Page 44 of The Wrangler and the Tenderfoot

We moved together, the old bed creaking, sweat slicking our bodies until every inch of us was stuck together. She kissed me, biting my lip hard. I kissed her back, roughly, and then shifted, grabbing her ass and lifting her hips so I could go even deeper.

She came first, loud and sudden, arching up off the bed with a moan that probably carried all the way to the bunkhouse. I kept going, chasing mine, and when I finished, it was with a shudder that wracked my whole body.

I collapsed on top of her, panting, and she held me there, arms wrapped tight, fingers digging into my shoulders.

We stayed like that, tangled and sweating, for a long time. She turned, pressed her face into my neck, and whispered, “Thank you.”

“For what?” I asked, half asleep.

“For making me forget everything else.”

I kissed her hair. “You’re welcome.”

We drifted, letting the world outside vanish.

I woke before she did. The sun was barely up, burning through the cloud cover and painting everything in the cabin the color of old honey. She’d rolled off me sometime in the night, but we were still tangled together under the blanket, her hand curled around my bicep, legs knotted with mine. The urge to stay put was strong. But the other urge, the old, hardwired duty, was stronger.

I eased out from under her, careful not to wake her, and pulled on yesterday's jeans and a cleaner shirt.

I left a note on the table, “Back in an hour. Eggs and coffee in the fridge. – R.”

The main house was quiet, the kitchen empty except for the tick of the grandfather clock and the faint smell of yeast from dough left to rise overnight. I found Calder out back on the porch, nursing a cup of coffee. “I need to talk to you.”

He nodded, and led the way to the tack room, away from anyone who might be listening.

There, surrounded by the smell of leather and kerosene, I told him. “She’s mine. I’m sure of it.”

He didn’t react, not in any way that mattered. But he leaned back against the wall, arms crossed. “How sure?”

“More than I’ve ever been about anything,” I said. “It’s my wolf. It’s me. It’s both.”

He nodded, absorbing it. “What do you know about the bond, when it’s not two wolves?”

“Nothing,” I admitted. “Not even a rumor.”

He looked at the ground, thinking. “Midge told me once that it can happen. Not common, but not impossible. Sometimes the wolf chooses before the man even knows it. When it’s human, it’s the same rules. Permanent. Final. Not something you can undo, not even if you want to.”

I said nothing. There was no point. He wasn’t telling me to back out. He was telling me the consequences.

He went on, “You take her, she’s yours. You can’t unmake it. And if she dies—” I knew what that meant.

“I go, too,” I said.

He nodded. “Not always right away, but it’s never more than a season. It’s in the bond.”

I thought about that. “I don’t care,” I said, and meant it to the core of my being.

He studied me. “Does she know?”

“Not yet. I’ll tell her today.”

He pushed off the wall and stepped close. “You sure she can handle it?”

“She’s stronger than anyone I’ve met,” I said. “You don’t have to like her. You just have to trust me.”

He put a hand on my shoulder. “I trust you, Reid. Always have. Do what you have to,” he said. “You gonna tell her the rest?”

I nodded. He meant some of the less savory things we’d had to do as a pack over the years. “She deserves it.”