Desert Wolf Read online

  Paxton squinted as she scanned the tarmac, where the damn heat waves were manifesting into the form of a man—one lone man in all that wide-open space, seemingly walking toward her.

  Shielding her eyes with a hand, Paxton wondered whether to keep walking and meet this guy or stay in place and fry in black silk on the hot asphalt.

  She kept walking.

  Behind her, she heard the luggage cart pull away from the plane. From somewhere far off came the static sound of a speaker. Those things were inconsequential. Her eyes were trained on the man who walked with the casual, apparently single-minded intention of meeting up with her. Had to be her, because at the moment she was the only one out here and he wasn’t headed to a parked plane.

  Who was this guy?

  The stranger was tall, lean, and wore a wide-brimmed hat. Broad shoulders balanced a narrow waist. Long legs were clad in jeans, and his boots made soft thudding sounds on the pavement. A silver buckle on his belt flashed in the sun the way diamonds flared beneath jewelry store lighting.

  Those things screamed the word cowboy.

  A white shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows showed off sun-bronzed skin. As he approached, Paxton saw that enough top buttons on the shirt were open to lay bare a triangle of skin that attracted her attention for a little too long. When she looked up, he was close enough for her to see his wide, engaging smile.

  And his face…

  Christ almighty. It was chiseled, angular, with taut skin that fell somewhere on the golden spectrum. This guy, whoever he was, seemed to have inherited a lucky combination of genes that made him both elegant and rugged. The whole package suggested a new classification of the term handsome. Even if he was a cowboy.

  “Paxton Hall?” He stopped a few feet from her and removed his hat, showing off a mass of shaggy auburn hair.

  He was fine to look at, sure, Paxton noted. But what could he possibly want?

  “Ms. Hall?” he repeated, with a slight variation.

  “Yes.” She continued to shield her eyes. “That’s me.”

  The hunk’s smile was as brilliant as the rest of him, and that was saying something. Fine lines shot out from the corners of his eyes in honor of some years in the sun without detracting from the overall hunky look.

  Paxton wished she could see the color of those eyes, hidden behind his sunglasses, and wondered if they’d be blue. Light blue eyes set in sun-darkened skin would have topped the whole thing off nicely.

  “I’ve come to escort you to your hotel,” he said in a deep voice that ran ridiculous circles around Paxton’s impoverished libido. It was obvious to her that she hadn’t taken enough time lately to explore the ramifications of having been without a boyfriend for several months now.

  Plus…didn’t every woman have cowboy fantasies?

  “Your hotel,” he repeated, probably wondering if she had hearing problems.

  There was just something about his voice and how suggestive it was of star-filled desert nights and the almost unearthly scent of night-blooming flowers. Two sentences from him and Paxton was thrown back in time to when she had first noticed things like those strong, sweet Arizona scents.

  Or maybe it was all just a side effect of the stifling heat.

  “I didn’t call for a taxi service,” she said.

  He nodded. “I thought you might like a ride.”

  “Because?”

  “It’s hot.” He was still grinning, and that grin was contagious.

  Paxton smiled back.

  “I totally agree about the heat. But I’m pretty sure you didn’t answer my question about not calling a service,” she said.

  “Your attorney mentioned that you might be headed this way today.”

  Okay. That made sense. She felt better.

  “In that case, yes. Thanks. I’d like a ride to…” Paxton paused, mid-speech. “I didn’t book a hotel, sure there are plenty of them.”

  He nodded again. “No problem. I’ll take you to one. I think you’ll find most of the accommodations around here acceptable.”

  He was staring at her, not exactly rudely, but with the kind of lingering appraisal that brought on a blush. He’d be taking in the black silk shirt, the high heels and the private plane her attorney had let her use because several well-off clients needed to hitch a ride back to Maryland. This guy would probably be thinking he’d have to book her a suite in a fancy boutique hotel.

  Hell, she couldn’t afford a suite. Not that she wouldn’t like one. Cash wasn’t exactly tight, but it was on close watch. She didn’t get paid for extra time off from her gig as a nurse in the ER, and her return trip to Maryland was on a commercial flight, in coach.

  “That would be great,” Paxton said. “Any hotel will do. I’m not fussy and I won’t be here long.”

  She just needed to get out of this heat and into different clothes. Big thanks would be due to her lawyer for thinking about her enough to send a gorgeous chauffeur.

  That smile he was still offering? Dazzling. Yet Paxton’s instincts warned her that the guy’s smile hid something. A trace of concern, maybe? Concern for what? That she’d be a prissy Easterner for whom the extremes of comfort were paramount, when that was miles from the truth?

  If they spent any time together, he’d find out how unprepared she was for this trip into her past. Her black silk shirt hadn’t been the greatest idea for day wear in a sun-drenched state. Cowboy would note that, too. She had worn it in honor of her father’s recent passing, in spite of the fact that she hadn’t really known her dad.

  Briefly, Paxton closed her eyes, thinking that anyone would have assumed she’d have gotten over that kind of loss, along with old abandonment issues. But being here in Arizona again was causing a sudden emotional upheaval. Just a few steps off the plane had been all it took to bring the old days back.

  “This way,” the cowboy said, stepping aside, waving his hat at the terminal. “I hope you don’t mind riding in a truck.”

  So, no real chauffeur then. Just a favor from someone her lawyer knew.

  “That would be fine,” she returned. “Would you mind confirming my attorney’s name?”

  “Daniel Dunn, Esquire.”

  “Do you know Dan personally?”

  “As well as anyone can know a lawyer by phone.”

  “Great.” Paxton moved forward, eager to get to the terminal. If this guy knew her lawyer, he had to be legit.

  “Do you think we could get something cold to drink on the way to the hotel?” she asked.

  “It would be my pleasure to make that happen,” her escort congenially replied.

  Though she didn’t glance sideways, Paxton was aware of every move the guy made. He purposefully shortened his strides to accommodate hers. Having him beside her was both a boon and another unsettling feature of this trip. Speed hampered by the height of her heels, Paxton felt doubly foolish and out of place. She no longer belonged here. She was trespassing on the past—both its ideals and its pain.

  What the hell was I thinking?

  As they entered the small terminal, her companion placed a hand on her elbow to guide her toward the bags. His touch was electric, empathetic. Paxton wanted to lean into him for the kind of support she needed to get through this ordeal, when giving in to the urge to fold up like an accordion would have been the end of her.

  Gently, he steered her toward her luggage, the two small bags she had seen fit to bring for a weekend in the desert. Her companion lifted the bags easily and reached to take her briefcase. She gave him a firm head shake, preferring to hold on to the paperwork she’d need for a quick sale when the reclusive Grant Wade agreed to her terms.

  “There’s a watering hole down the road,” this guy said. “The truck is right out front.”

  When she glanced at him, he added, “It’s a café. We can get something to drink there or take it to go.”

  Paxton nodded. She followed her guide through the revolving doors and onto the street where a large blue truck sat parked at the cu
rb. Like the cowboy beside her, its lines were tall, long and sturdy. Chrome wheels and other fancy stuff were missing. The hood was covered in dust and there was a baseball-sized dent in the passenger door. This truck was a working man’s transportation, not merely a vehicle meant to prove male bravado.

  After tossing her bags in the back, her makeshift chauffeur came around to open her door. Getting in while wearing a short skirt took some feminine know-how when the truck’s cab was so high off the ground.

  Once she was inside, Paxton stuck out an arm to stop the door from closing and faced the guy helping her. “I really am grateful for the ride. And I’m sorry I seem to have lost my manners. I didn’t ask your name.”

  “Wade,” he said, the dazzling smile no longer in evidence. “Name’s Grant Wade.”

  Chapter 3

  Paxton Hall wasn’t what Grant had expected, and that came as a surprise.

  She looked the part of the spoiled young woman he had expected to show up, and she dressed well, but Paxton didn’t really seem spoiled. She’d brought one bag and an overnight case that not too many fancy outfits would have traveled well in. She had been happy to let him choose her hotel and had allowed him to guide her along without complaint.

  And she was beautiful. Incredibly beautiful. Though he’d seen a few pictures of her in Andrew Hall’s file, in person, Paxton Hall was a whole new deal.

  He liked all the details ringing up—the big eyes that were an unusual amber color, the porcelain skin and the kind of oval face that begged a second and third look. Dark blond hair was cut in a swingy, shoulder-length style and appeared to be natural in color. Very little makeup muddied her face, just a swipe of something dark on her eyelashes and a hint of rose on her cheeks. In his estimation, she didn’t need even that.

  She was antsy, her discomfort easy to read. Being beside her made his nerves buzz. Back in the terminal, when he had touched her arm, that buzz had been transmitted to a spot way down deep inside him.

  The feminine perfume she wore didn’t help with his initial response to her, either. Some kind of woodsy aroma trailed her, almost completely covering up a more elusive scent he couldn’t yet place. Everything about Paxton Hall, all those details, were laced with a layer of subdued anxiety and anger. Because of him, in part.

  He slammed her door and walked around the truck, acknowledging that Paxton was surprised by this unexpected meet up. She knew his name now, but he’d had the advantage of getting to see what she was like before she found him out and the arguments he anticipated began.

  Did she consider him the enemy? A problem to be solved?

  He had told the truth about her lawyer giving him a heads-up on her visit and knew Paxton would have questions. Plenty of them. Most of those were questions he wouldn’t be able to answer, due to secrets he had to keep, though she deserved some kind of explanation for what was written in that will.

  The reason for her visit was a no-brainer. Paxton Hall wanted to sell the land her father left her and have nothing more to do with her early Arizona upbringing. But her father had left him part of that acreage in order to make sure a sale didn’t happen, so surely Andrew Hall must have foreseen that some sort of contact between his two heirs would take place.

  As an ex-Ranger with connections, Grant had been tracking Paxton since her father’s death a few weeks ago. And here she sat, in his truck, putting traitor and Grant Wade together in the same unspoken breath. She’d be thinking that the man she had been trusting to get her settled for the night had turned out to be more like the personification of sabotage.

  Grant climbed into the cab and rested both hands on the wheel. Without looking at his guest, he said, “Would you like to talk now or wait a while?”

  “Now,” she said breathlessly.

  Her attention on him was unforgiving. His Were senses told him Paxton’s heart rate had kicked up a notch and that Paxton Hall had expected someone else attached to the name Wade. Someone different. She was trying to reconcile his image with her former ideas about who might turn up to potentially oppose her.

  “If you’re uncomfortable, I can call you a taxi,” he said.

  “I’ve been uncomfortable since I read my father’s will, as you must already know.”

  Direct and to the point. Grant liked that, usually.

  She turned on the seat. “You are that same guy?”

  “One and the same, if you’re talking about Andrew’s legacy,” Grant replied. “If you’re talking about anything else, I probably didn’t do it.”

  Levity wasn’t going to get him anywhere. He didn’t have to look at Paxton to feel the animosity creeping into her tone.

  “Why?” she demanded.

  Pretending to misunderstand what she was asking would have been lame, so he said, “It was important to your father and to others that the property wasn’t sold.”

  “Why?” she repeated.

  “I can’t tell you about the specifics of that right now, other than to stress your father’s desire for me to hold on to the town.”

  “You’re talking about an old tourist attraction that’s been closed for twenty years. I fail to see why hanging on to a defunct ghost town wins out over selling the place,” she argued. “Surely you have better things to do than keep track of it.”

  “Not many people would understand my reasons for staying here,” Grant said. “Your father did.”

  She zeroed in on that. “You knew my father well, then?”

  “Truthfully, I didn’t know him much at all.”

  The way she drew back told him that Andrew Hall’s daughter hadn’t considered that kind of an answer. Had she imagined he had goaded Andrew into handing him the town? Finessed Desperado out of a tough man like Andrew Hall?

  “What you’re saying doesn’t make sense,” she eventually remarked. “Maybe you can explain things better?”

  Grant nodded. “We had a deal.”

  “You and my father?”

  He nodded again. “Our deal was that I would inherit the town when he passed, and that I’d take care of it and never sell the land Desperado sits on or allow anyone else to sell it.”

  That slice of the truth would sound absurd to the woman sitting beside him. The whole truth could never be spoken, of course, though Grant could see Paxton was firm in her resolve to get to the bottom of her father’s strange bequest. He just couldn’t let her find that reason. Paxton Hall, along with all the other humans on the planet, had to be kept from learning Desperado’s secrets—and his.

  That much, at least, was clear to Grant. What wasn’t immediately clear was how he was supposed to oppose her when Paxton was here, in his damn truck, with her pale face and her black clothes that reflected her consideration for a man she hadn’t really known.

  “Why didn’t he just leave the whole thing to you?” she asked.

  “I’m not sure, actually. That would have made more sense.”

  And it would have kept Paxton away, maybe, a fact that he had considered since meeting Andrew Hall. He had a glimmer of an idea that Paxton’s father might have sent her away in the first place so she didn’t learn about the werewolves in residence here, and that Andrew’s ongoing silence had furthered the cause of shielding his daughter from truths too difficult to explain.

  “Will you sell it to me?” she asked.

  And there they were, at a standstill. Checkmate. Paxton would assume her request was reasonable, and it would have been if things had been different.

  Grant started the engine. “Do you still want that drink?”

  “I’d rather you answered my question.”

  He looked at the white-faced woman who couldn’t have been more than two or three years younger than his twenty-eight. She looked even younger than that, though. Paxton truly was an eyeful, though that couldn’t matter in their negotiations.

  “Maybe you’ll want to turn right around and go home when I reiterate that I’m not going to sell,” he suggested. “Why waste money on a hotel when more time here won’t
get you what you want?”

  “You might change your mind,” she countered stubbornly.

  “Not going to happen, Paxton. I made a deal.”

  The heat inside the car was harsh. Moisture had gathered at Paxton’s temples, dampening her hair. The black silk was starting to stick to her in ways Grant shouldn’t have noticed.

  In any other situation, he would have liked a close-up with Paxton Hall. As things stood, the best case scenario would be for her to go away mad and never look back. She might try to file a lawsuit in order to force him to sell, but her father’s attorney wasn’t going to condone a move like that.

  “Look,” he said. “I don’t want to make an enemy of the daughter of the man who left something valuable to me. So how can we resolve things before that happens?”

  “Too late,” she said, reaching for the door handle, “if you refuse to see my side of this argument and either buy me out or sell.”

  Grant reached to take hold of her briefcase, stopping Paxton from opening the door. “Stay,” he said, removing his sunglasses.

  She turned her head. Amber eyes lighted on him, connecting with his gaze. Earnest eyes. Wounded. Haunted. Wild.

  A stunning jolt of something extraordinary hit Grant in the chest and then melted downward as a second jolt, larger than the first, hit. He had seen eyes like those before and didn’t want to face what that meant. He didn’t want to face her with what that meant.

  What he saw in those eyes quite possibly changed everything—his future and hers.

  Paxton Hall was a Were.

  He had no doubt about it.

  Still, Grant could see that she was ignorant of that fact and therefore didn’t know what was in store. He believed this because he couldn’t feel the thing she kept hidden inside her, in the dark. Her scent had kindled his discovery. Those big eyes of hers said it all.