Black Hills Desperado (Black Hills Wolves, #3)(19)

“I know Lily. She’s a good woman.” Marcus looked over at Xio. “You want to make a road trip? Meet her?”

“Yes.” A tear rolled down her cheek. “She’s alive. I have a mother. I can’t believe....”

“Okay,” the bear grunted. “This is touching, but I have a story to tell and work to get back to. You two can get all gooey about it later, on your time.”

Xio smiled at the grumpy bruin and wiped the tear away. “Then go on. I didn’t learn Chinese for nothing.”

“Mai Ling served meals to the men laying the rails. When the railroad came through the Badlands, she met your grandfather, Eli Snow.”



“What’s for chow?” he asked.

Startled, Mai Ling lifted her gaze from the stew. She noticed a tall man with blond hair and fancy clothes leaning on the chuck wagon she’d brought out to where the men worked. Slung low across his hips was a holster, and in the hand-tooled leather rested an even more impressive revolver that would certainly send her to her backside if she tried to fire it. Big man. Big gun. “You work with crew?”

“No, ma’am. I’m passing through to Los Lobos.”

He stared at her from under the brim of a weathered cowboy hat. There had been enough heat in his eyes to make her turn red, even though there was ice on the ground and a wind that blew down from the north, making the day quite frigid.

She wanted to tell him the food was for the crew only, but something in the man’s expression told her he wouldn’t take no for an answer. So she lied. “Dog.”

The gunslinger straightened his spine, scowling at the kettle hanging over the fire. He sniffed and curled his lip. “Dog?”

“You no like?”

“No, ma’am. I no like.”

“Why you no like?” She lifted the ladle to her mouth and took a bite of the beef stew, watching him cringe.

“I guess you could say I’m a bit of a mongrel, and eating that would make me feel like a cannibal.”

“It’s good. You try some.” Scooping up another portion, Mai Ling thrust the utensil out to Eli. “You no look like dog.”

“I suppose I don’t. I’m more wolf than dog.” He eyed the food she shoved under his nose. “There’s a lot of things I’d like to take a bite of, but that isn’t one of them, darlin’.” He pushed it away.

“Okay, you no like my stew.” Mai Ling shoved the spoon back in the pot. “What you like a bite of, then?”

“Ma’am, I’d love to take a bite of you.” He tipped his hat to her. “And that’s not dog.” With a wink, he turned and walked away, his spurs clanking with each step.

“You not so scary, Mr. Wolf.”

Mai Ling knew the moment she’d seen him, Eli was meant to be hers, and from the look he’d given her, she knew he felt the same. What she didn’t know at the time, however, was that Eli really was a wolf in gunslinger’s clothing.




This time when he told the story, Xio learned some things were meant to be. Like a bank robber and lawman, or a gunslinger and Chinese princess who’d escaped a prearranged marriage and traveled by ship to America, where she’d found her true love in the Black Hills. Fate sometimes had a way of mixing oil with water, and Xio wouldn’t have it any other way. Opposites did attract.

Marcus Cazador was the yang to her yin.





ABOUT THE AUTHOR


D. L. Jackson is a writer of urban fantasy, science fiction, military romance and erotic romance. She loves to incorporate crazy plot twists, comedy and the unexpected into her worlds. As a U.S. Army veteran, she naturally adores men in uniform and feels the world could always use more. She does her part by incorporating as many sexy soldiers in her novels as she can. When she isn't writing or running the roads, you can often find her online chatting with her peers and readers. Grab a cup of iced coffee, pull up your virtual chair and say hi. She loves emails and blog visits from her readers.

You can visit D.L. at:

http://authordljackson.com





Want more Black Hills Wolves?

Watch for…





Wolf’s Song by Taryn Kincaid





Prologue


“Magnum?” Brick Northridge snorted and muttered into his beer. He stared bleary eyed at the hated alpha holding court in the center of the saloon. “More like a .22, if you ask me. Maybe a pea shooter.” He sat off by himself, as always, in a far corner of The Den, making deep inroads into his second foamy pitcher, his chair tilted back against the stone wall, its two front legs off the peanut shell-strewn floor. The brew gave him a heady buzz, but failed to still the roar in his head. Too many wolfy voices. Too many pictures of lupine death.

Like right now. A white flash went off, revealing a series of mental Kodachromes of Magnum Tao, the pack’s alpha, laid out all Rest in Fuckin’ Peace on a satin lining, a lily sticking up from his cold, crossed hands. The pack shedding a few crocodile tears. Then rejoicing.

Brick didn’t want the visions arriving unbidden in his head, all chopped up movie-trailer style, decibel level cranked, useless coming attractions when he never knew the where or when…only the how. He’d learned as a cub to keep his mouth shut and wait for the feature to begin. No one ever appreciated hearing how they’d die. Not when they couldn’t do much about it.