Page 27 of Cowboy Wolf Christmas

“I’ll explain once we’re inside.” When his horse finally moseyed to a halt, he dismounted, lifting Cheyenne down from the horse and passing the reins off to one of the young alpha wolves he’d designated to play stable hand while they were out there.

Silently, he took Cheyenne’s hand and led her inside. He hadn’t known whether it was better to warn her or surprise her for this, but he thought maybe he’d chosen right from the sparkle in her wide eyes. A sharp intake of breath came from her lips.

The inside of the cabin had been decorated to the nines. Every elegant Christmas decoration he’d been able to haul out from the pack’s storage. He’d spent the whole of the day doing it, enlisting the help of her few remaining packmates, until the cabin practically glittered inside. He’d taken care to keep the lights dim, cozy. Enough to impress, but not enough that it would overwhelm her, overstimulate, he hoped.

Silas grumbled, uncertain what to say now that he had her there by his side. “I figured if you couldn’t stick to your old routines, we’d make new ones. New memories. Ones you could do any time you wanted. With or without your packmates.” He gave a rough clear of his throat, willing the words out. “I want you to stay, Cheyenne,” he admitted. “I don’t want you to go off to MAC-V-Alpha or the military or wherever. I know you haven’t signed your papers yet, and I want you here. With me.” He swore under his breath. “Fuck, I don’t think I’ve ever wanted anything more.”

Cheyenne stepped further into the room, staring up at the towering pine he and several of the Grey Wolf warriors had chopped down for the tree. It’d been a total bitch to get through the door, but somehow they’d managed. Several storage containers filled with decorations sat off to the side, waiting to be used in the morning.

For a moment, he stood watching Cheyenne slowly place her hand on one of the pine branches, tentatively feeling the nettles. “I don’t know what to say,” she breathed. She looked him straight in the eye then. “You did all this for me?”

He nodded. “For you, and some others.” He pawed a hand over the hair on his face. It was getting a bit long. He needed a damn shave. “Being here, centralized in one place makes security easier for those of you still here. Those bloodsuckers are less likely to pick your packmates off like flies if we’re all together like this. I tried to keep that in mind.”

She was still watching him, not glancing away now. A subtle sheen shimmered in her eyes. “I don’t understand half of what you just said, but I don’t care.” She ran toward him then, launched herself into his arms, wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing his face.

He chuckled. “I’ll try to keep the idioms to a minimum.” Lifting her by her delicious bottom, he scooped her into his arms, settling her legs around his waist, before he carried her up the stairs to where the bedrooms waited.

Once they’d reached the door to her room, he kissed her, slow and deep, a long mingling of tongues until all he could taste was her. God, she tasted sweet. Like every dessert he’d ever wanted but had denied himself out of concern, principle. When they finally pulled back, her lips were swollen, her nose pink and flushed from where every part of them that’d been cold had grown warm.

“Get some sleep,” he muttered, setting her on her feet and stepping back. He nodded to the bedroom at their right, one he’d been certain to fill with several of her weighted blankets he’d snuck out of the pack’s clean laundry room. “We’ve got a full schedule in the morning. There’s a note on your beside with everything we’re doing. I know it’s not a part of your usual Christmas routine, but I’d hoped if I told you what was going to happen beforehand, that’d help you prepare for it.” He glanced at his feet. “I’m sorry it’s not what you’d planned for.”

“No. No, don’t apologize.” Cheyenne smiled at him. That bright sunshiny grin beamed brighter than any Christmas lights he’d ever seen. “It’s perfect. Thank you.”

Silas nodded his gratitude. Hesitated, then grumbled a goodnight he didn’t want to say, before turning away. He didn’t expect her to answer him yet, decide if she’d stay right away. He wouldn’t pressure her. He was halfway down the hall before she called after him.

“Silas?”

He turned toward her. Fuck, she was breathtaking. A ray of light in his dark. He didn’t know how he’d ever pushed away from her. How he’d ever let her go. No doubt that time would come. She still wasn’t for him. Not really. Even though he’d been letting himself pretend.

“Do you . . . ?” Cheyenne wrung her hands together, looking up at him through those long, lush eyelashes, only to blush. The fact that she could after all the things she’d done with him nearly did him in. He wanted to take her right there, in the hall, out in the open. Bend her over the railing for all to see. Claim her as his own.

She’s not yours to claim.

He watched her hesitate. “Whatever it is, you can ask me.”

“Do you think I could sleep with you?” Cheyenne’s blush deepened a little. “In your bed, I mean?”

Silas felt himself shudder with relief. “I was afraid you’d never ask.” He swept her into his arms, causing her to let a giggling squeal. Wasting no time, he kicked open her door, whisking her inside. Another night without sleep would leave them both tired, but fuck, he was going to make it worth it.

10

How he was ever going to live without her, Silas didn’t know. He sat in the pack’s guest hall kitchen, perched at the marble-topped island counter on one of several wooden stools. The apron Cheyenne had tied on him, a red and green gingham patterned atrocity, which apparently belonged to the pack’s security specialist, Blaze, read: “On the Naughty List. I regret nothing.” He glanced down at the lettering again, frowning at the sight. He was covered in flour by now, patches of it coating him from nearly head to toe. There was even a bit in his hair, his beard, not to mention the mess of sticky icing on his hands.

The warm scent of cinnamon, clove, and ginger mixed with peppermint buttercream filled the air, permeating the room. They were alone now and had been for hours, leaving an unwelcome, quiet tension between them. The gingerbread panels which they’d been working on for the better part of the afternoon had finally cooled, and now, much to his chagrin, she expected him to assemble it anddecoratefor fuck’s sake.

Silas stared down at the crumbling mess that was supposed to be his gingerbread house, feeling it collapse further beneath his rough hands. It kept crumbling beneath his fingertips, which he only now realized were rather large, blunt. Overtly masculine. Like they belonged to the cowboy he’d become.

Why the fuck did people enjoy doing this?

He grimaced. “I don’t think I’m doing it right.”

Cheyenne didn’t bother to look toward him. “It’s easy. Just follow the directions.” She waved a dismissive hand.

Hehad. Or tried to, at least, and look where the hell that’d gotten him.

Silas glanced down at the monstrosity he’d created again. His gingerbread house looked more like gingerbread rubble. Or maybe some poor half-hearted attempt at an igloo, if he squinted hard enough. He grunted his displeasure. How was he supposed to convince her to stay if he couldn’t even build a damn gingerbread house for her?

He glanced over to Cheyenne’s station, where she was still working, entranced in the minutiae and detail of her creation. Whereas his portion of the kitchen island had become chaos shortly after he’d started, bits of icing, flour, candy, and crumbled gingerbread walls scattered all over the place, hers was as neat as a pin. Tidy. Meticulous. Perfect.

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