Page 7 of Cowboy Wolf Christmas

“Well, I guess I’m a fool then,” she said. “Maybe I’m not in myright mind.” She threw his words back at him. “Whatever that even means.” Neurotypical wasn’t the norm. The default setting. Not for everyone. She glared at him, willing him to understand that for her normal meant something different. But from the menacing look on his face, he didn’t.

She couldn’t help but feel a bit of disappointment at that.

She tore her gaze away from him. She was used to the growling, the grumbling, all the things to push other people away. Some of the other alpha wolves did it too, but she didn’t much care for it. It stung all the same.

As if he were satisfied, he pushed away from the mantel, crossing the room to leave as he adjusted his Stetson. To think she was going to have to spend the next several hours stuck in the small cab of the pack’s truck with him. It wasn’t fair.

He’d almost reached the door by the time she’d mustered up the courage to say, “But I was right though, wasn’t I?”

Silas froze, taut shoulders writhing with thinly leashed control.

“My trust wasn’t misplaced,” she said.

Slowly, he turned toward her, sharp eyes glaring, and for a second, she almost got the distinct impression that hewantedto scare her. For her to distrust him.

Which only made her feel more confused.

But still, she didn’t back down.

“I suppose you’d say I just got lucky, right?” She shrugged. “Unless you think there’s some reason I shouldn’t have believed you in the first place?”

Silas growled. “Is that a threat?”

Cheyenne shook her head. “No. If I needed to threaten you, I would have just left you in that cell.” She marched over to him, grabbing the truck keys which dangled in his hand. To her surprise, he let her. She drew close, entering his personal space in the same way he had hers. She didn’t need to be taller than him to intimidate. “I don’t need you to come to Missoula with me. Contrary to popular belief, I can handle myself just fine on my own.” She turned to lead the way out of Maverick’s office.

But the hard thump of Silas’ hand barred the door.

“I can’t let you do that.” Silas stood over her again. “Packmaster’s orders.”

She lifted a brow. “I thought you didn’t care about Maverick’s orders?”

He didn’t answer for a long moment.

Cheyenne eyed him suspiciously. “What’s this trip mean to you?”

For a moment, Silas just stared at her. If his jaw clenched any tighter, his teeth might turn to dust. Along with that tongue that’d once parted the seam of her lips, too.

She tried hard not to think about that.

“It’s a trust test,” he grumbled.

“A trust test?” She blinked. “And youwantto pass?”

He didn’t answer again, but the way his upper lip curled said enough.

She may not have been good at reading emotional cues, but Silas was anything but subtle.

“So you accuse the first packmember who trusts you of being a fool?” She gaped at him. What sort of strategy was that? “That doesn’t make any sense.” She threw up her hands in exasperation. This whole situation was exhausting. “I have to gather my tools. I’ll meet you at the truck in an hour. Don’t be late.” She beat him to the door, stepping out into the hall before he made it there first. “Unless you have something better to do thanbabysitme.” She felt more than a little resentful about that, even though it hadn’t been his decision.

She cast him a grin, before abruptly slamming the door in his face. But the surprise in his expression was worth it. She may not have understood him. Or why when she’d kissed him, he’d stolen her kiss, only to then push her away. But at least, she’d figured out a dramatic exit.

3

An hour later, Silas waited by the old ranch truck, feeling—not for the first time—likehewas the goddamn fool. He leaned against the old truck’s hood, the weight of his muscled frame causing it to let out a rusted groan. The ancient beater of a vehicle Maverick claimed as his own had seen better days, but at least the snow had slowed. For now.

Silas shoved his hands into the pockets of his leather, a poor attempt to stave off the cold.

Across the pasture, Cheyenne bounced toward him, a far too cheery spring in her step. She’d already loaded half a dozen tool kits into the truck bed, insisting that she might need one of them in case whatever part she was trying to retrieve gave her a hard time. She’d nestled them all together in a corner, securing them with a bungee cord like they were expensive, high-end luggage, but Silas didn’t have it in him to protest.

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