Page 88 of The Cowboy and the Stray

I kissed the top of her head. “Especially from me.”

“Guess I better get used to it.”

“If you want.” Damn, I hoped she wanted.

Tess made a noise that was almost a laugh, then punched my ribs, light, but with intent. “Stop trying to be noble. Just be honest with me from now on.”

“I promise.”

She squinted at the sky, then leaned back into me. “We should get home before someone else sends out the cavalry.”

“Probably,” I said. The boys would be combing the whole county by now.

Tess tried to stand, but her ankle wobbled. I lifted her, easy as carrying a sack of feed, and she squeaked in surprise.

“I can walk,” she protested.

“Not as fast as I can,” I said. I let her down just enough to sling her arm around my shoulders, then we limped back toward the ranch together.

“You owe me a real story. None of this Texas cowboy crap.”

I grinned. “Deal.”

She was scared, but she was with me.

And that was all I needed.

42. TESS

I woke up inside a sweat lodge with polyester sheets. My brain was slow to reboot, but my body was ready to sprint. Every muscle locked up like I was still running. I blinked twice, expecting the ceiling to be open sky, but it was stark white drywall. The guest room at the ranch. I was alive. Nothing else made sense.

The next thing I noticed was Calder. He was hunched in a chair by the bed, elbows on knees, shirtless. He looked ridiculously fine for a man who’d fought a wild boar last night. Plus turned into a wolf and back. But that was normal for him.

Not me. Holy hell.

“Morning,” he said. No smile, just a twitch at the corner of his mouth.

I groaned and rolled to my side, which was a tactical mistake. My ribs sang. My ankle was still sore, too, wrapped in a towel that smelled faintly of horse liniment. My mouth tasted like I’d licked an old battery.

Calder handed me a glass of water. “Drink.”

I drank. It was cold, which was a miracle. I chugged until I coughed, and he took the glass away before I could drown myself.

For a full minute, neither of us spoke. He just sat there, looking at me like he was waiting for me to wake up all the way and start screaming.

Instead, I said, “Was that a dream, or do I need to up my therapy budget?”

He shrugged. “Could be both. Probably should be both, but you can’t tell your therapist about wolves.”

That got a laugh out of me, short and ugly. “So. You’re a werewolf.”

He shook his head. “Not that word. It’s pretty complicated.”

I sat up, careful not to jostle the ankle. “Not really. You turned into a wolf and killed a feral pig the size of a VW Bug. And your friends are wolves too. I assume it’s all of them?”

“Yeah. They weren’t with me because they were looking for you.”

“Lucky me,” I said. All of them? “Ash?”