Page 12 of The Trail Boss

Gavin let the reins rest loosely in his hands, his gaze fixed on the horizon. The sky burned with vibrant streaks of orange and pink, the last light of the day casting everything in a warm glow. This was what he needed—the open air, the quiet, the connection with his horse.

For a while, he let his mind drift, the steady rhythm of Cisco’s gait a soothing counterpoint to the chaos he’d left behind. Thoughts of Roxie crept in—her strength, her fire, the way she’d looked at him when she finally let her guard down.

A faint smile tugged at his lips. She was something else, and no matter how complicated things got, he couldn’t deny how much she’d come to mean to him in just a day. His groin tightened at the thought of her.

Cisco slowed as they reached a small hill overlooking the ranch. Gavin pulled him to a stop, the two of them silhouetted against the fading light. He leaned forward, resting a hand on the horse’s neck as the breeze ruffled Cisco’s flaxen mane.

“You’re a good listener,” Gavin said quietly, his voice carrying only as far as Cisco’s twitching ears. “Don’t say much, but you always know when to be there.”

Cisco snorted softly, shifting his weight as if in agreement.

Gavin stayed there a while longer, letting the last rays of sunlight wash over him. As the stars began to emerge, he turned Cisco back toward the barn, the sound of hoofbeats fading into the night.

It wasn’t a perfect solution, but for tonight, it would have to be enough.

Gavin sat at his kitchen table, the glow of his laptop screen illuminating the darkened room. A half-empty mug of coffee satbeside him, long forgotten as he scrolled through public records and scrawled notes on a yellow legal pad. The more he dug, the more the pieces started to form an ugly picture.

“Jeremiah Albright,” Gavin muttered under his breath, clicking through yet another search result. Roxie’s late husband had left a trail of bad decisions and worse company.

The screen filled with court filings—lawsuits, judgments, and a few police reports tied to gambling debts. Jeremiah hadn’t just dabbled in the dark side; he’d swum in it. Names like Carter Dugan and Vincent Calloway popped up, men who weren’t just bookies but sharks who’d ruin lives and break bones without breaking a sweat.

Gavin leaned back in his chair, rubbing his jaw as he let the information sink in. “Hell of a mess you left her in, Albright.”

He flipped to a second tab, this one tied to Roxie’s in-laws. William and Margaret Albright were pillars of Dallas society—wealthy, connected, and viciously vindictive. The legal filings made it clear they hadn’t just blamed Roxie for Jeremiah’s death; they’d gone out of their way to destroy her.

“They dragged her through the mud,” Gavin muttered, skimming the documents. Property disputes, attempts to seize her assets, even a smear campaign in local media to discredit her. The Albrights weren’t content to grieve their son; they wanted a scapegoat.

A final thread led Gavin to the lawyer who had handled Jeremiah’s estate, a man named Alan Kessler. On paper, Kessler looked clean, but Gavin had dealt with enough men like him to recognize red flags. Roxie should have inherited something—anything—but there was no record of her receiving a dime.

Kessler’s name, combined with the Albrights’ ruthless tactics and Jeremiah’s debts, painted a dangerous picture.

Someone had a reason to silence Roxie.

Several days later, Gavin sat inside the lounge of the Iron Spur, the pulsing bass from the sound system inside vibrating through the club and beneath his boots. He’d set himself up in the lounge in his favorite dark corner—a corner where on more than one occasion, he’d had a sub between his legs with her mouth wrapped around his cock.

She wasn’t supposed to be working, but she wouldn’t take no for an answer. They’d compromised—she was seated at the cash register ringing people’s tabs and making small talk. Keely had appointed herself watchdog and was seated at the end of the bar closest to Roxie. He watched as she efficiently performed her tasks. Her energy was different tonight—tense, restrained. She still smiled at the customers, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes.

When the lounge finally closed, she stood stretching her curvy frame and heading into the locker room. A part of Gavin wished she wasn’t working, the night was still young, and he wished she was headed into the submissive’s lounge to change into a corset and bootie shorts to join him on the dungeon floor. So many things he’d like to do to and with her—for one thing he’d like to put a ball gag in that sassy mouth and watch her try to plead for relief as he played with her. Gavin wondered if she had any idea of all the lovely, nasty things he’d begun imagining—or maybe planning—to do with her.

When she finally emerged from the employee locker room, pulling her jacket tight against the cool evening air, Gavin intercepted her.

“Busy night?” he asked casually, falling into step beside her.

Roxie startled, clutching her bag tighter before glaring up at him. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m one of the owners of the club. Right now, I’m just making sure you don’t get run over,” he said, his tone light but his eyes serious.

“I don’t need a bodyguard, Gavin,” she shot back, her heels crunching in the gravel as she quickened her pace.

“Didn’t say you did.”

“Then why are you here?”

“Call it curiosity.”

She stopped abruptly, turning to face him. “I don’t have time for this. I have two jobs, a concussion, and a lot of bills to pay. I’m fine. I’ve been fine.”

“Yeah? Fine enough to dodge in-laws who hate your guts? Or lawyers who might’ve stolen from you? Or the people your husband owed money to?”

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