“Are you happy?” he asked.
“You know I am.”
He swallowed hard. “Yeah, but I like hearing you say it.”
“Dead of Winter,” she murmured, easing back to cup his face. She locked her gaze on his so he could see how truthful her words were. “You make me so happy.”
“I like that,” he said. “I like it more than I’ve maybe liked anything in my life.”
“Now,” she told him, trying to look stern, if one could even look stern with tears in her eyes. “You have a rider to buck off. You have work to do. You have a rank to fight for. It’s all up to you how tonight goes. How is your shoulder?” she asked of his sore arm. He’d hurt it a couple rodeos back and was still recovering.
“Feels good. I feel ready.”
“Damn right, you’re ready. How much time do we have?”
“Half an hour. Just enough time for you to keep my mind occupied and cut this mop of hair.”
She dismounted him and pulled him over to the small bathroom area near the shower. She placed a plastic chair under him and made him sit. A few test buzzes of the trimmer and a couple threatening snips of the scissors, and she asked him seriously, “Do you trust me?”
“What’s the worst that could happen?”
“Um, I have the guard too low and accidently trim your beard too short and you have to shave the whole thing off.”
Dead tensed. “Woman, don’t do that. My power is in my beard.”
She snickered and told him, “I probably won’t let you lose your hair powers. Hold still.”
Dead exhaled a nervous sigh and leaned his head back slightly, then closed his eyes. “I mostly trust you.”
“I mean, I wouldn’t, but you do you,” she muttered under her breath as she started trimming his nipple-length beard much shorter.
Raven was quiet while she worked, completely focused. Pantera was playing in the background, and the murmur of the announcer and the crowd outside added to the soundtrack. Dead was buzzing with tension the closer they got to the time.
“Ten minutes,” a handler called through the door with a soft knock.
“Yep!” Dead called out, but they didn’t even need that much time. Raven was already cleaning up his hair in the back, fading the shorter cut up to the hair she’d left longer on top. She was quick.
“I used to cut my Barbie and Ken dolls’ hair,” she said. “I also had a Yorkshire Terrier named Frederick for thirteen years, and I did all his grooming, so I’m pretty much an expert. Okay, I’m done.”
Dead straightened his spine but kept his eyes closed as she dusted hair off his chest with the flat of her hand.
“You can open your eyes,” she enlightened him.
“I’m scared.”
“Oh, fuck off, you aren’t scared of anything. You’re about to buck in front of fifteen thousand people. You’re fine.”
“Do I look sexy?” His eyes were still closed.
“I’d hit it,” she teased.
“That’s all I want.” He eased an eye open at the mirror, and then the other. “Holy hell, Raven!” He stood and locked his arms on the sink, turned his face side to side, admiring his reflection. “You’ve made me into a thirteen.”
“Okay, that’s a little confident.”
“You’re right. A fifteen.”
She belted out a laugh and put away the trimming kit.
He stood up straight and angled his face. “Do you like it?”
Canting her head, Raven studied him. The beard was only a few inches long now, and she’d faded the sideburns into the short length of his hair. It was longer on top and all mussed from her messing with it.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen a sexier man in all my life,” she answered truthfully.
He parted his lips to say something, but the door swung open and banked against the wall.
Quickdraw was there, his eyes wide, his nostrils flaring. “Something’s wrong.”
“What?” Dead grabbed her hand and pulled her to the open door as Quickdraw disappeared outside.
Tommy Hanes was a few doors down, yelling into one of the bull rooms, and a crowd was gathering around it. Down the other end of the alleyway, there was a similar crowd gathered at the last bull changing room.
“Help!” cried a voice in the room beside Dead’s room. Dead and Quickdraw rushed to the door.
Quickdraw tested the handle. “Locked.”
Dead took one step back and slammed his foot into the door with such force, the barrier shattered inward. Raven followed Quickdraw and Dead into the room and gasped at the man writhing on the floor.
“First Time Train Wreck,” Dead murmured, dropping to his knees beside him. The bull shifter was seizing, and Dead took his head in his hands and rested it against his lap. “We’re here. We got you.” He looked up at Quickdraw. “Call Cheyenne.”
“What does she need to bring?”
“The paramedics, and something to pump their stomachs.”
“What is it?” the behemoth asked softly as he dialed Cheyenne.
Train Wreck’s body relaxed, and he let out a shuddering gasp.
Raven slid to her knees and held his hand. “They’ve been drugged. Look at his eyes.”
His eyes were focused on Dead, and he was mouthing something, but his pupils were so blown, his eyes only had a thin rim of bright blue.
“It’s okay. It’s okay,” Dead murmured as Quickdraw talked to Cheyenne.
He was trying so bad to say something. Raven leaned closer. “What?”
“Can’t…change.”
Dead looked like he wanted to puke. “Fuck.”
Raven shook her head. She knew what this was. Knew why Dead felt sick. It was Filsa. But why? Money?
“Why weren’t you drugged?” she asked. “Why wasn’t Quickdraw?
