“Is that for me?” My head is still tender as all hell, and someone is playing drums in the background, but the worst of the mind-splitting pain has reduced to something manageable. “Thanks so much for the wake-up call.”
“You should. It’s after midday.”
“What?” I wriggle out of my safe, warm nest.Damn migraine pills.“Are you kidding?”
“Nope.” Winnie passes the steaming coffee over to me and the warmth of the mug seeps into my palms. “You’ve been out for half a day. Just over, actually. Are you okay?” She peers at me with a distinctly professional eye.
“Stop that.” I swat at her, scalding my throat with a deep slug from her offering that revives every last sleepy neuron. “The drive back brought on a migraine last night. That’s all. Headlights and I do not get along.” I grimace. “It’s been a long time since I’ve had to drive at night.” Missing the morning work hours frustrates me. Afternoons are traditionally my slowest time of the day.
“Oops.” Winnie wrinkles her nose. “Sorry I made you go all that way to get Sally. She could have stayed overnight at my brother’s. He’s a bit of recluse.”
He’s a hermit who can’t find a shirt on demand.
My cheeks heat at the memory of that body, so I distract myself by clearing my throat of fourteen hours of clog. “S’all right. I didn’t have the headache when I left Coyote Falls.” At least my brain andmouth have connected for my speech to function again, despite the dull ache in the back of my skull.Winning.
“You need to take care of yourself, lady.” The bed dips beneath Winnie’s weight as my housemate shifts to sit on my feet. “So, you like Rand?” she asks casually. Too casually. Her nose twitches again.
If Winnie has a tell, that nose twitch is it. I figured it out the first time we played poker at college. She lost spectacularly then… Much as I’m about to lose my morning—afternoon—peace right now.
“Dammit, Winnie. I don’t need a personal matchmaker. Focus on your own lack of love life,” I grumble, though my heart isn’t in it. “Could you not have used your brother’s first name? You confused the hell out of both Cord and me.”
“Cordell told you his name!” Winnie crows like she’s just won the local lottery.
“What’s so important about that?” I glare at her over the rim of my mug.
Her usually solid gaze is as shifty as a solar panel salesperson with a self-funded retiree in the hand. “He goes by Rand. The only people he gives his name to are family.”
Winnie leaves me alone to marinate on that thought while she cooks up brunch and my heart takes an eight-second spin over a rodeo rider who isn’t meant for me.
I settle back with my coffee and my laptop with the screen dimmed. Delving into the world of lupine ethology and the endless task of deciphering my handwritten notes is the safest way to spend my day. Sally comes in for a snuggle and to eat my marshmallow hotcakes that we gorge ourselves on until we’re overfull on a sugar high of epic proportions.
Even once we’re done, and despite my stubborn defiance, Cordell Rand remains a shadow that refuses to leave my overstimulated brain no matter how hard I try to ignore it.
Because—just maybe—Winnie might have gotten it right for once. There’s no place for a billionaire rancher in my world.
And there’s sure as hell no place for someone like me in his.
THREE
LANIE
Recovery Haze
My handwriting sucks. I can’t deny that simple fact any longer. And I really do need to invest some of my rarely touched savings into upgrading my nonexistent technology. A week after I visited Coyote Falls for the first time, I’ve interpreted most of the data that I collected during my research phase, though I’m semi-positive that most of my chicken-scratch notes made a whole lot more sense at the time I wrote them.
The article I’m working on focuses on juvenile gray wolf behaviors, particularly early in their first two years, from birth through to their juvenile period. The wolves I’d observed differed to the general gray wolf populations everywhere else that I’ve studied. My pack birthed in their den, their early family pack structure tight-knit and relying on all the wolves to raise the pups. And as they grew, their play looked different too; how they socialized and bounced about in their early juvenile games diverged from what I’d seen before.
Just being away from the pack I’ve come to know so well leaves a huge gap in my understanding. But the money has run out, and the university isn’t willing to renew my grant until I provideevidence as to why they should. Plus, I can’t just go and find myself another pack of random gray wolves. From what I know, the only place I can continue to study the behaviors I’ve observed is in the Alexander Archipelago, Alaska.
On top of all that, my stats need a serious overhaul if I want to submit my work to scientific journals, assuming my grants are renewed and the university is happy with my overall findings. A slightly feral noise that would make my wolf pups proud leaves my throat. I reach for my coffee thermos, tip it up, and earn a mouthful of cold dregs for my efforts. That’s far from satisfying. Plus, since picking up Sally last week, I can’t rid my mind of the image of that dire wolf poster in Valiant Peak. A quick Google search confirms there’s plenty of local chat on Valiant Peak, including what’s fast turning into a regular witch hunt online, complete with a few harrowing pictures.
Engaging on socials has never been my strong suit, and the drive is at least two hours each way. My tummy gurgles on cue. Giving it up as a bad job for the time being, I change out of my work attire—my nightshirt with the sleeves rolled—into jeans and pull a white V-necked tee over my head as I walk through the house, chasing the scent of freshly made coffee. Bless Winnie for putting up with my tendency to isolate while I bury myself in my work.
Not that I work alone.
The unbidden phantom of a shirtless Cordell Rand has kept me company for an entire week, thanks to Winnie’s meddling.
The cowboy has taken up residence in my head rent-free since that day at Coyote Falls, but I corral him to the back of my mind during work hours. During the evenings… Let’s just say that hasn’t been such a successful venture.
