Dead of Winter (Battle of the Bulls #2) - T. S. Joyce Page 0,43

his truck. “See you assholes when I see you. Die or don’t die, doesn’t make any difference to me.”

“Awww, you big teddy bear,” Cheyenne called. “You wuv us.”

Quickdraw threw a grossed-out look over his shoulder. “Break all your hips.”

Raven’s chest was full of happiness and laughter as she climbed in the passenger’s seat of Dead’s truck.

“I changed,” she blurted out as he buckled his seatbelt.

“You sure did.”

“I mean I changed in front of people. And I didn’t break all the fences!”

Dead snorted. “Well, we’re gonna have to send this ranch a check for the cost of a gate, but no, you didn’t break all the fences.” He turned in his seat and leaned on the console, studied her face. “You were so goddamn beautiful out there.”

Her whole torso filled with relief. “Really?”

Dead just shook his head back and forth. “I’ve never seen anything like you. That beast is inside of such a sweet soul. You’re perfect just how you are, Raven.”

Her smile couldn’t physically get any bigger.

“Except for one thing,” he amended.

She danced in the seat. “What one thing?”

“Girl, you could wear the hell out of some boots. You earned ’em in that arena. You don’t realize it yet, but you’re cowgirl AF. That’s the biggest compliment I can give you.”

She wiggled her hips again in a little happy dance and said, “Thank you.” Then she buckled her seatbelt and chattered to him about all the things she felt when she was changing into her cow…into Hagan’s Lace.

All the way to town, he kept his hand resting on her thigh, and for her, it made her feel so comfortable. It made her feel safe and secure and confident. He really wasn’t running from her animal. Now? He’d seen her at her worst, but was looking at her like that wasn’t the worst at all. Like maybe that side of her was good.

He pulled his truck into a parking lot for Hoodie’s Saddle Shop, parked across several parking spaces in the back with the camper, and told her, “Wait there. I’ll get your door.”

Her stomach leapt around as she watched him jog around the front of the truck. He pulled her door open and held his hand out for her.

Raven slid her palm against his. So warm. So strong. She clutched her purse with her other hand and slipped out of the cab of his truck. She gave a shy smile to the ground when he intertwined their fingers, held her hand firmly, and led her into the store.

Hoodie’s didn’t just sell saddles as the name implied. It sold lots of things.

Wide-eyed, Raven looked around the shop, from the glass case of belt-buckles, to the racks of clothes, to the shelves of bolo ties and cowboy hats, to the rows and rows of cowboy boots in the back.

“I don’t think this place is my style,” she whispered.

“Trust me,” Dead said, bumping her shoulder. “I won’t make you compromise your style.”

“Okay. Where do we go first?”

“We’re workin’ from the bottom, girl. Boots first.” Dead pulled her hand and lead her toward the stacked shelves of boots. The smell of leather was heavy in the air, and Raven brushed her fingers across the row of boots they walked down.

“What size?” he asked.

“I’m a seven.”

Dead twisted and gave her a wink. “Nah, you’re a straight ten, but a size seven shoe.”

That boy would make her blush her whole life. She was calling it. “You’re smooth.”

“Yeah, well, I wasn’t always so suave.” Dead sat her down on a bench and grabbed a few pairs of dark leather boots. “I had braces when I was in high school. And I had a little extra cushion for the pushin’. And I was awkward with every girl because I’d been raised in my older years by my dad, who was also not so smooth with women.”

“You were chunky?” she asked him.

“Oh, yeah, I ate like a cow when I was a kid.”

“Meee tooooo,” she sang out. “Maybe that’s a cow shifter thing then. I wonder if Two Shots and Quickdraw went through the same when they were kids. My friend Annabelle never gained an ounce, but she’s a werewolf. They have ridiculous metabolisms.”

She pulled on the first boot and stood, looked in the full-length mirror on the wall. “Hmmm. I like it, but let me try on the plain black one.”

A saleswoman was organizing a rack of boots. She turned to them and said, “You like the black ones? Do you have a preference in what it’s made