Cry Wolf (Wolves of Angels Rest #7)(18)

Willow waved her hand. “An accident when we were kids. We’d both cut ourselves and ended up bleeding all over each other.”

“One shouldn’t accidentally make blood oaths,” Betsy said.

At first Willow thought she was joking, as she had about being a psychic, but her gaze was fixed accusingly on Diesel.

He shifted guiltily, in his stocking feet looking a little bit more like the boy Willow had known for such a short time and never really forgot. “It was an accident,” he repeated.

“Well, as long as there weren’t any other accidents,” Betsy said. “Follow me and I’ll show you the rest of the house.”

As Betsy pointed out the bathroom, the linen closet, the stairway door down to the basement where the washer and dryer were along with a “rumpus room” she said Willow was welcome to use if she needed a quiet place to play, Willow wondered if her night in Vegas with Diesel counted as an accident.

At this point, they’d swapped most of the fun body fluids, and they’d definitely done it on purpose.

She slanted a glance at Diesel and found him staring at her. What was he thinking about their latest accident?

She jerked her attention back to the tour when Betsy led them to the kitchen and told her to help herself to whatever she liked. “I really do appreciate you opening your home to me. I know this isn’t a real B&B, but please tell me what I owe you.”

Betsy shrugged. “I haven’t had a roommate since my niece moved out. It’ll be fun having another girl around for awhile. But I’m thinking this isn’t even a tenth as nice as your last place, so—”

“A hundred bucks a day seem fair?”

Betsy raised her eyebrows. “For that, I might even do your laundry.”

“I didn’t bring much.” Willow drifted toward the back door of the kitchen which looked out to the fenced yard. The garden beds were covered with leaves, nestled down for the coming winter. A line of tall trees which must have supplied the leaves marked the back of the property. Through the bare limbs, a dark mountain loomed on the edge of the desert.

Something about the shadows slicing like fangs down the stony cliffs made her shiver. “That’s Mesa Diablo? I saw it on the map. It seems…really close.”

“I don’t think it would make for a good song,” Betsy said. “Unless it was a rock song.” She snickered.

The strange moment broken, Willow turned away from the door. “I brought a case of wine with me. And a bottle of something harder for when the songs aren’t going well. I’m happy to share.”

“Done,” Betsy said instantly. “Diesel, will you grab the heavy-duty extension cord from the shed and run it out to her van? Throw one of the door mats over it where it crosses the path so we don’t trip.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Diesel muttered. He held Willow’s gaze until he slipped out the kitchen door.

His leaving seemed to free up some of the oxygen in the room, and Willow took a deep breath, letting it out slowly.

Betsy filled two glasses from a pitcher in the fridge and handed one to Willow. “So. The army brat.”

He was still a bit of brat, wasn’t he? The way he’d ordered her around in bed… Willow took a hasty sip of the drink to hide her blazing cheeks. Then she looked down at the glass. “This is good.”

“Lemongrass tea,” Betsy said. “With cayenne. You seem the sort who likes a touch of spice.”

Willow eyed her. “Guess I should throw in some extra cash for the refreshments. And the psychic reading.”

Betsy snorted. “I charge for scrying. You remind me a little of my niece, so you get the family discount for prying.”

Willow quirked her lips in unwilling amusement. It had been such a long time since anyone cared what she was doing, it felt…weird. But maybe nice. “I’m just here to write my songs.”

As for what Diesel-who-used-to-be-Danny might think of her statement… She’d worked her ass off to get out of that small southern town, looking for who-knew-what, but now she wished she’d kept just a bit more of that bold girl who’d cannonballed into midnight rivers and didn’t hesitate to say what she felt.

I wish you didn’t have to leave.

Her life on the road had meant she’d never said those words again. But she felt them hovering on the tip of her tongue as she went out the front door to check on Diesel. He had run the bright orange extension cord to the van, but as she stepped outside, a big SUV pulled up in front of the bungalow.

The tinted window was rolled down, so she recognized the two guys from the diner sitting in the front. Diesel, who’d been waiting at the edge of the driveway, got into the back without glancing around, though she felt the weighted gazes of the two men even through their dark sunglasses.

Okay then. So much for blood oaths or saying goodbye.

She went to the van to retrieve her guitar, refusing to look at the SUV as it pulled away.

Maybe the first song would be about the revenge of a scorned lover.



***



“Fuck.” Diesel slammed himself back in the seat.

LT glanced in the rearview mirror. “It comes to my attention that you say that a lot around her.”

“I marked her.” Diesel dragged his hand down his face as the other two males swiveled around to stare at him. “Watch the road,” he snarled.