Page 15 of Cowboy Devil's Embrace

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Prairie Dog, sir.”

“And you say you’ve been maintaining this place?”

“Yep. Feeding the animals and keeping it from caving in on itself,” he replied.

“Name?”

“Jed.”

“Okay, Jed. Tell me, why are these here? Was it you?” I asked, rubbing my head in a feeble attempt to stop the aching.

“That would be the newsletter,” Jed replied and showed me his phone.

What the actual fuck?

The subject readThe Nightly News Digital Edition, and below that was a section of announcements. I frowned.

I sure as shit had not advertised forexperienced ranch hands and farmers, and management positions at the Motley Crewd Ranch owned and operated by Maximillian Leeds.

Surprise. Anger. Shock. All flowed through me, but I think curiosity won out in the end.

Motley Crewdwhat now?

Who the fuck came up with that name?

“Avail,” I muttered.

This had my cousin’s stink all over it.

Scoundrel.

Avail was undoubtedly enjoying himself at my expense.

I knew he was. This entire project of Grandmother Leeds was ridiculous. Me playing at being some kind of urban cowboy. Running this ranch/farm, or whatever the hell this place was, was a completely alien experience.

What were they thinking?

I huffed an annoyed sigh and handed the phone back to Jed, the Prairie Dog Shifter.

“Should I call in the next fella, sir?” Jed asked and waved in a man who was even shorter and older than he was.

He smelled like licorice and piss.

I crinkled my nose.

“Morning, Hoss. I’m JD,” the man began.

“Don’t bother sitting. Leave your, uh, application, and, don’t call us, we’ll call you,” I said and watched the confused man, JD, leave.

“Sir?” Jed asked.

“Jed, I’ll handle this. But I need you to call someone to replace the central air unit and fix the roof. Can you do that?”

“Uh, no, sir. That scary woman in your kitchen told me not to do anything like that before she left. Said you need to do it yourself,” Jed replied, and scratched his head.

Scary woman?

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