Ram Rugged: Sassafras Shifters, #4

Chapter 1

Murdering Coyote

T he coyote that killed Elle left her body right there on the front porch for me to find. Mary Andre raised her voice to be heard over the country and western music coming from the speakers above the bar. It pained her to speak so casually of her deceased ewe, as though Elle had been just an animal.

Like a cat leaving his owner a gift? Tammy Payne, Mary's best friend, polished off the last sip of her rum and coke. The amber-hued ice clinked as she smashed the tumbler back on the bar top and gestured for the barkeep to pour a refill.

Or an obsessed stalker who's trying to impress me, but I really don't want to go there. Mary stared woefully into her own half-finished glass of chardonnay. Her friend's humorous attempt to lighten the mood came far closer to the likely truth than Mary cared to admit.

Maybe you've got a big ol' lovesick coyote on your hands, Tammy said, obviously struggling to make sense of the incident.

Yeah, maybe. Mary desperately wished her friend would let it drop. It made her twitchy. Trying to look casual, she glanced about the bar. No one seemed to be eavesdropping, but with the paranormal one could never be sure.

Both Tammy and Mary were mere humans in a clandestine world full of magic and monsters. Mary knew about the vampires and shape shifters. Tammy, however, didn't even suspect the supernatural was real beyond the pop-culture fiction of books and movies. As much as she wanted to tell her friend, Mary dared not say anything. Doing so would endanger both their lives.

Is there a federal program that will reimburse you for it? Tammy's smile faded. Real concern shone in her eyes, which were the same shade as the ocean's gray waves.

Not for a coyote kill. It'd have to be a bigger predator like a wolf or a bear to be eligible. Mary shook her head so vigorously that her auburn bangs flopped into her eyes. The ends were scraggly. She was long overdue for a haircut, but it was another luxury she couldn't afford.

Feed and veterinarian expenses for her organic sheep ranch had already stretched her budget thin. She sacrificed for the good of her livestock. Since her mother had passed away a couple years ago, the flock was the only family she had left.

We could always fake the evidence. Tammy offered a supportive smile and a conspiratorial wink. She sounded like she was only kidding, but Mary knew her friend. If she actually agreed, Tammy would dive straight into researching how to go about faking a wolf attack.

For a few seconds, Mary battled temptation. A part of her wanted to give the go ahead. In the end, though, her conscience won. No. Thank you, but that wouldn't be right.

Okay, but the offer stands. Let me know if you change your mind, Tammy said with a forced smile.

I will. Mary grimaced. Great, now she felt bad about depressing her friend. Just what she needed: even more guilt. But faking cheerful was tough when all she really wanted to do was head home and climb into bed for a good cry.

The bartender, John Keats, was a burly man in his fifties. In a smooth pass, he refilled Tammy's drink and hefted his furry brow in a silent inquiry. Mary waved him off. She doubted she'd finish the wine in her glass. The two women waited until he moved away to resume their conversation.

You're not telling me everything, are you? Tammy aimed one of those looks that forbade further deception. She had what it would take to make a great mother someday...if she ever met a man capable of surviving her nuclear bluntness.

Mary heaved a heavy sigh. Elle was pregnant. I lost two sheep.

Oh, honey, that sucks. Tammy patted her friend's hand.

To top it off, Gene quit last week, so I'm without a shepherd. Mary drained the rest of her chardonnay in one gulp, and immediately regretted it. The tart fluid got stuck in her windpipe and stung the insides of her nose. She succumbed to a coughing fit, covering her mouth with her fist.

Shit. Breathe! Tammy thumped Mary on the back until she finally cleared her airways and the coughing stopped. Then, Tammy added, I could come out to the ranch and give you a hand after work.

Mary considered, but decided against it. Thanks. I have an interview with a new ranch hand lined up for tomorrow. I'll let you know how it goes.

Tammy gave a glum nod. This is a really crappy newly-divorced celebration.

Mary snorted and propped her elbows on the counter. Tell me about it. This divorce was supposed to make my life better. It hasn't even been finalized for twenty-four hours and things keep getting worse.

All this is that cheating bastard's fault.

No, it's not, but it's sweet of you to say so. Mary leaned over and draped her arm over Tammy's shoulders for a quick hug. I bought the farm, so to speak. She chuckled at her own dark joke.

Fall Haven was a far-flung town located north of San Diego that stretched from the inland oak groves of the historic Rodríguez homestead to the waters of the Pacific. Primarily an agricultural community, olive and avocado trees accounted for the region's major crops. Commercial floral growers and nurseries also dotted the area. Wooly Acres, Mary's tiny sheep ranch, consisted of a sixty-acre stretch of hilly coastal land too rugged for traditional farming. She raised her flock of exotic Wensleydale sheep exclusively for their long, high-quality wool, which was prized for its fine luster.

Her ex-husband, Quentin Cox, had pulled every dirty trick in the book during their divorce. After she caught him cheating and filed the motion, the coyote-shifter had turned vindictive. He started out trying to steal the small family farm that had belonged to her parents in the settlement. Mary fought him in court because the ranch was her dream. Her business, Mary's Little Lambswool, purveyor of organically dyed yarns, batts, and whole fleeces, meant everything to her. The legal expenses had been huge. In the end, she'd won, but the bills had all but bankrupted her. Now it seemed Quentin had turned to a far more devious and malicious method of hurting Mary—killing her sheep.

As my granny used to say, always count your blessings. You've got a roof over your head, a business that's sure to make money, and you've got a fabulous friend with a dry shoulder to cry on. Tammy smiled and winked, once again back to her old trick of over-the-top teasing.

That I do. A reluctant smile tugged at the corners of Mary's mouth.

And, it looks like your luck is about to take a dramatic turn for the better. Tammy dropped her tone to a confidential whisper. You've caught the attention of that mysterious stranger over there in the corner.

What—where? Mary shot her head up. Wide-eyed, she surveyed the room but didn't notice anyone except a few guys from town who were playing pool.

Geez, be subtle, why don't 'cha? Tammy rolled her eyes. She caught Mary's elbow and turned her toward the far end of the bar. There.

Oh! Mary gasped and covered her throat with her hand. Her throbbing heart immediately smacked against her palm in a show of feminine appreciation.

Lordy! The handsome man seated at the corner table next to the jukebox was as sexy as sin. So sexy, in fact, that he could give the devil a run for his money. The stranger looked to be in his late twenties with strong features and curly, dark-blond hair. A single ringlet fell onto his forehead, just begging for a woman's touch. Piercing blue eyes... No mistaking their color because Tammy was right about one thing: He was looking straight at Mary.

Ah jeez! Mary twisted and ducked, trying to escape his notice. Her terminal shyness kicked in. Self-consciously, she wrapped her arms about herself and wished she could shed twenty pounds on the spot. Better yet, she would've welcomed being able to shrink to the size of a postage stamp and ride outta there on an express delivery.

Knock it off! Tammy hissed in a low voice and bent closer. Stop trying to hide.

I'm not hiding. I'm trying to instantly lose six dress sizes. Mary put her hands together, on the verge of begging Tammy to relent. Please, not now. Her friend could lecture all she wanted later, when Mr. Drop-Dead Gorgeous wasn't in the audience.

But no, Tammy didn't stop.

Tammy snorted. You're a gorgeous, curvaceous woman! And some men have the good sense to want a woman with some meat on her bones. I'm telling you, that guy has been watching you for the last hour, and not in the creepy stalker sense of the word.

Really? Mary raised her head and stole another peek. And, oh heavens help her, he met her gaze. He winked and smiled. Mary broke eye contact and took cover again. She grasped Tammy's arm and asked, Gah, how could you notice and not say anything?

I wanted to be sure you had a chance to talk through your blue funk before I sounded the alert. Now that you've gotten in a good bitch session with me, you're free to leave all your worries behind.

You're such a good friend, Mary said in a voice tinged with sarcasm.

I know I am. Now get over there and say hi.

Nope.

Take a chance. Go say hello. Flirt a little. Have fun. Carpe diem—seize the day! If it works out and you like him, then take him home. What's the worst that could happen?

He could turn out to be an absolute jerk.

Tammy sighed. Or he might wind up being a really great guy. Not every man is like Quentin. I have a good gut feeling about this one. She tipped her head toward the blond stranger. It's obvious he's patient, which is exactly what you need. The point is, you won't know what he's like unless you give him a chance.

I can't. Mary clenched her fists and gave a small, determined shake of her head. A big part of her wanted to say To hell with it and throw caution to the wind. Sure, she should go over and talk to the stranger. He'd certainly issued an open invitation. She wanted to, but she wouldn't, though, because fear always got the better of her. Sensible Mary Andre didn't take chances, especially not ones that looked like that.

Fine, it's your call. All of a sudden, Tammy whipped out her wallet and slapped a few bills on the table. Wow, look at the time! It's later than I thought. I've gotta run. She leaned over and hugged Mary. Give me a call tomorrow and let me know how it goes.

How what goes? Mary asked, thoroughly bewildered by her friend's abrupt departure. She turned on the bar stool, following Tammy's hasty retreat. It didn't make a lick of sense, not in the least.

Hi, a husky male voice said. Is this seat taken?

Chapter 2

Carpe Diem

Mary jumped clean off her stool and landed on the slick tile floor. Unfortunately, her balance proved unequal to her unfamiliar outfit—a short skirt and high heels. She staggered, flashing an immodest amount of cleavage and leg. Her brief concern for decorum didn't last long. A healthy start of fear shot through her when she twisted her ankle and started to topple.

Careful. The man's strong, solid grip on her elbow prevented her from falling over. Discomfort aside, his touch carried an electric charge that overloaded her senses. Her central nervous system went haywire.

Something like Ah-bab-bab-bab fell from her lips. Round-eyed, she gaped up at him. Up close, Mr. Drop-Dead Gorgeous appeared even better looking—if such a thing were even possible—than he had across the room. Based on his deep tan, he spent a lot of time in the sun. Either he worked as a model—a distinct possibility—or he earned his living in a tough, outdoorsy profession. His clothing seemed to fit with the common man persona, up until she noted the designer logo on the front of his shirt and the heavy gold and ruby ring on his middle finger.

Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you. Why don't you sit back down? He had a laconic manner that was distinctly European.

That's probably a great idea, Mary said. She'd never live it down if she face-planted here and