Disgraced Cowboys (Lone Wolves of Shay Falls 3) [Siren Publishing Ménage Amour] (15 page)

“Good thing you came along when you did,” she went on, though she was seriously starting to doubt that. “I’ve been out here freezing for a while. I thought I was going to die.” She raised her voice when it seemed she wasn’t getting through. She glanced at them. “I really think you’re right about the ranger station. I need medical attention. Right away. Please.”

Eyes fluttered at that, and the guy with the red nose seemed to snap out of whatever held them in such a thrall. Her ex-customer, however, stepped closer. “I think we can help you warm up just fine.”

His tone and greasy smile left little doubt what he had in mind, and her heart started pounding.

“What the hell, Albert?” the scar-face man asked. “Don’t talk to her that way. Lady needs a rescue, not a cheesy come-on.” Still, his watery eyes gave a sweep of her that made her want to turn and run. If her limbs weren’t already threatening to stop working, she would have done just that.

Albert’s leering, faraway stare made it clear he was remembering the last lap dance. Desperate, she leaned forward and whispered to him. “Your name’s Albert, is it?”

“That’s right,” he stammered.

“Well, Albert, the next dance is free if you get me to that station right now.”

His vision cleared in an instant, and she almost heaved a sigh of relief when she saw resolve set itself tight along his jaw. “You heard the lady. She needs medical help. Let’s go.”

Would she ever truly get warm again?

Brandi settled herself lower in the bathtub while plumes of steam rose around her, obscuring her vision slightly. Two days had gone by since her ridiculously stupid trek through the woods, and the chill still hadn’t fully left her bones. What was worse, she seemed to be coming down sick as well.

The hot water burned, leaving her skin red and raw-looking. She didn’t care. It felt heavenly to let heat steep through her body. Still, she frowned and shifted again, trying to squeeze every possible inch of her beneath the water. This tub was even smaller than the modest one at the motel she’d checked out of as soon as she’d gotten back from the ranger’s station. She’d moved into a small cabin off the beaten path, and now she wished she could have afforded the deluxe model. That cabin came complete with a four-person hot tub. As it was, the single she rented set her back quite a bit more than the motel room. It would start cutting into her master plan before long. She needed to make a decision about more permanent arrangements soon.

Or not.

With a sigh, she leaned her head back and closed her eyes. Should she stay or go? Rather, should she stay a while before the inevitable, or leave now? Moving from place to place had been her deal since she was seventeen. She’d vowed to herself that when she’d saved up enough money, she’d settle in one spot until the day she died.

A spot like Shay Falls.

A frown hit at the thought, and the bathtub no longer felt relaxing. She got out and drained the still-hot water, then wrapped herself in a fluffy bathrobe and wandered into her bedroom to stare out the window. A gentle breeze stirred the nearby pines she could smell even indoors, along with the pleasant remnants of her frequently blazing wood fireplace. Birds chirped out excited messages to one another as the afternoon drew to a close, and a pair of squirrels chased each other in frantic, playful circles up the nearest tree.

An isolated cabin in the middle of the woods she’d been lost in should be the last place she’d want to be. Yet it was so peaceful here, so welcoming. She’d felt the draw to this mountain the moment she’d seen pictures of it during her last relocation hunt. Someday, she’d have a little place away from it all in a setting just like this. She had more than enough money to buy it. Two more years, maybe, three at the most, and then she’d finally settle on a place to call home.

But not here.

She rubbed her arms and turned to her bed to snatch off the quaint, double wedding ring quilt. Wrapping herself in it brought to mind an image of another quilt she’d been wrapped in, courtesy of the very reason she needed to get away from this “peaceful” town. Looks could be deceiving.

What stalked these woods was far from peaceful, and she’d already experienced the results of that firsthand. Why she hadn’t driven straight down the mountain after leaving the motel was beyond her. She had werewolves in her frame of reference now, two of whom she expected to come after her at any minute. One other already had—and would apparently be back.

“You need to leave,” she murmured to herself.

Still, she hadn’t felt well after her ordeal in the woods. She couldn’t put a finger on it, really. She was tired, down to the bones. Tired of running, tired of stripping, tired of waiting for the magical day when she’d find her life. Because whatever she was living now, it wasn’t life. It was the existence she maintained until life could begin.

Turning from the window, she tossed the quilt on the bed and wandered to the heavily lacquered, wooden bureau to pull out fresh clothes. A glance at the bedside clock brought a groan to her lips. She was due at the club soon, and now that she lived farther, she needed to leave earlier. Her stomach gave a sudden roil as she thought about her upcoming shift, and she stopped tugging on her slacks for a moment.

“Not again,” she said, pressing a hand to her abdomen.

She’d been due to pull a shift the previous night but had begged off sick after her trip through the woods. Her stomach had literally heaved as soon as she got in her car to drive to Hot Pink, and what little she’d managed to put into it that day had come right back up. At first, she’d assumed she’d caught some kind of cold bug from her exposure, but she didn’t vomit again and developed no other symptoms other than fatigue and the highly irritating inability to banish a certain pair of cowboys from her mind.

And, there they were again. Marcus’s dark, smoldering gaze and Seth’s piercing blue stare commandeered her thoughts while she finished getting dressed for work. She headed through the tiny living area, wishing she could stay and light a fire instead of going to the job she was coming to hate more with every moment. The adjoining kitchen was tiny, all wood, and bright during the day from light spilling in through plenty of windows. A cup of tea would settle her nerves, and then she’d be off.

Halfway through the mug of steaming Earl Gray, she wasn’t feeling any better. In fact, the closer her watch ticked toward the last possible minute she could get in the car to make it in time, the more butterflies batted around in her stomach. She had to go to work, though. Paulo would kill her if she tried to take another day off this week.

“It’s just nerves,” she said, rinsing her cup in the little porcelain sink.

Little wonder, too. Werewolves visited that bar, none of which she wanted to run into tonight. Plus, she had the sneaking suspicion Albert would show up expecting her to make good on her promise of a freebie. She’d dealt with lechers and other difficult men for years, and the club was a public place with plenty of hired muscle. She was better off settling her debt with him there than alone in the middle of the woods.

Despite her logic, the car ride down the hill to Hot Pink was rough on her stomach. She managed to hold down her tea okay, but waves of dread passed over her, and she broke out in a cold sweat. She dashed in the side entrance, not making eye contact with anyone on her way to the dressing room and plopping down in front of her mirror. Unfamiliar music thumped through the front of the club.

“Cutting it close, aren’t you?” a familiar voice said. “Thought I was going to have to cover for you. Again.”

Angel looked damn hot tonight as she strutted over to Brandi with her usual scathing expression. What she didn’t have was her usual costume. She wore a shimmering bra of golden coins and the filmy, veiled skirts of a belly dancer. Her eye makeup was heavy green and gold, very Cleopatra. She’d altered her routine again to try and reclaim her spot as headliner.

“Thanks for covering,” Brandi said, sponging on a layer of makeup that failed to hide the unhealthy pallor of her skin.

The other woman leaned against a clothing rack and folded her arms, watching Brandi pluck an eye pencil from her makeup case. Considering her hands were already shaking too hard to put on eyeliner, having unfriendly eyes scrutinize every movement was the last thing she needed.

“What’s wrong with you?” Angel asked. “You on drugs or something?”

Brandi flashed a look at Angel in the mirror. “Of course not. What are you talking about?”

“You’re jittery as hell.”

“Too much caffeine,” Brandi snapped, wishing Angel would go away. “Don’t you have to get ready for your set?”

“Lineup’s been changed. I was just on. Daphne’s on now.”

“Who?”

A wicked smile spread over her rusty-plum glossed lips. “Oh, that’s right. You haven’t been around. Or missed, but that’s another story. Paulo hired someone.”

Brandi smudged her eyeliner, rubbed it off with a tissue, and tried again.

“So I guess you’re not the new hotness anymore,” Angel went on. “Tough, getting replaced.”

Brandi dropped the eye pencil in her bag and picked up the blusher in hopes of putting some color in her unhealthily pale cheeks. “Unlike you, I don’t worry about who else is dancing. I just do my job and go home.”

“Good luck with that the way you’re acting. You’re shaking so hard you can’t even put on makeup.”

“And if I believed for one second that you were saying so out of concern for my welfare, I might actually continue this conversation.” She picked up a tube of fuck-me-now red lipstick and painted her lips. “Am I on next or not?”

Contempt glittered in the girl’s exotic stare. “Everyone’s lineup got screwed around with except yours. Headliners at eight, same as always.”

Brandi closed her makeup case and gave Angel a long, measuring look. “I really am sorry, Angel.”

The girl’s lip curled. “For what?”

“You put in a lot of time here as Paulo’s headliner, and then I came along. It must feel like he pushed you aside. It must feel, well, disloyal.” So did her plan to go onstage, but she batted away the sudden thought. “Point is, I don’t blame you for hating me.”

Angel’s eyes had gone wide, and her trademark quick, ugly comeback was surprisingly slow in coming. “I don’t hate you,” she said, but Brandi’s arched brow made Angel roll her eyes. “Okay, fine, so I’m not secretly hoping we’ll be BFF’s.” She glanced down at the cleavage her gold bra shoved up. “But what I really hated was being replaced. Like I’m getting too old to do this job. I think sometimes that Paulo’s going to turn me out to pasture on one of the ranches around here.”

“Don’t be silly. You look incredible—and five years younger than your age.”

“And you look like shit.”

Brandi glanced in the mirror and couldn’t deny it.

“I heard you’re holed up in that cheesy motel on the highway,” Angel went on. “I don’t get that. With all the money you make, why not get some swanky place of your own?”

Brandi stood up, wobbled, and headed for her costume. “I don’t stay in any one place for long.” She stripped off her shirt and pulled on her sequined bikini, nearly losing her balance as she stepped into the thong. Then she turned to Angel again, whose eyes had never left her. “Not since I was seventeen. So there’s no point settling roots anywhere. Guess that’s good news for you, right?”

“For me, maybe. But that sucks for you.”

“Brandi,” came Stephen’s voice from the doorway. “You’re on in five.”

Angel folded her arms, jingling coins with the movement. “Are you
sure
you’re all right?”

This time, Brandi heard a faint note of legitimate concern. She slipped on her high heels and nodded. “I’ll be fine.”

Hot Pink laid it on extra thick when it came to announcing headliners, and as Brandi stood behind the curtain, listening to her intro, she felt an odd twist in her gut at the whoops and catcalls of eager customers. That had long been the benchmark of her success, the men whipped up into sexual frenzies by moves which, by her own admission, weren’t as original or well-refined as those of some other truly great dancers she’d worked with. No wonder other strippers all wished she go away.

At the moment, that’s what she wished, too.

Her hands set themselves automatically on her hips in her saucy opening pose as the music cued up, and the curtain parted. Her heart slammed against her chest, and sweat broke out on her forehead as she power-strutted to the pole. Shit, she hadn’t been this nervous her first time onstage. What the hell was wrong?

The men were particularly wild tonight, and the dirty suggestions that normally bounced off her invisible armor pierced right through. Paulo’s hired muscle moved closer to the front of the stage, frowning at the men’s high spirits as Brandi took hold of the pole. She missed her cue, staring out at the leering, greedy faces. Something was very wrong with this picture.

Scanning the crowds quickly, she didn’t see any gold-flecked eyes or disapproving stares. She didn’t see the two men she’d fully expected would be there. Her lovers hadn’t shown up to jealously drag her off by the hair. They didn’t care, after all.

How she could feel so overwhelmingly relieved and bitterly disappointed at the same time was a mystery. But combined with the greasy sensation rising in her stomach, it was a damn unpleasant state of being.