Dead of Winter (Battle of the Bulls #2) - T. S. Joyce Page 0,29

truck this morning, along with two more shirts, a lanyard, and a sticker of my face.” He held it up, and it was, indeed, a die-cut sticker of him making a silly face. “You may place it on your nethers.”

She giggled and took the shirt from him, studied it. Okay, the man knew how to cut up a T-shirt. That, in itself, was a skill. “Is there anything you can’t do?”

“No, I’m great at everything. Now, go get changed. It’s raining.”

She frowned out the window and then back to him. “So we need to leave earlier because the roads will be wet?” she guessed.

“Nope. Quickdraw probably isn’t even awake yet. Just go get dressed. I’ve got something better than coffee that’ll wake you up.”

There was mischief in that man’s eyes that had her heart rate thumping a little faster. What was he up to?

She brushed out her hair and put it in a ponytail, then shimmied into her shorts and the shirt Dead had made for her. Her black lace bra was showing a little through the rips he’d cut, but that was okay. She really loved this shirt! And it meant a lot to her that he had made it into her style, not into his. After she pulled on her boots and put on a layer of makeup from the girlfriend starter pack, she walked out into the living area of the camper and strutted around like she was on a catwalk.

Dead whistled and stared and made her feel like a million bucks with his compliments.

A good man knew how to hype up his lady. Even though she wasn’t his lady. Not really. They’d just met. Yeah.

He pushed open the door of the camper, and they ran to his jacked-up truck.

“I drive a Prius!” she called as rain pelted against her hair.

“One of them clown cars?” he called, unhitching his truck from the RV.

“It’s not that small. Plus, I get a million miles to the gallon.”

“But how do you haul anything? Or make beer runs? Or run over people who annoy you?”

Her face must’ve been horrified because he looked up through the pouring rain with a grin and said, “Just kidding…probably.” He cranked something on the hitch. “Get on in. This will only take me a second.”

Raven scrambled into the cab of his truck and looked around. There was another cowboy hat sitting on the dashboard and a small duffle bag of worn ropes. Maybe to train with? She pulled one out and sniffed. Smelled like Dead, but not human Dead. It was a mixture of Dead and fur. She loved it and committed the scent to memory.

At the next row of RV’s, Cheyenne was at the door of her and Two Shots’ camper, yelling something.

Raven rolled down the window to hear better.

“No, Dead,” she was saying. “If you tear up that field, I have to deal with the venue. I made pancakes! Dead! Are you listening?” Cheyenne was still wearing red plaid pajama pants and a red tank top, no bra. Pretty lady! “I wanted to have a herd breakfast before we go!”

Quickdraw opened his camper door and glared at Cheyenne. “What kind of syrup?” he called across the way.

“Why are you naked?” Cheyenne demanded of the tattooed behemoth who was, in fact, as naked as the day he was born.

“We’re going muddin’,” Dead yelled through the rain. “Want to go?”

Quickdraw flipped him off and disappeared into his camper, the door swinging loudly closed behind him. Dead didn’t seem to mind and scrambled into the driver’s seat, humming something to himself.

“He’s a little rude,” Raven whispered.

“You’ll get used to him.” Dead gestured to Quickdraw’s camper, and the beastly man had appeared again with a pair of jeans on and nothing else save a set of keys dangling from his fingers as he jogged toward his truck.

Dead turned on the engine, and the dang thing roared like a hurricane. He revved it a couple times and then honked. “Two Shots, don’t be a pussy! Let’s go!”

Cheyenne was looking mighty enraged as she stood there, legs splayed in their doorway, her arms crossed over her chest. “No!” she yelled as Two Shots tackled her from behind, folded her into his arms with the keys dangling from his grinning mouth. He gave Raven a wink as his mate flailed in his arms.

“I always have to pay for the damage you boys do!” Cheyenne yelled. “Rule number eight! No damaging venue property!”

“It’s just a little dirt, Cheyenne,” Dead called out Raven’s