“—tough,” she finished her sentence.
“Stand up,” he told her.
She set her drink down and stood. As he pulled the giant black hoodie over her head, she carefully shimmied her arms into the sleeves, and when she had the hem settled somewhere around the vicinity of her knees, he eased the hood off her head and smoothed out her mussed hair. His fingers turned to feathers as he tucked her hair behind her ears. She could feel the callouses on his strong hands when he cupped her cheeks and, for a moment, she thought he would kiss her. He hesitated, staring down into her eyes, and she wanted it. Dear God, she actually wanted a kiss from an almost-stranger, and she never did that. Never opened up fast or trusted a man with affection who hadn’t earned it over time.
He didn’t kiss her, though. He eased her back, grabbed her hand in his, and spun her slowly.
“What are you doing?” she asked with a smile.
Dead pulled her in, his one hand cradling hers, the other hand on her waist. “Just follow me.”
He swayed to the side two steps, one back, two more steps, one back. She messed up. She stepped on his boots and stumbled and tensed up, gripped his hand so tight.
He smiled and pulled her to a stop. Took his cowboy hat off and put it on her. It was big but stayed in place well enough as she looked up at him.
He positioned his hand around hers again and whispered, “Don’t think. Just melt.”
And then his eyes capturing hers, he swayed them to the side two steps, back one. Two and then one. There was no music, but there didn’t need to be. Dead had good rhythm.
She’d come here tonight to meet a stranger and ask him a question to try to cool a fire inside of her. But now she was slow dancing in the illumination of a few strands of outdoor lights hanging from a camper, dinner on the grill, and a good man taking her on her first two-step. And she knew he was a good man. Her inner animal hadn’t been much help growing up, but she could see the good in people. She could hear the honesty of their voices and read the intentions on their faces.
Dead was a monster in the arena, but he was good outside of those rails.
He was good outside of those eight seconds.
On and on they danced, and he pulled her closer and closer until her cheek was resting right over his drumming heart. His hand was strong but tender around hers, and his other palm was pressed so comfortingly against the small of her back, holding her in place against him. They were so close that his hat shifted on her head, so he took it off and set it on the lawn chair, spun her again, and then went back to dancing without missing a beat.
He eased her back. “Just trust me.” And then they really moved as he guided her in circles and figure eights all over that light-speckled gravel.
He’d called her a puzzle and then taught her how to dance. Tonight was one for the books. Probably the most illuminating night of her entire life in so many ways.
He guided her back to the chair, pulled the hat back over her head, and said, “I’m gonna make a cowgirl of you yet.”
Her heart dropped, and she tucked her chin to her chest.
He lifted it with the curve of his finger. “You got sad. Why?”
“Because you and I know tonight is all we have.”
“I don’t know shit,” he murmured through a crooked grin. “Ask Cheyenne.”
“Halloooooo!” came a call through the night. Cheyenne and Two Shots Down were headed their way through the shadows that separated their camper from Dead’s.
“We smelled chicken and you owe me sustenance,” Two grumbled hoarsely. He was deeply limping on his left leg.
“Who says ‘sustenance?’” Dead jabbed at him as he turned to check on the chicken legs. “I made enough for you moochers. Figured you would find your way here.” He turned to Raven, and his eyes grew serious as he explained, “They are obsessed with me.”
Two Shots Down offered a hand for a shake and introduced himself. “I’m Two Shots. Cheyenne told me about you.”
“Hopefully it was good things,” she said, ducking her gaze as she shook his massive hand.
“Cow shifter, got Dead to sign through the entire line of his fans, ate half his bag of chewy sprees at the table, and he didn’t even throw a tantrum. And you were nice to my lady.” Two Shots winked and nodded. “You’re just fine by me.”
“Quickdick!” Dead yelled at the top of his lungs.
Raven and Cheyenne jumped like jackrabbits in startlement.
“Come out and eat while the eatin’s good!” Dead yelled, flipping the wings on the grill.
“Did you just call him Quickdick?” Cheyenne whispered in horror.
“Yeah. I’ve been trying out new nicknames to call him during interviews. That one is my favorite. Second favorite nickname is for Two Shots.”
“Oh yeah?” Cheyenne asked. “And what is that?”
“Two Shits.”
Two Shots shoved him hard in the shoulder, and Raven had to clap her hand over her mouth to cover her laugh.
The creaking door of Quickdraw’s camper opened slowly, filling the entire doorway with an angry giant. “What in the name of Satan’s balls did you just call me?” he yelled.
“Oh, I must not have said it loud enough,” Dead called out. “Let me try again.” He sucked in air for a good yell, but Quickdraw beat him to it and screamed, “No!” The word echoed through the entire park.
Okay, now, Two Shot’s shoulders were shaking with his quiet laughter.
The behemoth poured out of that little doorway and stomped down the stairs hard enough to rock the camper. His boots made little tufts of dirt clouds as he sauntered directly toward them and, oh God, “Are we going to die?” Raven whispered.
“Nah, just Dead’ll be dead,” Two Shots enlightened her as he pulled a couple of cold ones from a blue cooler sitting by the door of Dead’s camper.
“Oh,” she chirped. This orange soda wasn’t nearly strong enough. Inside of her, the animal stirred. Uh oh. “Um, you should stop right there,” she said in a soft, shaky voice to Quickdraw.
“What?” Quickdraw belted out.
Raven cleared her throat and shook her head apologetically, dared to look in his pissed-off, dark eyes. “You should be nice to him.”
Dead leaned over and sniffed her. “You smell like fur. Smells good. Oh, my God, are you going to change?”
“I honestly don’t know what to do with this,” Quickdraw uttered, confusion furrowing his dark eyebrows. “She’s little and quiet. I have to do what she says? Yes? Because she’s a girl? Or…?”
“My girlfriend is a Hagan heifer, and she can kick your ass,” Dead said through a grin.
Quickdraw’s eyes went wide. “Really?”
“Well, I don’t know about the kicking your ass part, but my animal kind of wants to give it a go.”
“Nope. Nope, nope, nope, you keep her locked deep inside of you,” Two Shots advised her. “We’re all friends here, and friends don’t let friends kill other friends.”
Quickdraw looked at Cheyenne and back to Raven, then to Cheyenne again. He seemed highly offended now. “So, I can’t even punch him?”
“I mean,” Cheyenne drawled out. “…You can…but then you have to deal with Dead and the Bacon Heifer, whatever that means.”