George's Turn [Brac Pack 8] (4 page)

“Nah, I can handle the folk. Took me a minute to get a routine, but it ain’t so hard.” George wrapped the raw chicken up that he’d been marinating for lunch and stored it in the refrigerator.

“Nice flowers.” Frank quirked a brow and nodded over to George’s vase of yellow roses.

All he could do was shrug. He wasn’t about to explain anything especially when he was still trying to figure things out. “Thanks.”

“I’ll let you get back to work. Just wanted to check up on you and see how things were going.”

George leaned his hip against the counter. What would Tank want to do tonight? The guy hadn’t mentioned anything, and George wasn’t familiar with the town. Frank may be claiming it was a gay-friendly town, but George in no way was ready to use public displays of affection in front of people. He wasn’t even ready for the attention Tank was giving him.

When the clock read eight thirty, George closed the kitchen down and hit the lights. He ran up the stairs to get ready. He had thirty minutes until Tank showed up. That should be plenty of time to get his food encrusted clothes off and look presentable.

He kicked his boots off then hurriedly pulled his T-shirt above his head. Once the water was regulated, George pulled his jeans and underwear off, tossing his socks onto the pile. The shower took only moments. His nerves made him rush through everything.

George cursed when he tripped over his duffel bag. He needed to slow down. Pulling up from the floor, he made his way over to the dresser.

“What are you acting like this for?” he asked his reflection in the
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large mirror that hung there. Deciding he wasn’t out to impress the big guy, George just grabbed a clean pair of jeans and a T-shirt from his bag. He really needed to unpack.

Ready to go, George grabbed his Stetson from off the hook and placed it on his head. Taking one last look in the mirror to make sure he looked presentable, he cut the lights and jogged down the steps.

* * * *

Tank paced behind the diner. It was only eight thirty. He knew he was early, but he’d been too excited to sit still. He showered and shaved, trying to look his best for his mate. The lights in the diner went off, and Tank’s hands got sweaty just at the thought of finally spending some alone time with George. A half hour passed, and Tank got more agitated. Then, the back door pushed open.

He could see that George had showered and was wearing clean clothes. He looked absolutely stunning. His crystal-blue eyes were twinkling as he smiled at Tank. Damn, he actually had dimples. Tank had an urge to run his tongue along the indents. It took sheer willpower not to grab his mate into his arms and molest him right behind the dinner. It wouldn’t help his cause either.

“Hi.” George stepped out of the door and over to his right, looking at Tank from under his long, blond lashes.

“Hey. You, uh, wanna go for a walk?” Tank rubbed his hands down the front of his jeans again, his palms stayed wet around this guy.

“Okay.” George stepped closer, and Tank noticed that George was the perfect height, the top of his head reaching Tank’s shoulders.

“I hear you’re from Wyoming. What’s that like?” He walked George toward the town square, keeping a respectable distance. For now.

“Wide-open spaces and plenty of room to ride your horse.” George sighed. “I do miss that. Miss the early morning rides I took
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with my horse, Daisy.”

“I never rode a horse. Is it hard?”

“Nah, just gotta know how to handle ’em. They feel what you feel, so you have to be calm around them.” George visibly relaxed.

Tank wasn’t making any moves on him. It was like two old friends taking a stroll. No pressure. Tank planned on keeping it that way until his mate became accustomed to him.

“Maybe one day you can teach me.” They circled around the gazebo that sat in the middle of the park, strolling slowly, enjoying each other’s company.

“Sure, I’d like that. It’ll be nice to get back in the saddle. Can I ask you something?” George stopped and looked up at Tank.

“Okay.”

“What did you mean yesterday when you grabbed me and said I was yours? What gives?”

The scene played in Tank’s mind. He couldn’t outright tell the man they were mates. He knew he would have to in the near future, but right now he just wanted to enjoy the time they were spending together without making it complicated. “Can I wait to answer that until we get better acquainted?” Until he had the guts to tell George about his wolf.

George studied him for a moment then nodded. “Promise you’ll answer it though?”

“I promise. Can I ask you something now?” Tank shoved his hands in the front pocket of his jeans.

“Okay.” Scratching the back of his neck, his mate looked like he wasn’t sure he wanted to answer any personal questions.

“What’s up with Kitty?”

A look of relief flooded George’s face. “Is it that obvious?” George chuckled. “I think she’s trying to make me a daddy.”

“What?” Tank thundered out.

“Whoa, big fella. I said
trying
. She’s got a dozen of them runnin’

around at home. She doesn’t think I know. I may be a hick, but I’m
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not that stupid.” George laughed.

Tank could listen to his laugh for hours on end and never tire of it.

“So, you’re not interested in her?”

“Nah, ain’t my type.” They began to walk again, heading back toward the diner.

“What’s your type?”
Please let him say me.

“Not sure, but she ain’t.” Tank could tell he was hiding the fact that he was gay. Frank told him that he let his mate know how gay-friendly the town was. Well, most of the town. He remembered the scuffle the mates had in the bathroom of the diner a while back. Four cowboys from the local ranch seemed to have a problem with the sexual preference of others and wanted to make an example out of the mates. Boy, were they surprised when the mates defended themselves.

Hell, Tank had been shocked.

They ended at the back entrance of the diner, Tank wishing they had taken a longer route. He didn’t want to let George go. Dammit, why couldn’t he just take him home and claim him? Tank wanted to stomp his foot like a five-year-old having a fit. It wasn’t fair.

“Well, it was nice talking with ya. I guess I’ll see you around the diner. And thanks for the roses.” George turned to leave, but Tank wasn’t having it. He pulled his mate into his arms, crushing his lips to the softest set he’d ever tasted. George moaned and leaned into Tank, battling for domination. Tank knocked George’s Stetson off and grabbed a handful of blond hair, pulling his mate’s head back and delving deeper.

George broke the kiss. “Tank.”

Tank stopped the protest by kissing George again, his taste like a fresh summer morning rain. Tank got lost in the sweetness of his mate’s mouth.

Tank could tell George wanted to push him away, but his mate surprised him by grabbing his face instead. Tank reached a hand around his mate’s neck, pulling him closer. This must have been too much because George pushed him away, a look of mixed lust and
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confusion in his eyes.

“George.” Tank reached out, but George stepped away.

“I can’t, Tank. I just…can’t.” George pulled the door open and ran upstairs.

Tank stood there, stunned. What did he do wrong? Reaching down to grab George’s hat, he dusted it off and inhaled the scent of his mate.

He had thought things were going well. George seemed like a really nice guy, a guy Tank wanted to get to know better. His heart reached out to the guy, wondering what it was like to deny who you truly were.

Never in his life had Tank thought to lie about being gay. Even when his pack turned their backs on him, he stood proud and tall, leaving them behind. To be kicked off of three ranches must have been devastating to the cowboy. Tank couldn’t even imagine someone telling him to get out. He left his pack of his own free will.

He had an urge to drive to Wyoming and kick everyone’s ass that offended his mate.

Staring up at the apartment, he was torn between just going home or knocking the door down and claiming what was his. He’d force George out of the closet. He shook his head, knowing he really wouldn’t do that.

With a sigh, Tank started walking slowly back toward his truck.

* * * *

George paced his small apartment, thinking about the best kiss he had ever had. He felt at a loss being away from Tank, and that scared the shit out of him. George hit the on button to the stereo and blasted Faith Hill’s “Free,” letting the melody take him away.

The image of that big Clydesdale of a man made his groin ache.

He couldn’t seem to get his mind past that kiss. He’d never had one—

or given one, for that matter—with such passion in it.

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“Oh, man.” George flopped down on the couch. “I’m hooked.” He groaned loudly. He sat up when he remembered his hat downstairs. It was his favorite one, his only one at the moment. George slowly crept down the steps, listening for any sign that Tank still remained. When he heard nothing, he pushed the back door open. He looked down where it had dropped after that amazing kiss, but it was gone.

“Dammit,” he bit out softly. He felt naked without it. It was all he had left from his mama, and he wanted it back. His mother had bought it for him on his eighteenth birthday, a year before she passed, and it brought him comfort. It made him feel closer to her, like he still had a part of her with him.

“Late for a human to be out.”

George looked over his shoulder to see two men standing off in the shadows.
Human?
What the heck were these two talking about?

“He’d make a nice snack.” One of them snickered.

“I don’t know about that. My hide is pretty rough.” George turned to face them, squaring his shoulders. He didn’t run from anyone, least of all cowards who prayed on unsuspecting folk in the shadows.

“Doesn’t matter. You’ll do.” They stepped forward, their fangs gleaming under the moonlight.

Fangs?
What the hell was going on here?

George backed away, trying to make his way to the side of the building for more room to deal with these…whatevers.

“Don’t run. It won’t hurt…much.”

George spun around and took off, rounding the corner of the diner and heading for his truck. He needed the rope that lay in the bed of it.

“I like a chase.” One of them laughed with glee.

“Then come chase me, you no good cow patty.” George skidded to a stop by his truck and swung his arm over the bed. Thank goodness he had left that piece of rope in there.

“What’s going on, George?”

George turned his head to see Tank standing by his truck, his damn hat in the man’s hand. He walked forward, stopping in front of
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the big galoot.

“What’d you do, wait until my back was turned and steal it?” George reached out and grabbed his hat from Tank’s fingers.

“Now, wait one minute. You left it on the ground. I was going to return it in the morning,” Tank defended himself.

“Likely story,” George argued. He dusted the hat as if Tank’s fingerprints were smudged all over it then set it atop his head.

“Who are they?”

George looked over his shoulder to see the two men round the corner and start their way slowly. He waved them off. “Hell if I know.

Something about a snack” George turned back to Tank, ticked that the man was smirking. “That hat’s special to me, I don’t appreciate no one touchin’ on it.”

Tank waggled his finger in George’s face. “I said I was gonna return it.”

“Sure ya were.” George smacked Tank’s hand away from his face.

The two men showed their fangs, circling the arguing pair.

“George, get in my truck, I’ve got vampires to deal with.” Tank shoved George at the passenger side of his pickup.

“I ain’t no damn girl, I can defend myself against…vampires?” George spun around to look at the two men, who were getting closer, their teeth long and sharp and protruding from their mouths.

“Yeah, vampires. Now stop arguing, and get inside. I won’t have my mate in harm’s way.” Tank once again pushed George to get in.

“Will you stop that?” George smacked Tank’s hands. “I said I ain’t a girl, and what’s this mate crap I keep hearing about? I swear I’ll hit you if you say something about England.”

“Dammit, I’m a wolf, and you’re my mate. I wanted to wait and tell you when I thought you could handle it.” Tank put his hands on his hips, seeming exasperated that George was being so difficult.

Well, too dang bad.

“Mate? What the hell does that mean?”

“It means I claim you, and then you belong to me.” Tank
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narrowed his eyes. “Are you going to argue with me about it?” He glared at Tank, frowning. “Claim me? I ain’t being claimed by no one, partner, least of all a Neanderthal like you.” George pointed his finger up into Tank’s face.

“George.” Tank growled a warning.

“Don’t George me.” George swung around, connecting his fist into one of the vampire’s jaw. Just because he was arguing didn’t mean he wasn’t paying attention to what the two were doing. The guy stumbled back, and that was all George needed. He swung again and again, not letting up. He saw he was having little effect on the guy, but he knew if he stopped, he’d be toast.

“Dammit, George. Get over here where I can protect you,” Tank shouted to him in irritation.

“Don’t.”
Whack.
“Need.”
Smack
. “Your.”
Crunch.
“Protection.” George knocked the guy on his ass. He looked over his shoulder briefly to see Tank had the other vampire by his throat, squeezing the undead life out of him.

“Watch out.” Tank pointed to the one George was dealing with.

He turned around to see the guy had gotten back up. George reached into the bed of his truck and grabbed the rope, running down the sidewalk with it with the vampire close behind. He stopped, whirled the rope high in the air, and lassoed the sneaky fucker.