Page 15 of Destined Prey
It wasn’t until they were back home, and he was in the kitchen wishing they’d at least boughtsomegroceries, that he realized what he felt—like he’d lost someone he needed in his life. And he knew that wasn’t Alex. He had Rhett.
Jack rubbed at his temples. He was just a mess—that was all there was to it. And he wanted chocolate—chocolate anything. There weren’t even any old packets of hot cocoa mix in the empty box he’d found in the pantry. It was just cruel to get a guy’s hopes up like that. He crushed the box and tossed it in the trash. Rhett had never been big on sweets, but to not have any at all was just insane in Jack’s opinion. He left the kitchen and stood in the hall, debating what to do. He was restless, and if he’d been in New York, he’d have gone to the gym, or out to a movie, anything but stay in.
Rhett was watching television in the living room, some cop show that made Jack want to cry or punch a wall if he watched it. He preferred comedies for his escape from reality, or something with a gleaming, happy ending and not much angst.
When some poor guy got shot in the head, Jack winced and decided he’d had enough. “Rhett, I have to have something sweet before I lose my mind.”
Rhett grunted.
Jack took that for anokayand went to fetch the keys from the hook by the door. “Text if there’s anything you want me to pick up!”
He opened the door. “Jack! Shit!” Rhett bellowed. Jack turned as his brother thundered toward him, footsteps heavy on the wood floor. “What? Fuck, you scared the crap out of me!”
Rhett slid a little as he tried to stop. It reminded Jack of how he and Rhett used to run through the house in socks and underwear, doing their best Tom Cruise impersonation as they slid across the polished wood floors. The memory was a good one, and it eased some of that odd discomfort in Jack.
“Hey, stop daydreaming and pay attention,” Rhett said. “Did you forget there’s been dangerous predators outside lately?”
Dangerous predators.Jack tried to keep from shivering. He wasn’t afraid, and it wasn’t four-legged predators he thought of, but rather, a very sexy two-legged one he really wished he had at least got a phone number for.
“You gotta look and make sure there’s nothing waiting to get you outside,” Rhett continued, bending to put on his boots. “Just wait a sec and I’ll go out with you.”
“I’m not helpless,” Jack argued. “Jesus, Rhett. Why don’t you just take my balls and put them in a jar?”
“That’s disgusting.” Rhett seemed to have caught the shiver Jack had willed away. “Seriously. Disgusting. And I’m not unmanning you by making sure you don’t get killed bycoywolves or whatever might be out there, though I’d hope after last night, the fuckers would stay away from now on.” He frowned. “Guess maybe we should get some dogs. What do you think?”
Jack got that Rhett was trying to include him in the decision to make him feel like he was part owner of the ranch. Then Jackreallylooked at Rhett, and saw that wasn’t the case at all. Rhett wasn’t trying to do anything more than ask his advice because Rhett valued his input. It wasn’t a question asked for show, but because Rhett wanted help making the decision.
“Won’t the coywolves and such kill the dogs?” Jack didn’t want to be a part of causing innocent dogs’ deaths. Well, he didn’t want to causeanydogs’ deaths.
“Could get some Rhodesian Ridgebacks,” Rhett began, his face lighting up with excitement as his expression became more animated. “They’re used for hunting and killing lions, or they were. I mean, that might not be politically correct now or necessary, whatever. The point is, if they went after lions, they could handle coywolves, wolves, coyotes, mountain lions. Oh!” He smiled like a kid waking up to find the tooth fairy had left him ten bucks instead of a quarter. “Those Irish wolfhounds! Those dogs are huge. There’s Scottish deerhounds, too, and…” He blushed darkly and ducked his head. “We haven’t had a dog out here since Tippy.”
Jack shut the door. “I’d forgotten about Tippy.”
“Well, she died when you were three. It’s no wonder you forgot her.” Rhett had finished putting his boots on. “After she died, Dad said he wasn’t getting another dog because I cried so much over her. Let me grab a gun. I guess we should start keeping one here by the door. I could make a rack for it. Be right back.”
Jack tried not to grimace. If he really was going to stay at the ranch, to live there again, he’d need to adjust his city ways of thinking.
Rhett returned with a rifle he’d retrieved from the gun cabinet. “I’m just gonna walk you out to the porch. If anything moves that shouldn’t, I’m shooting first and asking questions later.”
“Okay.” Jack wasn’t worried that Rhett would shoot him. Rhett had more sense and better aim than that. “I’ll be home in a little while. You sure you don’t want anything?”
“I’m good.” Rhett followed him outside.
“All right.” There was nothing weird happening outside, as far as Jack could tell. He didn’t get attacked by a pack of wolves or the boogie monster. Once he was in the truck, he quit thinking about something maybe getting him. He was instead intent on getting his dessert. He thought about going back to the grocery store but wasn’t up to facing Greg yet after being caught making out in an alley.
“If the townsfolk weren’t yammering on about me before, they sure will be now.” That realization was intimidating enough to make him turn the truck around and go back home. “Home. I’m going to have to deal with that kind of crap anyway.” As a pep talk, it wasn’t very effective.
Jack turned the radio on and cranked it up in an attempt to block out his thoughts. Hunger was gnawing at him, though if he examined it too closely, he wasn’t sure if it was his belly, or something else that was aching in him.
He felt off, strange, distracted and unable to focus. And he screamed like his life depended on it when five or six coywolves ran out in front of him. He stomped on the brake even as he bellowed.
His ears were ringing from it when he noticed that one wolf had stopped and was watching him, those yellow eyes gleaming unblinkingly. Jack pressed a hand over his heart, which was slamming against his ribs uncomfortably.
That would be his luck, to die of a heart attack on a dark country road, then get eaten by the wolf pack.
“Oh for fuck’s sake,” he muttered, unable to look away from the wolf until his foot slipped off the brake and the truck jerked forward and he stepped on the brake again. “Shit!” He wasn’t going to sit out there and have a stare-off with a wild animal. Jack forced himself to get the truck moving, but he’d have sworn that wolf watched him until he was out of sight.
Jack felt like prey, and he shivered as he finally pulled up to the DQ twenty minutes later. The stare stayed with him, haunting. He could still feel those eyes tracking him, weighing him, not like an animal sizing up dinner, but like something else entirely. His skin prickled, and beneath the fear was a pulse of heat he couldn’t explain. It was wrong, insane even, but the thought hit him anyway—prey didn’t usually want to be caught.
