Book 4: Texas Wolf Brothers
Throat dry, heart thumping, he could barely swallow. The hairs on the back of his neck rose like hackles. What. The. Hell. He’d led missions in enemy territory with utter confidence and calm. He was in a small American town most people would call historically charming. Besides, it wasn’t like one or all of the Wolf brothers would be standing around Main Street near suppertime on a Sunday night. They had a ranch to run. A home. Families. No one would notice him. He’d looked like another cowboy, not a soldier, not a man on a distasteful mission.
“See, not meet,” he reminded himself. He didn’t want anything from the Wolf brothers. He’d earned his money. His rank. His pride. Still scanning, he continued to walk until he saw a sidewalk sign and a pair of custom red boots with silver stars etched with several dates and hand-stitched embroidery reading ‘Texas Cowgirl Tough.’
He jerked to a stop.
Impossible.
Even as his eyes reluctantly tracked up, he heard the voice—impossible to forget.
“Sorry, sir, we’re closed.”
Deep. Musical. A husk whispering around the timbre, inviting him for pleasure and sin. The voice that always seemed to be barely containing an amused chuckle as if she found him and his too-hot-to-contain need of her inexplicable, but she’d roll with it anyway.
“Don’t be like that, darlin’. It’s a beautiful night.” A bulky man blocked the woman from his view. “You’re a beautiful woman, and I’m in need of some company, if you know what I mean. You got some open bottles of wine. Let’s sit by the fire and…”
“I’m closing up.”
“I think you should remain open. Very open.”
Instinctively Wolf bristled, hands fisting, body readying for a fight. Did the wheedling jerk think whining was seductive?
“I’m not open. Time to go.” The steel edge sliced through her voice. Hot. No doubt now. Taya. Tall, slim, dark hair twisted low on her neck in some kind of an elaborate bun thing. She wore a longish swishy red dress, cropped denim jacket and a turquoise and silver concho belt. She hefted up a large wooden sandwich board sign like it weighed nothing and dismissed the wannabe Romeo by turning her back on him.
Mistake.
He’d taught her how to defend herself years ago. Reviewed the lessons when he’d visited because she was often on the road alone.
Wolf was already closing the distance, heart in his throat when the idiot lunged at Taya to catch her. Before Wolf took his next breath, he’d tripped the randy drunk, slammed him face-first to the sidewalk and, knee on the small of his back, he zip-tied the attacker’s hands. His weapon was out, safety off, pressed to the base of the man’s skull.
Clatter as the sign hit the sidewalk.
“Wolf?”