Page 5 of Cowboy Wolf Christmas

“I have a meeting,” Maverick said finally, clearing his throat. “Cheyenne, make sure you’re back in time.” He hesitated. “You’re certain you’re ready this year?”

“I’m ready.” She nodded in agreement. Right. The shift-and-run. Their Missoula trip. Maverick had given her a heads up to help her prepare yesterday. She couldn’t wait to get her hands on that plow part. There was nothing she loved more. Tinkering. Toying with gears. For hours. Until her nails filled with grease. It was one of the few textures she could actually stand. But they’d needed to be careful about their timing. Regimented. She needed to be back home by morning at all costs, or else she’d miss out on her last Christmas with the pack.

The holidays didn’t wait, and neither did the military, especially not MAC-V-Alpha. The clandestine shifter-only unit was known for being unforgiving, to say the least, and this holiday would be her last with the pack for a while, so she wanted it to be perfect.

Which for her meant the same. Routine.

Exactly how she’d planned it.

Maverick glanced between them again, and this time, he didn’t hide his grin. “Lock the door on your way out.”

Cheyenne watched Silas glare at the packmaster.

A few seconds later, the door to the office closed again, leaving them alone. The fireplace beside them crackled. She wiggled a little, bringing herself closer to its warmth, like the chairshouldhave been. In the pack’s cells, the first time they’d met it’d been cold. Still below freezing. She’d let him out then, even though she hadn’t been supposed to. But two months earlier when the pack had accused him of being out for the packmaster’s life, he’d sworn he wasn’t guilty, and she’d believed him—and she’d been right.

Her mother always said she was a good judge of character.

Even if reading emotion was a bit more . . . difficult.

She glanced toward him. “You’re really not going to move?”

“No.” He grumbled.

“Why?”

“I’m––” He nearly growled again. “––comfortable.”

He didn’tsoundcomfortable. “You’re comfortable inmychair?”

She should have wanted him to move, but for some reason, she didn’t. But everything was different with him, wasn’t it? Not routine. That’s what made him so confusing.

He lifted a brow again. “How can you claim a seat you’re not even sitting in?”

“Iamsitting in it.” She shrugged. “Or on you, I guess?”

He swore under his breath. “This is ridiculous.”

“I agree. This chair has always been mine.”

“And does it feel like yours rightnow, Cheyenne?”

She blinked, hesitated, as she stopped to think.

“No,” she admitted. “No, it feels like . . . like . . . like maybe you thinkIshould be the one to move?” She asked it as a question, because honestly, she wasn’t certain. But whatwasclear to her was that she was fumbling this situation. Miserably.

Silas’ lips drew tight. “Ya’ think?” His eyes darted to his lap, where she was sitting again.

Now that he mentioned it, there was something hard and rigid pushing against her backside that felt like . . .

Oh.Oh. Her cheeks flushed, mortification coursing through her.

She nodded. Right. Notofficiallyher chair, so . . .

She scrambled from his lap, a blush turning her whole face crimson as she hurriedly placed herself on the other side of the room. Closer to the fireplace, where her chairshouldhave been. Suddenly, the Christmas decorations on the mantel there and everything about this situation felt overwhelming. Usually, she liked the decorations, exactly because she could count on them. They were one of her many routines. There first thing come December 1stand then, gone come January like clockwork. But there was nothing routine about this moment.

She glanced toward him again.

Silas was still watching her, eyes narrowed like a hawk. From how his legs were sprawled, claiming space, he looked like a villainous king on his throne. The tilt of his Stetson cast the dark hollows of his face in shadow, obscuring the view so she couldn’t read the small cursive script tattooed there and a light layer of brown hair covered his chin like five o’clock shadow grown a bit too long.

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