Free Dances with Wolf by Farrah Taylor Page A

her like she was still in high school, but she understood why they did. They were older than other parents, from a different generation, almost. And given the way Abby’s birth mother had passed, they seemed to treat Abby with extra care, lest anything ever happen to her. So what if they were a little overprotective? They’d taken her into their home and cared for her as their own—she owed them everything.
    She braced her arms against her mother ’ s shoulders. “I ’ m a big girl, Mom, and I have the muscles to prove it.” She flexed her biceps, and her mom began to laugh. Then she pivoted toward the stairs, ready for a much-needed shower. If she turned around one more time, she knew she might see that skeptical look return to her mother’s face. The possibility made her reach the top in seconds.
    She peeled off her clothes and stared at herself in the mirror until she could almost see her heart ricochet in her chest. How much of what she’d told her mom did she actually believe? Could she keep the relationship professional? Or, in such close quarters with Wolf, would she pass out from pure desire? Would she do something stupid? Or would “something stupid” be the most fantastic decision she could possibly make?

Chapter Ten
    Wolf drove his 4x4 and trailer, Abby’s truck in his wake—she’d insisted on driving her own vehicle, waving off his offer to drive her back later—and headed over Route 89 toward Browning. Clouds had begun to amass in the foothills of the Rockies, making the bright June morning look more like a late winter day. He glanced in his rearview mirror every two minutes to keep her in view, even though he knew he didn’t have to worry about her. Like most of the no-nonsense Montana women he knew, Abby probably bought new tires every year. She seemed to keep her truck in as tiptop shape as she did that bangin’ body of hers.
    Still, he breathed a sigh of relief pulling into Hook’s Hideaway, a caf é and truck stop just outside Browning. A light rain had started, and the road was getting slick. Last thing he needed was a fishtailing trailer with Bullet inside, Abby right on their heels. And not just that—he was starving, and Abby must have been, too. They could wait out this passing shower inside.
    Abby slid into the spot next to him, cut the motor, and rolled down the passenger-side window for Stella. The dog whined in protest when she figured out she was being left behind.
    “Go ’head and bring her in,” Wolf said. He stood, hands in his pockets and his worn flannel coat slung over his shoulders. “Hook’s wouldn’t care if you had a pet llama .”
    “Dogs and women welcome,” Abby said. “A classy establishment.”
    “For you, only the best.”
    He opened the passenger’s side of Abby’s truck and reached inside for a leash. Stella came right to him and squatted at his feet. “She likes me.”
    “Until you screw up, sure. She’s giving you the benefit of the doubt.”
    He laughed, opening the screen door for dog and owner. Cigarette fumes billowed out as the three of them plunged into the dark recesses of the shabby little joint. Sawdust tamped down the stench of stale beer. The menu was limited: chicken tenders he knew were anything but; well-done buffalo burgers; French fries like charred fingers.
    “Whew,” Abby said, waving away a curtain of cigarette smoke. “You sure know how to impress a girl.”
    “You know when Kalispell passed that no-smoking-in-restaurants ordinance?”
    Abby nodded.
    “The bartenders here used the newspaper articles for target practice.”
    “Oh, yeah?” Her eyebrows arched. “There’s a shooting range out back?”
    “They did it right here in the bar.”
    Abby laughed tentatively.
    “Better think twice, Abs. Once we cross the Divide, you’re going to find yourself in the wild, wild West.”
    She tucked one hand into her back jeans pocket as they stood together, contemplating the pock-marked walls surrounding the old mahogany