The Care and Feeding of an Alpha Male (24 page)

She did, and immediately cried out as the orgasm blew through her like a tornado. Her body clenched, hard, and she stiffened with a low, guttural moan that she wasn’t entirely sure came from her own throat.

He thrust hard twice more, rocking against her body, and then he growled her name. “Beth Ann!” and then he was coming, too, and she felt his body jerk and clench against her own stiff one.

When she came down, she panted, blinking rapidly as her surroundings came back into focus. Delicate pink claw marks marred the edges of the white painted wall where she’d clung to the sides of the window.

Colt’s body slid from hers and she felt his hands tug her skirts down, heard his zipper go up and his belt fasten. And then he was pulling her against him from behind, and kissing her neck, now damp with a sheen of sweat. “You are always incredible.”

She smiled, wrapping her arms around his and leaning back against him. An “I love you” bubbled up in her throat, and she almost blurted it out.

Then she stopped, shocked. She couldn’t be in love with Colt already, could she? Oh lord. Was she crazy? This was supposed to be an easy, casual relationship. He’d think she was rebounding hard if she started declaring love for him after only a month of dating. He needed to declare it first. Then she’d feel safe confessing her own love to him.

“Something wrong?” he asked, squeezing his arms around her
waist and nuzzling his face against her throat. “Nothing,” she said lightly, hating that she had to conceal it. All that big talk about truth and here she was lying, too. “Just wondering if I should mention to Georgia that I clawed up the paint job.”

“Nah,” Colt drawled. He looked at the place, then grinned. “Probably an improvement.”

B
eth Ann slowly spun around in the barber’s chair. She’d painted her own nails, waxed her own brows, dyed a pink streak in her own hair out of sheer boredom.

No customers.

The realization was like a sick, gnawing ache in her stomach.

She’d failed. Her business had failed. Everything she’d worked so hard for. Failed. She rose from the chair and moved to the front door, stepped outside into the autumn breeze. The Bluebonnet town square bustled with people, a few tourists enjoying the quaint shopping, locals getting their chores done. The Halloween Festival banner swayed over Main Street square, and down the street, she could see the utility building. Miranda would be working today—her volunteers never wanted to work on a Saturday. She wished her friend would come over so she
could mess with someone’s hair other than her own. So it’d look like she had at least one client.

There was nothing sadder than an empty salon.

Almost against her will, she glanced down the street. Still no permanent sign over Cutz, but she could see people sitting in the waiting room, magazines in hand. Were those her clients? How on earth had that woman stolen all her clients?

What had she done that was so wrong? She hadn’t changed her prices. She hadn’t cut anyone’s hair badly or botched a nail job. Beth Ann didn’t understand it. And if she didn’t understand it, she couldn’t fix it. The sick gnawing in her stomach grew worse. The breeze picked up, leaves scattering down the busy street. The Halloween Festival was in two weeks. Soon, she’d be done with that horrible committee, and then hopefully she could avoid Allan for a few weeks.

As if thinking about him had summoned him, Allan’s shiny BMW turned down the street. She groaned and quickly headed back inside her shop.
Please don’t stop here, please don’t stop here—

The car pulled up into the empty parking space in front of her salon.

“Fuck!” She clenched her fists. Okay, so she’d resorted to cussing. It did feel better than just saying “fiddlesticks” or “fudge.” She should cuss more often. It always sounded so sexy when Colt did it.

The doorbell clanged and Allan stepped in, his expensive leather jacket sweeping around him. He grinned over at her, his gaze taking in the empty salon. “Looks like I caught you at just the right time.”

“What do you want, Allan?”

He gave her a wounded look, as if surprised by her defensiveness. “I just wanted to talk. Maybe get a haircut.”

“I don’t really feel like talking right now. We can talk when we get to the committee meeting.”

He looked disappointed, his shoulders slumping. “I thought I could walk you over when we were done here.”

She sighed. Stared at her empty chair. She was going to learn to live with Allan. If he was going to be polite and nice, she could extend an olive branch as well. With a small smile, she gestured at her chair.

He hung his coat on one of the wall hooks and then bounded over as if she’d given him a prize. “How’s business?”

She adjusted the chair, not looking in the mirror to see his eager eyes. “Quiet.”

“I don’t understand why,” he said in a cheerful voice. “Everyone loves you.”

That was nice of him. She gave him a faint smile and put the pink cape over him. “I’m sure it’s just a temporary thing,” she said, though her heart was heavy at the thought. “It’s bound to pick up again.”

“I’m sure…unless….” He paused.

Oh, here we go
. She stopped spritzing his hair, comb poised over his head. “What?”

“Unless people are avoiding you because you’ve taken up with one of the Waggoners.”

She groaned. “Allan, don’t start this again.”

He caught her hand. “Beth Ann, I just worry about you. You’re wearing revealing clothing, you’re making out with trailer-park
trash in public, and you’ve dyed your hair pink.” He shook his head. “I don’t understand what’s gotten into you.”

She pulled her wrist from his grasp and began to comb his hair, avoiding looking in the mirror. “For one thing, I like my clothing. For two, it’s one pink streak, not an entire head of pink hair. And three, we weren’t making out in public. It’s not my fault you were following me.” Her hard gaze swept up to the mirror. “Why do you care so much anyway? Remember? I’m a lousy lay.”

He flinched, and she was pleased. “I only said that to get at him.”

“Mmm-hmm. How long did it take for those two black eyes to heal?”

“He’s lucky I didn’t press charges,” Allan said in a sulky voice.

“No,
you’re
lucky he didn’t press charges,” she said, almost cheerfully. She began to cut his hair, carefully lifting a section and snipping. Petty, passive-aggressive Allan she could deal with. It was expected.

It was when he wept and begged for forgiveness that she couldn’t handle it. “I like Colt. And I’m going to keep seeing him.”

“You’re not just being rebellious to get back at me? Picking the guy I hate the most so you can stab a knife in my back? I saw you with him. His hands under your skirt and touching you…” He shuddered. “It turns my stomach every time I think about it.”

She rolled her eyes. “Now you’re just being dramatic.”

“I’m not. Everyone in town can’t stop talking about how it’s not right that you’re with him. They think we should be together.”

They thought that because she’d kept her mouth shut about his cheating. She’d told no one—not even her parents—why
she’d finally broke up with Allan. And despite it being such a small town, oddly enough, it hadn’t gotten out. Allan was careful when he cheated, and Beth Ann was careful to keep his secrets because they embarrassed her.

No one knew why they’d finally broken up, just that they had. Beth Ann hadn’t wanted to destroy his character in town—that didn’t seem fair to a man she’d spent nine years with. And she didn’t hate him, not really. She was just disappointed in him, and in herself most of all for putting up with it for so long.

Allan gave her a solemn look in the mirror. “You know I still love you and I want you back.”

Now they were getting back to uncomfortable territory. She shook her comb at him. “Allan, honey, I am allowing you to sit in this chair and let me cut your hair because you weren’t declaring love for me. Do it one more time and I’m going to cut you a Mohawk.”

He gave her a sulky look in the mirror, and she almost smiled. He looked like a sad little boy now. “I just want what’s best for you.”

“Trust me to know what’s best for me,” she said lightly, cutting his hair again. But the seed of doubt had sprouted.

Was she being ostracized by the town because of her relationship with Colt? Did everyone think she was cheating on Allan? That was ridiculous to think about. Still, Colt was convinced everyone in town hated his family. She knew they curled their lips when one of his loud, drunk brothers showed up and caused a scene, but what town didn’t have a few odd people? The Waggoners didn’t have money and some of them didn’t have manners, but they were just people.

And surely this town wasn’t small enough that who she dated was going to matter that much…

Did it?

Allan behaved long enough for her to finish cutting his hair, and he’d even tried to make small conversation, talking about the Halloween parade and his plans for it. He always did the parade, since his business loaned out the cars for some of the parade members to ride in. His boyish enthusiasm was hard to resist, and she mentioned a few of the plans she had for the Festival—a costume pageant, trophies for the children, a cake walk, and face-painting booths to bring a little cash to the committee. He liked all her ideas, which surprised her.

When his haircut was done, he stood and took a hundred-dollar bill out of his wallet, and pressed it into her hand.

Her throat grew knotted. “I can’t break this, Allan.”

“I know you can’t,” he said softly. He leaned in and kissed her forehead. She wanted to pull away, but he didn’t press more than that. “I just want to help, is all.”

That sour feeling clenched in her stomach again. He was giving her extra because he knew she was failing. And that made her want to scream in frustration—not at him, because he was just being typical, big-gesture Allan.

At herself, for being the one that was failing.

“I can’t take this, Allan.”

“Nonsense—” he began.

“I can’t change it,” she repeated, and held it back out to him.

“I know,” he said again, and she wondered if he’d brought the big
bill in deliberately. Just another quiet, subtle manipulation on his part, or something else?

She nodded at Kurt’s Koffee across the street. “Then buy me a coffee and change it out over there.”

He did, and they took their coffees over to the committee meeting. To her relief, he didn’t sit next to her, and the meeting seemed to go well enough. She noticed a few of the committee members watching her curiously, as if they were trying to figure her out. As if they knew a bit more about her personal life and were trying to peg her back into that easy, understandable slot once more.

And she thought about Allan’s words. Were people avoiding her because she was dating Colt? Had Allan told people that he’d caught them making out in the school classroom? Had Georgia said that they’d been house hunting? She felt a small, sick twist in her gut.

The town wasn’t going to try and force her to choose between her business and her lover, were they? That was ridiculous.

But she thought about it as she walked back to her salon and got in her car, and checked her phone that she’d turned off during the meeting.

A text from Colt. Her heart gave a small flip of longing as she read it.

You busy tonight?
It was from fifteen minutes ago.

I am always wide open for you,
she texted back with a grin.

Dirty girl,
he replied, and she could almost see his smile.
Come meet me at the ranch. Main office.

Beth Ann drove out to the Daughtry Ranch and parked her VW. She saw only the usual suspects—Miranda’s old jalopy,
Dane’s jeep, Colt’s truck, and Grant’s more sedate Audi at the far end of the parking lot. Not a surprise considering that it was getting pretty late. There was still a light on at the main lodge, though. She headed there.

The front door was unlocked even if the Closed sign was flipped, and so she stepped in with a knock. “Hello?”

“In the back kitchen,” Colt drawled.

A surprise dinner? She followed the sound of his voice, smiling, and weaved her way past the large oak desks in the main lobby. The lodge had once been someone’s house, though now that it was a business, she guessed the kitchen didn’t get used all that often. The lights down the hall were all off, except for one crack of light under a swinging white door, and so she pushed through it.

And stopped in surprise.

The kitchen was a disaster. Flour covered every inch of countertop. Dirty mixing bowls and spoons lay everywhere. There was a puddle of something dark poured down one side of the sink. Just about every dish looked as if it had been pulled out and used.

Brenna and Colt stood in front of this mess, shoulder to shoulder. They both wore aprons, and Brenna had dirty smudges on her cheeks. As Beth Ann watched, Brenna picked up a bowl of flour, grabbed a handful, and tossed it into Colt’s face.

Colt’s jaw flexed, but his expression remained impassive. He did not look amused at Brenna’s mischievousness.

“What’s all this?” Beth Ann took a step forward, and then hesitated when her shoe slid on the tile. Flour on the floor, even. Not a surprise if Brenna was throwing it.

Brenna gave a wild, delighted laugh and elbowed Colt. Beth Ann saw Colt’s dimple peek out. He glanced over at Brenna.

They both separated and moved to the side. “Happy birthday!”

Behind them, hidden by their shoulders, was an enormous round cake. It was covered in white frosting, with a delicate rose piped along the center. As Beth Ann stepped forward, she saw that
Happy Birthday
had been written across the top.

Beth Ann looked over at Colt in surprise. “It’s not my birthday.”

He shrugged and tugged on one of her belt loops, pulling her toward him. “Remember what you told me?”

She shook her head, staring at him. Her heart was giving this funny, weird little thump that made her entire body flutter with a mixture of need and…something else.

He tugged her close and leaned in to whisper in her ear. “You said you wanted to eat an entire birthday cake one day, just because no one let you. And I was thinking I’d like to see you eat that cake. Put a smile on your face after a bad day.”