Desert Wolf

“How about if we discuss it now?” she said.

Grant shook his head. “Give me a few hours to think things over.”

She released the door handle and sat back, unable to mask her hopeful expression. “All right. A few hours.”

He couldn’t help but notice how small she looked in the truck. Although Paxton had to be at least five foot five, she was a shade too slim and as willowy as the trees along the riverbed.

She wasn’t lighthearted. Hints of sadness weighed down her shoulders. Did she possess a strong Hall family backbone under all that silk?

It seemed that Andrew had also kept Grant in the dark about a few minor details concerning this legacy. And now, secrets on top of secrets had left him in the hot seat.

Grant reached for the gearshift, mulling things over.

Most likely Paxton didn’t know that her father had followed her life from behind the scenes, and how much Andrew must have loved her.

Sooner or later, Paxton’s wolf would make an appearance. There was no way to postpone that event forever, no matter where she lived.

And that made Andrew Hall one tricky son of a bitch.

“You believe I’m your enemy, but we’re actually more alike than you know,” he said, growing more uncomfortable as the minutes passed. Because, hell...

Just one long glance at those golden eyes of hers had done more than make him realize what kind of DNA she carried. It had also done him in. Captured him completely. Put him on her side. Whatever haunted her, now haunted him.

His wolf wanted to growl in protest over the burden laid upon him, because the wolf had a heads-up on what her innate sense of sadness might actually be.

Paxton Hall was a she-wolf in waiting, and her timing couldn’t have been worse. With a full moon due the following night, she’d be too close to a shape-shifting pack. If she were to face another wolf up close, that meeting might bring out the secrets kept from her all this time. And it wouldn’t be pretty.

It seemed like more trouble had landed in his lap, and that these next few hours were not going to be easy to get through. He had asked Paxton to stay when it now might be imperative to keep his distance from her. He wanted more than anything to take her in his arms and offer comfort, something she hadn’t ever gotten from her estranged father...and that, too, could be dangerous for her.

Damned if I do. Damned if I don’t.

With one more glance at Paxton, Grant said, “I think I’ll need that drink.”

The look she returned made his stomach tighten.

“Make mine a double,” she said.

Chapter 4 (#u0738f038-9e2c-5e62-91db-ec71d744e5d5)

As Grant Wade pulled the truck away from the curb, it dawned on Paxton that there might be a downside to remaining in his presence.

From where she sat, on the opposite side of the truck, she still felt the impression of his hand on her elbow, left over from when he helped with her bags. When she had looked at his face, searching for more hints about his character, what she’d found was a man who might not be as happy to accommodate her visit as he seemed.

They were at odds about Desperado, and Grant Wade showed signs of discomfort. Although he rested one arm casually on the window frame and the other on the wheel, those bronzed forearms were corded with tension.

Were those arms sexy? Yes.

Did that matter? No.

So, why had she even thought of questions like those?

Truth was, Paxton wondered what that smooth golden skin would be like to touch and chastised herself for thinking she’d like to find out.

Her reactions to Grant Wade were as automatic as breathing. In her defense, most women liked strong, sexy men who didn’t overtly try to overpower with all that testosterone. Men who could easily take control of any situation, yet sometimes knew better than to try. Handsome men at ease in their own skins who radiated self-confidence and looked exactly like Grant Wade did, from Stetson to scuffed boots.

Weren’t those things tied to what constituted wet dreams for women? Because surely she was going to have a dream like that about this guy tonight, no matter how far apart they stood on her father’s deal.

“Name your poison,” he said to her as the truck rolled past a few strip malls and gas stations, its engine purring like a well-tuned tractor.

“Iced tea. Heavy on the ice.”

He gave her a sideways glance.

“I don’t think alcohol would further my cause much. Do you?” Not wanting to relax, Paxton leaned back against the leather seat, liking the masculine smell of the truck. The trip to Arizona had been taxing. She would have given anything to be able to close her eyes.

“Hotel choices,” he said. “Big or small?”

“Cheap.”

He nodded.

“Then you’ll give in and buy me out of all that acreage. Or vice versa,” she added.

“You’re pretty confident one of those two things will happen?”

“Aren’t you?”

Her companion didn’t reply to that question and angled the truck into a parking space beside a small roadside café.

“Hungry?” he asked.

“Famished, actually.”

“I hope you like burgers.”

“Not unless they come with fries.”

“Then you, my fine lady, are in luck,” Grant Wade said as he turned off the engine. “Though you will have to sit across from me.”

“I’ll manage somehow,” Paxton returned.

The café was nearly empty this time of day. A few small tables ringed a linoleum patchwork floor and three faded red booths hugged the windows. The only waitress in sight, dressed in faded jeans and an apron, eyed them curiously when she and Grant slid into a booth. After Grant returned the glance, the waitress ambled over.

“I guess I’m conspicuously foreign,” Paxton said when their order went in.

“This is a place for regulars. Anyone new is suspicious.”

“Maybe she likes you. She’s staring.”