Chapter 5
RODERICK
Courtney Benally, one of my oldest friends and a werewolf in my pack, is walking down her front steps with a basket in each hand when I pull up her gravel drive at the ass crack of dawn. She sets down her load and sidles up to the driver’s door, giving me her slightly wild grin.
“I only hired one Jameson. Why am I getting two?”
“Mom needed her truck today,” I explain. “I offered Isaac a ride.”
We both glance over to my younger brother, who’s just finishing pulling on his worn, mud-caked boots. Farm work is hard on footwear.
“I’ll have my own ride soon,” Isaac points out before hopping out of the cab.
“Yeah, just in time for you to go back to school and leave me to muck out my own stable again,” Courtney pretends to complain, but her smile never truly leaves.
Her giving this job to my brother was a boon.
People might think his quiet temperament means that he’d be great at some cashier job, but I know Isaac would be climbing the walls, stuck inside all day.
He’d probably do well, working on Uncle Mason’s build sites, but there are legality issues with him only being sixteen.
Farm work is perfect for him, and he’s excited about earning his own money, even if it means waking up before the sun rises his entire summer break.
Isaac nods at Courtney before jogging away, more eager than most teenagers would be to put in a hard day’s work.
“All right.” Courtney pats the roof of my truck. “I’ve got to go distract some ladies with food while I steal their unborn babies.”
Oddest way I’ve ever heard someone describe collecting eggs, but that’s Courtney.
“That’s dark.”
“That’s poetic,” she corrects. “See you around, oh mighty pack leader.”
Courtney waves before scooping her baskets back up and taking a different path than my brother did. As she walks away, her long braid swishes in a morning breeze, carrying a strong wave of her scent to my nose.
The most prominent is wolf. But under that hovers a warm, hearty smell. Like buttered bread.
It’s pleasant. Not lemons and book pages—
I shake my head, cutting off whatever unwanted erotic images would have risen next.
Instead, the beginning of an idea has me pulling the key from the ignition, pushing my door open, and trailing after Courtney. I pause outside the chicken coop, mulling the idea over.
Courtney is one of the names on my list of single female wolves. Admittedly, it felt odd, putting her there. I’ve known her since we were both kids. Back when the two of us and my other brother Warner created constant havoc as only preteens could. She’s always felt like a sister to me.
But I would be dense not to notice that she’s gorgeous.
High cheekbones, framed by sheets of midnight-black hair, which pairs well with her slightly tan skin.
Her grandfather was a human from the Navajo Nation, who saved an injured wolf that was caught in a flash flood.
Turned out, that animal was Courtney’s grandmother—a white woman and a werewolf, who convinced him to come back to Pine Falls with her, where they started a family and this farm.
Courtney is the only Benally remaining in town, her grandparents having passed and her parents choosing to join a pack in Canada because, apparently, they wanted more wilderness than Colorado had to offer. Courtney stayed here, loyal to her hometown and her pack.
Her humor might be that of a fifteen-year-old boy’s, but she’s responsible and beautiful, both as a woman and wolf.
So, she’s pleasant to look at, a member of the pack, and completely devoted to staying on her farm here in Pine Falls. She ticks all the boxes I’ve set for myself.
Still, my wolf is basically asleep in my chest. Completely uninterested in the perfect mate standing right in front of me.
Then I guess it’s on my human half to start the courting.
“You’re still here?” Courtney asks, exiting her chicken coop with a basket full of eggs. “You want something to eat, you’ll have to make it yourself.” She waves me toward the house.
So, maybe she won’t be the most domestic partner. But that’s not a requirement. I can cook my own food. Do my own laundry. Clean my own house. I’m not looking for a maid. I’m looking for a mate.
“Do you ever think about mating?” I ask.
Courtney props the basket on her hip and raises an eyebrow at my question.
“Do you mean fucking? Or do you mean mating?” She gives me an evil grin. “Because if you mean fucking, then yes. I’ve considered fucking many people. More than considered. I often follow through with delicious results.”
Maybe not the most serious partner either, but we could work on that.
“I meant finding a mate.”
Courtney loses some of her humor, the smile on her face suddenly strained. “Once.” Turning away from me, she walks toward the smaller chicken coop in her yard. “But that was a special person.” After clearing her throat, she adds, “Obviously, they didn’t feel the same.”
I tamp down on my instinct to pry, not liking the shadows in my pack member’s eyes. Courtney rarely reveals any type of vulnerability, which is likely why this ex is news to me.
“But you do want to mate?” I press.
She glances over her shoulder. “What is with this sudden interest in my romantic life, Ricky?”
The urge to fidget tugs at my muscles. But I’ve always been good at maintaining a still, steady presence. Putting that skill into practice now, I keep a neutral tone.
“As the pack leader, I believe it is a duty and responsibility of mine to find a suitable mate.”
“Sure, Robo-Ricky.” Courtney talks in a stilted tone, clearly meant to mock mine.
“Whatever your circuit board tells you. Go find yourself a nice, pliable mate and impregnate her with two-point-three wolf cubs or whatever. Don’t see why you need to know about my dating prospects to—” Her mocking cuts off abruptly when she meets my eyes.
I’m sure my expression is blank. Still, Courtney uses her years of familiarity with me to read my intent.
“Oh.” Carefully, she sets the basket of eggs on the ground. “You mean …” She trails off, then sets her butt down next to the basket. And, confusing the hell out of me, Courtney proceeds to stretch out on the patch of grass. Like she’s ready to take a nap in the middle of her backyard.
“Courtney?”
She loses it. The laughter booms from her chest, rocking her entire body. Courtney clutches her arms around her middle, as if worried she might split apart. And the guffaws keep coming, until she’s rolling and laughing and crying tears of hilarity.
“It’s not that funny,” I mutter.
“Oh my gods! Yes, it is!” She chokes on the words, curling into the fetal position, rocking with her laughter.
“It makes sense,” I argue.
“J-just imagine it! You and me. Together. Forever.” Courtney shifts to her knees—almost as if she’s getting ready to propose—and stares up at me with mirth glittering in her eyes. “Who do you think would crack first?” She shakes her head. “Who am I kidding? You would. You’d last a week. Maybe.”
“I’d last longer than a week,” I grumble.
“Really?” Courtney pushes her way to standing again, her voice full of pretend innocence. “You know, I don’t fold my laundry. I don’t even sort it.”
“What?” I’m unable to disguise my horror at her confession.
She cackles gleefully. “Yep! And my dining room table? Crafts. Covering the whole thing. Sequins and yarn and glue guns as far as the eye can see.”
I barely repress a shudder.
“And that’s the small stuff. You don’t want to know about my big, dirty secrets.” The way she says that, it’s as if she doesn’t really want them to be secrets at all.
“Fine.”
“Fine what?” Courtney shoves my shoulder, emphasizing the truth of my next words.
“We wouldn’t work as mates.”
“And don’t you forget it.” She snorts out another couple of chuckles. Her hand is an inch away from the coop latch when she pauses. Her head tilts in question. “Why now?”
I blink, suddenly uncomfortable under her sharp examination.
“Why now?” Courtney repeats, stepping toward me as she studies my face. “You’ve had over a decade as pack leader. Why do you need a mate now? What set this off?”
“Nothing.” After clearing my throat and making sure I’ve tucked away any sign of emotion, I continue, “Only, I realized it might be time. To work toward this part of the future.”
People often think that Courtney’s huge personality and outrageous behavior mean that she’s too silly to notice things. That she’s oblivious to the world around her.
If only.
Her dark eyes narrow, and I feel like a bug pinned under a microscope.
“No, that’s not it.” She tilts her head the opposite way, studying me from another angle. “Not all of it anyway.”
Instead of responding, I simply turn my back and stride away.
Which is my biggest mistake.
“I smell a hunt!”
Damn it. Without looking behind me, I already know she’s doing some sort of excited dance, a fire in her gaze.
Our wolfish instincts are constantly longing for hunts. And that doesn’t always mean running through the woods after rabbits. Sometimes, it just means solving an intriguing mystery.
“Leave it,” I growl over my shoulder.
“Never!”
I should’ve stayed in my truck.