Pants on Fire
RAM RUGGED, BY MELISSA THOMAS
- EXCERPT -
The farmhouse’s front door banged open. Colleen and Mary exploded onto the front porch and raced for the yard.
At a more restrained pace, Demetri trailed a couple of paces behind the dog and woman, but he deliberately maintained a measured distance.
Near enough to protect them should things turn dangerous, but also allowing enough space to assess the situation.
In the sky, fluffy white clouds like distant sheep grazed upon a field of blue. On the surrounding hillsides, the tall spring grass and wildflowers swayed in a gusty breeze that blew from the west. It was a perfect day in the making, except for the intruder.
A black pickup truck parked in the driveway.
The driver’s side door swung open, and a man, presumably Quentin, slid from behind the wheel.
Demetri sized the other fellow up with a critical up-down, evaluating the potential threat.
Quentin stood about six-even or six-one.
He had a lanky but athletic build. He wore a floral snake-print parka with track pants and white sneakers.
One might’ve assumed the guy bought his clothing secondhand, except Demetri recognized genuine Gucci apparel when he saw it, and only because his half-sister Chiara worked for the Italian designer.
“What do you want?” Mary demanded of Quentin.
Colleen assumed a guard position beside Mary.
“Now, Mary, why so hostile? Don’t I at least warrant a good morning?
” Quentin flashed a practiced grin that oozed boyish charm.
He probably fooled most women. Obviously, Mary had once been duped by the guy’s wiles, but not Demetri.
He took one look at the guy and pegged him as an unscrupulous grifter.
“No, you don’t. Now tell me what you want or get the hell off my land.
” She placed her hands on her hips and jutted her chin.
The morning sunlight picked up the highlights in her auburn hair so her tresses shone like burnished red-gold.
Even with an untidy ponytail and grumpy overalls, Mary was gorgeous.
Her spirited courage won Demetri’s admiration hands down.
“I’m here to talk,” Quentin argued, ignoring Mary’s question.
“I don’t want to talk to you, so if you don’t need anything, then you can leave.” Mary threw her thumb over her shoulder in a hit-the-road-Jack gesture.
The wind altered direction, and whisked the musty scent of a predator straight to Demetri’s sensitive nose.
Reflexively, he drew in a deep breath and confirmed the threat.
A grunt of aggression built in Demetri’s chest, and Colleen snarled at the same moment, indicating they’d reached the same conclusion: Quentin was a coyote-shifter.
Briefly, Demetri wondered if Mary understood her ex-husband’s true nature.
His ram-shifter instincts flared, urging him to shape change and charge the enemy.
Only his concern for Mary kept him from leading with a head butt.
“Who are you?” Quentin spared Colleen a glance and then aimed a hostile glare at Demetri. Aggression soured the coyote-shifter’s scent.
“Demetri Larsen. I’m the new ranch hand.” He strode forward and thrust out his arm, hand open. A challenge veiled as a polite greeting.
Quentin hesitated. The coyote stood straighter and puffed out his chest. Wariness shone in his gaze. Despite being upwind, he must have sensed a fellow shifter even if his nose couldn’t confirm it.
Demetri stepped in closer and pitched his voice too low for Mary to overhear. “Shake my hand, or are you a chicken-shitter, too, little dog?”
The dare worked.
Quentin’s face contorted into a scowl, and he seized Demetri’s hand in a grip that would’ve crushed a normal man’s bones. “I don’t know who the fuck you are and I don’t care. Mary is my mate.”
“She seems to think otherwise.” Demetri tightened his hold, pitting his strength against the other man. A grunt of surprise escaped Quentin, and he widened his eyes. Their contest escalated. Across both men’s forearms, veins popped over taut-drawn sinew and perspiration glistened on their brows.
“I’m the final judge of what I think! Both of you—knock it off now!
” Mary circled them with Colleen in her orbit.
An expert herder, the cattle dog stayed directly in front of Mary.
When the woman tried to go around, the dog blocked.
It reassured Demetri, but even so, any fight between shifters posed a danger to her.
Time to end this farce.
Calling on his ram, Demetri altered his forehead, thickening the bony plate that protected the front of his skull. A little trick he’d picked up in his misbegotten youth. It barely altered his physical appearance but proved terribly effective in bar brawls.
Without warning, Demetri yanked the coyote toward him. Caught off-guard, Quentin flew off his feet. Demetri smashed his forehead straight into his rival’s nose. Bones crunched and blood sprayed.
Quentin howled. He threw one hand up to cover his busted nose, but Demetri retained a firm grip on the coyote’s other arm, using it like a leash.
“Demetri, what the hell do you think you’re doing?” Mary shouted while Colleen barked up a storm.
“My job—eliminating vermin.” With a smirk, Demetri shoved Quentin and sent him stumbling. The ram-shifter derived an immense satisfaction at the damage he’d inflicted.
“I never hired you,” Mary muttered, but the lady didn’t protest too loudly. And no matter what she said, there was no mistaking the pleased smile that she was trying to bite back.
“You broke my nose, you psycho bastard,” Quentin said with a murderous glare. His nose was smashed flat over his bloody mouth. Quite possibly his front teeth were busted out, too.
“I’m going to bust more than your face if you don’t take the hint and leave.” Demetri advanced a menacing step, and Quentin took off like a shot.
Cussing up a blue streak, the coyote-shifter scurried for his truck.
He leapt into the cab, started the engine, and sped off toward the main road.
The fast-moving pickup truck kicked up a dust trail, and the engine moaned as it labored to hit its top speed.
Metaphorically, the coyote fled with his tail between his legs.
Demetri adopted a wide stance, hands on his hips, feet planted on the earth.
He held his head high, standing tall and proud as befitted his status as the victor.
He’d won the confrontation and established his dominance.
Oh, he wasn’t a fool. If Quentin had a band, the coyote would run to them for reinforcements.
Demetri had a plan for safeguarding the flock and Mary, and any prairie wolf dumb enough to get in his way could expect to get trampled.
“Well, that’s just peachy.” Mary huffed her sarcasm.
With a start of surprise, Demetri pivoted to face her. “What’s wrong? I thought you’d be pleased.”
“You didn’t think; you assumed. Just like you assumed I wanted breakfast.” She put her hands on her hips and narrowed her eyes.
Smart girl that she was, Colleen barked once, the canine equivalent of “I’ll leave you two alone now,” and raced off toward the field where the flock was pastured.
“Most people like breakfast. You had bacon and eggs, and other breakfast food in the pantry, so yes, I assumed you would want breakfast.” Demetri adopted a placating tone and held up his hands.
He considered Mary’s anger to be irrational, but he understood the reasons behind it.
Quentin’s visit had frightened and upset her.
Once she calmed, she’d see that he’d acted in her best interests.
“You’re twisting things! That’s not what this is about!” Her volume shot up several octaves. His attempt to calm her had provoked the opposite effect.
Demetri knit his brow in puzzlement. “I’m clueless. Why don’t you tell me what this is about and then we can discuss it?”
“The problem is that you keep making decisions without asking me! You just step in and take over and don’t give me any say in things that affect me!
” She stomped her foot so hard her gorgeous curls danced.
The cutest smattering of freckles covered her nose and cheeks.
She panted, and her ample bosom heaved in the most enticing manner.
Demetri fought and failed to keep an indulgent smile off his face.
He wanted nothing more than to kiss her silly, sweep her into his arms, and carry her off to bed.
A few solid hours of lovemaking might take the steam out of her engine...
or it could make her angrier. Doubt and indecision pinched at Demetri’s ego, and a little voice in the back of his head urged caution. Mary had already proven stubborn.
“Why are you smiling?” Mary snarled in frustration.
“Just at how badly we’ve miscommunicated,” Demetri fibbed, because the truth probably would’ve gotten him slapped. “Look, I hear what you’re saying. I made a command-level decision with Quentin...”
Belatedly, he paused. Command-level decision—those were his father’s words coming from his lips.
Long ago, Demetri had sworn that he’d never turn out like his father, not in a million years.
Upon closer reflection, he guessed the apple hadn’t fallen far from the tree, at least in some things.
He didn’t regret having handled Quentin, however.
Determinedly, he continued, “Because it had to be done. But you’re right. I should’ve asked before I took over your kitchen.”
Mary pursed her lips and tapped her foot as though expecting more. Demetri knit his brow, and watched her closely for some clue as to what she wanted him to say. A hint would’ve been nice because he had nothing. He took a stab in the dark.
“It was presumptuous of me?”
She exhaled long and thin. “What about the sheep?”
“You’re upset with me for taking care of the flock?” Incredulity infused Demetri’s voice. He didn’t bother trying to hide it.
“No, of course not! I’m upset with you for treating my sheep like you did my kitchen—as if you owned them.”