Wicked Cowboy Wolf Page 17

  “So when their mother died, it was your responsibility to ensure their well-being?” she asked.

  “It’s my responsibility to ensure rogue wolves aren’t taken advantage of, and had those children been left to fend for themselves, they would have been.” He knew all too well what happened to packless shifter children. He might have been older than Will, Hope, and Noah when he’d been cast out of the Grey Wolf Pack; at the time, he might have thought himself nearly a man, but he’d been a child all the same. In retrospect, he saw that with clarity.

  But being a child hadn’t afforded him any mercy. Not from the likes of her father.

  Mae’s brow furrowed as she shook her head. “Those poor babies,” she said. “They’re still so small. Noah in particular.”

  “It’s not Noah I worry about.”

  Mae waited for him to elaborate.

  Jared scraped a hand over the five-o’clock whiskers on his chin. “Will,” he admitted. “He’s old enough to remember, old enough to be angry, old enough to…” His voice trailed off.

  Old enough to want revenge…

  Rogue cleared his throat. “That’s all of it though, Princess. The whole tale.”

  “That’s not all of it,” she said, refusing to let the subject drop.

  He turned back toward her. She was watching him with an intense curiosity in her bright-green eyes, as if he were a puzzle she was trying to solve.

  What she didn’t realize was that she’d solved the mystery of him years ago. When she’d been a girl, a sweet, young girl who’d seen something in him, even when no one else had. She’d always been his answer, the key to what softened him, completed him, made him whole. Maybe that was why he’d never been able to let her go after all those years, because deep down, he knew he would never be whole again without her.

  What agony to know the one thing that would complete him, revitalize and restore him, would never, could never be his. Not unless he wished to destroy her.

  “It’s more than that,” she persisted.

  He brushed her comments aside. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “You’re powerful beyond measure, richer than Midas, more influential than Caesar among your kind. You said yourself that for a wolf like you, impossible deals and situations are easy. You could have found someone to take the children in, to care for them as their own, but you didn’t. Instead, you chose to bring them here to Black Hollow to live with you, for you to keep a watchful eye on them, practically like a surrogate father.”

  He failed to see how that mattered. “And your point?”

  “Why?” she asked. “Why would a hardened criminal want to care for three young orphans? Unless…” Her voice trailed off, but her meaning was clear.

  He’d already told her he had no family. “Unless I was an orphan myself,” he finished for her. The statement was met with silence. He turned back toward the window where the clouds eclipsed the moon until the little light that remained was smothered. “You’re right,” he said. “Though I was much older than them. Far better equipped to handle the cruelty of our world, but still…” He left the rest unspoken. The weight of his secrets filled the room, even as he hid the full truth of his past. Leave it to Mae to flay open the dark, shriveled excuse for a heart he possessed.

  “Tell me,” she whispered.

  Her plea hung heavy in the air between them.

  Initially, he resisted, but the more he contemplated it, the more he wanted to.

  Why couldn’t he tell her? If he muddled the details, glossed over the description, she’d never be the wiser.

  No closer to seeing him than she was now.

  “I was fifteen when I was cast from my pack,” he said. “My father was cast out with me. He intended to protect me, as parents and guardians are wont to do, but he died before he ever had the chance to do that.”

  He could still hear the sound of his father’s pleas, the pain as he cried out. Not the physical pain, but the pain of betrayal, of being kissed on the cheek by a Judas of a man who’d sworn to be his father’s friend, his brother.

  All because Jared had chosen to protect Mae.

  That’d been the only moment he regretted his decision. He’d never had the best relationship with his father. The man had always held Jared to such an impossible standard of alphahood that as a young, bullied boy, Jared had never felt he could live up to it, even though he’d secretly longed for his father’s approval. Or not so secretly; at least Mae had known.

  When it had become clear that the consequences for disobeying pack would affect more than him, he’d realized Thomas Grey’s actions were merely an excuse to steal a throne rightfully meant for Jared. It didn’t matter that Thomas was punishing a young boy to the letter of pack law for protecting the packmaster’s own flesh and blood, that Jared’s father was innocent in the whole charade. Jared, and by association his father, were simply pawns in Thomas’s agenda—a means to an end.

  That moment of realization had been the only time Jared had regretted what he’d given up for the love of Maeve Grey. But at that point, it had already been too late.

  He’d long ago made peace with how his actions had destroyed his father. He knew now, without a doubt, that if it hadn’t been his sacrifice for Mae, Thomas would have found another excuse to exploit.

  Thomas Grey had been all too eager to preserve the power of his legacy by ensuring his only and eldest son was the continued heir to the Grey Wolf throne, not a wolf from the Black family, despite them being equally as Grey Wolf as they came. The ancestors of the Black family, Jared’s ancestors, had been there centuries ago at the founding of the Grey Wolf Pack, just as the other two founding families had—the Cavanaughs and the Greys.

  “My father was murdered by a packmaster who valued little more than power, even over his own family,” Rogue said. “And my critics, your brother included, say I have a hatred for pack wolves.”

  He didn’t. Not really. He only resented what had been stolen from his family and the privileges that had been withheld from so many rogue wolves. “But what wolf wouldn’t feel hatred for that?”

  Not any wolf he cared for. That was for certain.

  “I’m so sorry,” Mae whispered.

  “Don’t disgrace me with your pity, Princess. I don’t deserve pity. Not from an innocent like you.” She’d been another victim in all this, though she didn’t know it. She had no idea what her father had done, what her brother had later kept hidden from her.

  “I’m not as innocent as you think,” she countered.

  “I don’t think you’re innocent. I know you are.”

  “I killed a man once.”

  The admission caused him to stiffen.

  “I…killed him,” she repeated. He held the impression it was the first time she’d admitted it out loud. “With my own two hands. With a knife.”

  “And does it haunt you?” he asked. He wasn’t certain he wanted to know the answer.

  “No. He was an abuser, a predator who’d hurt me in ways that still keep me up at night.” Her lip curled into a shadow of a snarl as she thought of her disgusting excuse of an uncle. “No, I don’t regret it. He deserved it.” Her hands clenched into fists even though he could tell sadness plagued her. “But my best friend took the fall, and I’ve never forgiven myself, not in the twenty years since.”

  “I’m sure your friend wouldn’t want you to feel that way. He’d likely tell you to move on with your life, forget about him and the consequences of that damn incident once and for all.”

  “Maybe,” she said. “But I’ll never know. He’s been dead for twenty years, and yet I…” She inhaled a sharp breath, and the regret he heard there cut through him. “…I still can’t bring myself to forget him.”

  Rogue was certain someone had ripped his still-pulsing heart from his chest. It felt as if the organ lay there on the floor between them, s
till beating and causing him pain as the words she spoke acted like daggers and sliced it to shreds.

  “You should,” he urged. “Forget him, that is. The essence of grief is carrying love in your heart that has no place to go, and if you carry it for too long, it festers inside you, infecting your chest like a plague and eating you away until there’s nothing left. At least, nothing that’s worth saving.”

  Her fingertips brushed over his spine, tracing the lines where, beneath his shirt, the ink of his dragon tattoo lay. Not the dragon whose fate was to be slayed by the prince, but the dragon that spent its life guarding and protecting the princess inside her tower. Her touch was so gentle that he nearly crumbled beneath it.

  He shook beneath her hands. It took everything in him not to turn toward her, to confess all his darkest sins, who he was both now and then. He’d tell her everything. His dreams, his hopes, his fears, his pain, because he wanted the absolution she offered, the loving look in her eye that she’d given him as she’d passed him that damn aloe plant and offered him friendship.

  Even though he’d done nothing to deserve it.

  But he didn’t. Instead, he stood there, frozen beneath her touch and unable to look at her, because if he did give in to his desires, he’d destroy the one true promise he’d sworn to keep. And what kind of monster would he be then?

  The muscles of his shoulders writhed and tensed. “Go back to bed now, Princess.” The graveled words were harsh and feral, filled with every ounce of the pain that ached in his chest. He could scarcely breathe as he choked on them. He couldn’t take another moment of her gentle touch. Not if he wanted his sanity to remain intact.

  “Why?” she asked. There was more hurt in her voice than he ever wanted to hear. “Every time we get close, why do you push me away?”

  Hell if he knew the answer, because deep down, he wasn’t certain keeping his promise to her was worth the fight anymore…

  He cleared his throat, his next words coming on a growl as, thankfully, she stepped toward the door.

  “Because there’s not enough whiskey in this decanter to chase the demons away.”

  Chapter 13

  Mae spent more time searching for her wayward teacup pig than was reasonable, and unfortunately even she recognized this. The following morning, she trekked through the pasture’s green grass, heading out to the stables to find a horse to aid in her search. Tucker had taken to wandering out to the pigpens to visit his fellow piggies, and while Mae enjoyed a good walk, she wasn’t about to risk the chance of getting stranded in the middle of the pasture again.

  Since they’d arrived at Black Hollow, Tucker had taken his liberties to new bounds. At Wolf Pack Run, while he enjoyed free range over the ranchlands, he generally kept close to Mae. But since they’d arrived at Black Hollow, the little piglet had a newfound appreciation for exploration.

  Exploration.

  She supposed that was one word for it. Her thoughts turned to Rogue and how she’d wanted to explore with him last night. It had taken everything in her to leave him there, alone in the library, while she returned to bed. He was one of the most powerful wolves on the continent, a cowboy with a reputation forged of iron will and bloodshed, and yet she’d wanted to go to him, to hold him in her arms, to be with him in every sense of the word. She’d wanted to heal him.

  And for the first time since they’d met, her feelings for him had been about more than desire or curious intrigue. He might be a devil, a monster of a wolf who’d do anything to get his way, but he was also a man who fiercely protected those he cared for, the vulnerable. Like hell if that didn’t soften her opinion of him more than she’d bargained for.

  She picked up her pace as she neared the stables. She was a cowgirl at heart, and a ride through the foothills with the summer breeze ruffling her short hair would do her good. Breathing in a long draw of mountain air, she paused as she reached the stable doors. The warmth of the summer sun beat down on her face and prickled over her skin, likely leaving additional freckles in its wake. Before tonight, she needed to clear her head. At least if she expected to make it through their intel meeting without her nervous heart pounding out of her chest.

  Stepping into the stables, she stopped midstride, taking in the sight before her.

  Rogue gripped the reins of a sable-colored mare as he led her toward a black-and-white Appaloosa stallion. The mare wore a chain of yellow daises around her neck that, if Mae had to guess, had been picked and threaded together by the clapping five-year-old beside Rogue. Noah was also with them, holding his sister’s hand with an equally excited grin on his lips, while Bee had taken to huffing cantankerously inside his stall gate. Will, however, was nowhere to be found.

  Mae fell back into the shadows of the stable door as she watched.

  “Oh, Martha’s so beautiful,” Hope squealed with delight.

  “A woman is never so stunning as on her wedding day,” Rogue said.

  Hope shot him a chastising glare.

  “Or a mare in this case,” he amended.

  Mae stifled a laugh. Who would have thought all it took to bring a wicked cowboy wolf like the Rogue to his knees was a precocious five-year-old girl?

  “G-good boy, O-Ollie.” Noah patted the Appaloosa through the stall gate.

  “He looks so pleased!” Hope clutched her hands together over her heart.

  “I think he looks oblivious to the whole thing,” Rogue commented.

  Ollie’s large black eyes stared unfocused into the distance as he chewed a piece of straw caught in his mouth. It appeared that prior to the ceremony, he’d been rustling around in his stall. The horse looked as if he had as much intellect as a cow chewing its cud, and any rancher with half a brain would say cows were dumber than…

  “Shit,” Rogue swore, drawing Mae’s attention back to him.

  He’d apparently stepped in some and had announced it accordingly.

  “Murtagh’s told you not to say those words around us.” Hope wagged a finger at him as Noah mimicked her.

  “Murtagh isn’t the one tasked with officiating a horse’s wedding every other morning,” Rogue grumbled as he scraped his boot off on the concrete. The grin on his lips softened the complaint considerably.

  “It’s time now,” Hope announced, glancing at the horses.

  Mae wasn’t certain what indicated that, but Hope appeared convinced.

  “Say the words. Say the words,” Noah chanted.

  Rogue finished scraping the manure off his boot before he thumped a fist hard against his chest and made a show of clearing his throat.

  Mae struggled not to laugh.

  “Dearly beloved,” Rogue began, “we are gathered here today to join in holy matrimony, Ollie the oblivious Appaloosa”—he gestured to the stallion—“and Martha the matronly mare,” he proclaimed.

  “Psst,” Hope hissed. “What’s ‘matronly’ mean?” She lowered her voice to a whisper so as not to interrupt the ceremony.

  Not struggling at all to cover up the fact that the phrase really meant the mare had no purpose but breeding, Rogue whispered back, “It means she’s a…mature woman.”

  Hope shot him a glare.

  “Er, a mature mare,” he corrected.

  This time, at the sight of a wolf like the Rogue kowtowing to the will of a five-year-old, Mae couldn’t suppress a bark of laughter.

  Without missing a beat or turning toward her, Rogue said, “I wondered when you were going to stop taking a leaf from my book and lurking over there.”

  The benign comment sent a chill down Mae’s spine since it was clearly meant for her. Of course, a criminal cowboy as legendary as Rogue wouldn’t be easy to sneak up on.

  Now aware of her presence, Hope and Noah beckoned her over. “Come join us.”

  Mae crossed the stable and accepted Noah’s outreached hand. She stood directly across from Rogue, who gave her a poi
nted look.

  “Ollie appreciates older women,” he said with a completely straight face.

  Mae gathered the distinct impression he was trying to make her laugh again—and he was succeeding.

  “Does he?” She chuckled. She couldn’t have kept a straight face if she tried.

  Rogue patted Ollie on his thick neck. “Unfortunately, it runs in the family. He comes from a long line of brainless studs who, when it comes to anything other than coitus, are too lacking in intelligence.”

  “I think I’ve met a few wolves of that sort in my lifetime,” Mae joked.

  “Murtagh insists on keeping him, only for sentiment—”

  “What does ‘stud’ mean?” Noah asked.

  “And ‘coitus’?” Hope chimed in.

  Rogue shook his head. “Nothing important,” he answered. “Not until you’re older.” He faced the horses and cleared his throat again. “As I was saying, dearly beloved…”

  While she held Noah’s hand, Mae listened to Rogue officiate at the rest of the ceremony with a satisfied grin on her face. When she’d first arrived at Black Hollow, she’d thought he was a monster. Even then, she’d sensed something more in him, but he hid it so thoroughly behind his cynical exterior that, for a brief time, he convinced her that he didn’t have the capability for kindness in his heart. Had she left him bleeding on that forest floor, she might have returned home, but she never would have known the truth.

  He didn’t have the mere capability for kindness in his heart. He didn’t. He acted out of kindness and care in almost every action he took, even when he used dark and conniving means, and now that she’d seen he acted on that kindness, that he was more than just capable of it, it would never be able to be unseen.

  He’d still be the Rogue, a dark, nefarious criminal with a list of enemies so long it could’ve stretched the length of the Yellowstone River—twice—but to her, he’d now also be the fierce yet gentle cowboy who officiated at horse weddings in his spare time, and now that she knew that, she’d never regret the decision she’d made.

  It made Mae feel that the promises he’d made her—protecting her pack, granting her the freedom she longed for—were possible. And if a wolf like the Rogue could find kindness in his heart for small children, she trusted him, even if her brother didn’t.