The Cougar's Trade (2 page)

“Us getting abducted?”

Hannah nodded. “She’d rather it be the two of us drawn into this ridiculous cult with her than two women she doesn’t know.”

“That’s a terrible thing to think. And they’re not a cult.” Miles would be lying if she said she hadn’t thought the same thing at first, though. Glenda had once been where they were—a captured mate. She’d drunk the Kool-Aid, so to speak. But no woman as critical of her sons as she was could possibly have been brainwashed. She was the first to admit the frequently ill-mannered men were pieces of work, and she regularly blamed herself for how they’d turned out.

“If it walks like a duck and quacks like a duck…” Hannah shrugged. “You know the rest.”

The screen door between the porch and living room creaked open, and Glenda poked her head into the house. “Sorry they’re taking so long. They got held up at Woodworks. Needed to load up some big furniture so Mason could get it delivered today, but they’re
going
to do this today. I’m not letting them drag this out any longer.”

While Glenda ran the Double B Ranch, her sons made their money producing custom furniture and cabinetry at Foye Woodworks, some of which cluttered their mother’s house.

“No hurry,” Hannah muttered.

Glenda narrowed her eyes at her but gave no retort. There was likely nothing she could say.

Her gaze fell to Miles, and softened. “You look tired.”

If Miles felt guilty before, it rooted deep and blossomed under the woman’s scrutiny. “No more than usual.” Glenda and Hannah had struck up an adversarial relationship from the moment Mason first drove them onto the property and Glenda had released them from Mason’s truck. Miles understood both sides and empathized for each woman—Glenda, who simply wanted her sons to survive the ordeal, and Hannah, who was righteously indignant about being uprooted from her life. Miles tried not to get between the two of them. Staying out of their arguments was the only way to keep her head clear and her anxiety at bay. Optimism had always been her greatest weapon, and although the ammunition was cheap, lately it was getting harder to come by.

“Did you get back to sleep okay after that demon scare last night? It was a loud one, huh?”

Miles let out a ragged exhalation. She didn’t really want to think about what that
thing
was. She’d shivered herself to sleep from fear for too many nights already, worrying about the entities coming out of that hole in the desert every two or three nights, and feeling so powerless against them. She worried one would catch up to her when no Foye was around to drive it back, and consume her whole because she couldn’t do anything but throw salt and run. She was only human.

“In my head, I called it a screamer.” She dropped her hands to her lap. She kept wanting to rub her eyes, not that it was helping.

Glenda grunted and leaned against the door frame. “Took a little longer for Ellery and the boys to send it back to the hellmouth because it was hard for them to get close. I guess they never thought they’d need ear protection.”

“I bet Ellery will start keeping earplugs in her jacket pockets just in case. She’s always prepared. And yes, I got back to sleep after a while. Might have been dawn when I managed it.”

“Glad I missed it.” Hannah studied her stumpy nails and ground her teeth. Somehow, she’d managed to sleep right through the chaos. Perhaps the noise had become sort of background music for Hannah because the demons popped out so often. Miles had learned to do the same with trains when she was growing up. She’d lived, literally, on the wrong side of the tracks and too damn close to them. She’d learned to sleep through the clatters and whistles, but not through the whispers. People in the house were always talking and connecting. Just not her.

“Well, here they come now.” Glenda stepped outside and held the door.

“Yep. Here they are.” Miles’s gut lurched as their booted feet pounded up the porch steps.

She’d been in equal parts dreading it and craving it. She wanted it over with just to bring the suspense down to a manageable level, but now the ball would be in her court. By saying no, she’d be ruining some guy’s life and taking a woman’s son away from her.

It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair for
any
of them, and Miles could only hope she’d have enough wisdom to draw on when the time came to decide.

The choice was simple—stay or go—but the consequences weren’t.

“Oh my God,” she whispered as Hank and Sean Foye stepped into the living room. She pulled in a cleansing breath and immediately swallowed, regretting her overindulgence at breakfast.

The room suddenly seemed very cramped, and she felt boxed in.

No more delaying. No more “what-ifs.” She was about to find out firsthand what it meant to be claimed by a Cougar, and whether she could reject him when the time came, in spite of how kind his mother had been to her.

She swallowed again, this time trying to push back the bile that soured her mouth.

“You’re looking a little green.” Glenda slung her arm around Miles’s shoulder and rubbed her arm. “It’s all right. I’m not going to let anything bad happen to you.”

“It’d be easier on my conscience if you did.”

Glenda didn’t respond except to give her another squeeze. She probably didn’t know what to say any more than Miles did.

“Go on and pick, and start your two-week countdown to doom, boys,” Hannah said. “You’d better start getting your affairs in order.”

Both men made noncommittal grunts, but only one pulled Miles’s attention. As always, her gaze immediately tracked to Mason’s Second—Hank. He was the epitome of the strong, silent type. Perhaps even a bit cold in his stoic efficiency, but he got things done, and his respect for his alpha was clear and obviously unimpeachable. He was steadfast, and ruthlessly take-charge. In two weeks, he hadn’t looked her way for more than a second or two. Sean, on the other hand, had actually attempted across-the-room conversations. He hadn’t wanted to get too close, so he didn’t trigger his clock without knowing it, but he’d tried to be friendly to both her
and
Hannah. Hank didn’t seem interested in either of them before, but now he looked at Hannah, and Miles
knew
. He’d made his choice.

She was surprised to realize that the tightness in her chest was the aftermath of her heart sinking. Obviously, she’d made her choice, too, without having known it.

Not that there was anything wrong with Sean. He was strong and funny and a doting uncle. He would be perfect for some woman. Apparently he was
her
man for the next two weeks. In her head, the projectile missed its mark. The magnet didn’t stick because the surface didn’t have the right charge. There was no
aha
. No click.

Shouldn’t there have been something? Maybe she didn’t have any magic or a meddling goddess ancestress like Ellery did to steer her steps, but certainly intuition should have spoken to her. But all she got from it was, “
I’m sorry, I don’t know
.”

“All set? We’re going to go with who we decided on earlier, right?” Sean asked Hank.

Hank rolled his eyes and muttered, “I don’t see any reason not to. Logic makes more sense than your idea of flipping a coin.”

“A coin?” Miles looked to Glenda, aghast.

She whispered, “I’m going to have to trust they know what they’re doing. I’m not a Cougar.”

Sean skirted around the coffee table and gave Miles’s shoulder, which Glenda’s arm had vacated, a squeeze.

“Hey, short stuff. Look. I’m touchin’ ya.”

“You sure are.” And she felt nothing for him besides pity. She put on a smile for him, but it was as phony as she knew his was. She’d seen his happy grins, and the one he wore at the moment didn’t match by a long shot.

“Yeah. I think so.” Hank looked at Hannah and canted his head toward the door. “Do we want to be civil, or do I need to endure the kicking-and-screaming deal?”

Hannah cracked each and every one of her knuckles and glowered at him.

Miles sighed and stood. She took Sean’s elbow when he offered it.

“Gotta run some errands in town. If you’d like to have lunch, I could show you around.”

She nodded, probably too fast and too much. “Sure. That’ll…that’ll be fine.”

Maybe his goddess will take pity on him and let him out of this mess.
She wanted to go ahead and apologize to Glenda and tell her, “
I’m sorry, I can’t. It’s not him, it’s me
,” but she couldn’t get her voice to work. She could hardly move her feet.

Sean led her outside, past Glenda on the porch, and they started across the yard toward his own small house where he’d left his pickup truck. He made some unobtrusive small talk that Miles answered without thought. She couldn’t manage much more than a simple
yes
or
no
because she was giving herself a mental talking-down from the ordeal. There was
nothing
wrong with Sean Foye. Not a thing. He was a great guy. Maybe she’d even connect with him a bit as time went on. Who knew what two weeks would bring?

“Sean!” Hank shouted across the yard.

They stopped, and Miles’s heart seemed to stop right along with it.

What now?

“Come back.”

Sean turned. “’Sup?”

“Does this feel right to you?”

Sean cringed and locked his fingers behind his head, tipping his cowboy hat back. He looked down at Miles and pushed up one red eyebrow. “Should be,” he said softly.

“Based on what?” she asked.
Maybe he knows it’s not right deep down, too.

“Sorry to be so impersonal about it, but we had to guess based on the position you’d have in the glaring. Mason knew Ellery was his because the goddess told him in a dream, but she was vague about the two of you. Her missions sometimes come with mysteries that need to be unraveled first.”

“Sean?” Hank called, and the impatience in his voice was hard to miss.

Miles leaned sideways to look around Sean’s body. Hank stood with hands crossed over his chest, and Hannah mirrored him, giving him a scowl in exchange for his.

Sean looked down at Miles, and his eyebrows disappeared into the shadow cast by his hat. “Please don’t take offense. We have no idea what we’re doing. You know we wouldn’t have done this at all if we’d had the chance to opt out. The last folks we knew of who did this were from my mom and dad’s generation. And since Dad’s dead, we don’t know how this is supposed to play out. There’s no rule book. I’m sorry if you feel jerked around.”

“It’s really hard for me to be upset knowing you did what you did to survive. I’m not happy about it, but I forgive you.”

“Yep. Figured you would. That’s why we assumed you’d be mine.”

What does that mean?

He grabbed her arm and hurried her back toward Glenda’s. They all met in the middle between Sean’s house and his mother’s. Sean gave her a little nudge toward Hank. Hannah stood firm, arms crossed, grinding her teeth.

“Gonna be like
that,
huh?” Sean asked her, smirking.

“You’ll get exactly what you deserve.”

“I sure hope so.”

Miles started when Hank pressed his hand between her shoulder blades.

“Sorry,” he said. “We need to put a little distance between us and them so I can see if it feels different.”

She didn’t know what he meant, but she didn’t ask him to explain, either. She knew it’d just be more preternatural mumbo jumbo that’d fly right over her head.

He walked her about twenty yards away from smirking Sean and sniping Hannah, and muttered, “Yeah, that’s her pick. Odd.”

“Whose pick? Your goddess’s?”

No response beyond a grunt. He waved to his mother on the porch, who nodded and turned her attention to the arguing couple near her dry birdbath.

“Come with me?” Hank crooked his thumb toward Woodworks, where he and his brothers spent their days cranking out high-end custom furniture and cabinetry. “I need to make a call, and then I need to do a couple of Cougar things. Gonna bore you to tears, but I can’t let you out of my sight. Sorry. It’s got to be better than being locked up at Mom’s, though.”

Gonna be like that, huh?
Just like Sean had said. Miles didn’t see a point in wasting her energy on soothing her ego, but there was a bitter aftertaste to having been the one he wouldn’t have picked if it weren’t for his goddess. He hadn’t wanted her, and apparent masochist that she was, she’d entertained more than a few thoughts about having
him
. She wanted to know what it was about him that made his mother sigh so wistfully whenever she said his name. And how he managed to make people on the ranch laugh so hard while keeping such a straight face.

She hadn’t really expected to be swept off her feet, but at the very least, she’d hoped for a little spark. Ellery and Mason had insulted each other at every turn for days, but
they’d
had a spark. Ellery admitted it. Maybe Miles shouldn’t have expected a single occurrence to be the start of a pattern. Hank still hadn’t really looked at her.

He headed toward Woodworks, and she followed at his side, just a step behind him.

The picture of the ideal man she’d carried in her brain from the time she was twelve didn’t resemble the Cougar ahead of her in the slightest bit. She’d always assumed she’d end up with some man who thought creased khakis and boat shoes were the height of fashion. Some man with newscaster hair and a closet full of seersucker. Not a man with coppery hair that hung halfway down his back and whose uniform of choice consisted of jeans, steel-toed boots, and flannel shirts in every color of the rainbow—including puce.

Just inside the woodshop, he paused at the bulletin board hung near the side door, studied it, reached into his shirt pocket, quickly rearranged some components on the board, and strode toward the reception area.

Miles started to follow, but stared at what he’d done, a laugh caught in her throat. The board was full of candid pictures of the Foye brothers; their sister, Belle; Mason’s infant son, Nick; and a few other people close to the family. Along with them were pinnable accessories someone had crafted out of construction paper. Someone had put a leprechaun hat on Hank. Apparently in retribution, he’d put a comical red handlebar mustache on every single Foye, excluding himself. He’d been carrying paper moustaches around in his shirt pocket for exactly that purpose.