weight of Daisy and the other wolves’ optimism hung heavy on Mae’s shoulders. Not only did her own pack need this, but so did these wolves. It didn’t matter that she didn’t know them well. It raised the stakes even higher.

  Later that evening, when Mae returned to her room for the night, she found a sketchbook and a large tin box of professional graphite pencils along with a white eraser on the edge of the four-poster bed. On top sat a note, one word scrawled across its surface in elegant cursive. Somehow, the writing seemed familiar. She picked up the note.

  Truce?

  Of course, he’d likely heard about her incident in the stables, and a cowboy like him wouldn’t apologize. A small smile crossed her lips nonetheless. She sat on the edge of the bed, running her fingers over the sketchbook as she petted Tucker. As she trailed her hand over the thick, coarse paper, her thoughts wandered toward the wicked wolf—stubborn, criminal, handsome manipulator that he was. After the abduction incident, she’d been certain she had him figured out. Maverick and the Seven Range Pact had always painted him as a dark criminal, someone who undermined the authority of packmasters everywhere for no good reason. She still didn’t forgive him, but…

  Mae glanced toward the door, her thoughts turning to the rogue wolves downstairs.

  Now, she wasn’t so certain. If not him, who else did these wolves have to protect them, to look out for their interests?

  She didn’t have to like it, but maybe her initial instinct had been right.

  Maybe, he wasn’t such a villain after all…

  Chapter 12

  When Mae woke several hours later, she couldn’t get back to sleep. She lay in bed for what felt like hours, her mind replaying every scenario since the moment Rogue had first turned up in her bedroom and worrying over what lay before them the following night. Despite their newfound truce, she still wasn’t certain she’d made the right decision in partnering with him, though she supposed time would tell.

  After more than one unsuccessful attempt to quiet her mind and return to sleep, she finally threw back the covers and ventured out of bed. The children and Murtagh had mentioned a library in the south wing of the mansion, and she intended to find it. With any luck, she’d find an entertaining read to pass the midnight hours. With tentative steps, she crept from her room and descended the staircase to the first floor.

  The mansion was quiet. Wolves were nocturnal by nature, but she’d observed that much like Wolf Pack Run, Black Hollow bustled most when the sun was high in the sky, since ranching work lent itself to daytime hours. Her footsteps pattered on the cold marble flooring as she crept through the darkness. As she ventured through the mansion, she passed several closed doors with lights shining beneath the frame.
Muffled voices traveled out into the hall from inside. Apparently, she wasn’t the only one burning the midnight oil.

  When she reached a large pair of wooden double doors that she felt certain must lead into the library, she paused. What if it was his private study and he didn’t want her there? She pushed the thought aside as quickly as it came. No. After everything she’d been through, she at least deserved the enjoyment of a good book. He owed her that much. Mae slipped inside.

  The library was illuminated only by a table lamp in the corner. Shadows lent the row of shelves an eerie, abandoned quality, but Mae didn’t need an abundance of light to see the grandeur. Mahogany shelves filled with thousands upon thousands of volumes lined the towering walls. A spiral staircase led up to a second-floor landing, which revealed even more of the collection. From the looks of it, the library held everything from the latest fiction to old historical volumes. She allowed her eyes to wander, taking it all in with a keen sense of wonder.

  “You like it?” The deep voice sounded from behind her.

  Mae turned to find Rogue cloaked in shadow, an open book in his hand. He’d been standing not far from the table lamp, yet he blended so well into the darkness, it was as if he were born of it.

  The shadows covered the scarred side of his face until the old wounds disappeared into the dimness. He was one with the dark, a phantom king who lurked among the shadows and fancied himself a devil, and she was the innocent standing at his crossroads.

  “What gave you that idea?” she asked. She did like it. In fact, she loved it. She wished the Grey Wolves had something this grand back at Wolf Pack Run, and the thought that they didn’t fueled a hint of jealousy in her, but she hadn’t uttered a single word.

  “You wear your emotions on your sleeve, Princess. You couldn’t hide your true feelings if you tried.”

  She didn’t bother to deny it. Perhaps it was true. For him, she was easy to read. What she didn’t say was that she’d wager that wasn’t the case for everyone. Yet for him, without even trying, she was as open as the book clutched in his palm.