Page 84 of Dairy and Deadly

“You and your herds!” She rolled her eyes at him. “There’s something else I’d like to run past you.”

“Anything.” He sobered.

“I’d like to take a hiatus from my PI business so I can focus on our growing family.”

“Fine with me.” He touched her cheek. “More than fine. Like your dad, though, I have some conditions.”

She wrinkled her nose at him. “If you use the termherdone more time…”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” He swooped in to touch his lips to hers. “What I was going to say is this. While you’re on hiatus, I wouldn’t mind bouncing ideas off your detective mind from time to time.”

“Aw!” Her voice was teasing. “Is that your way of saying you need me as a sounding board?”

“I need you every minute of every day.” He kissed her again. “How else am I gonna continue running a dairy farm while helping Lonestar Security deliver our very own cowboy brand of justice?”

“How else indeed?” She loved being needed by him. She loved it a lot, enough to seal the deal with another kiss.

One hour later

It wasa Friday night like any other Friday night for Hawk Chesney. He dumped his work gear in his locker at Lonestar Security, hopped in his truck, and drove to his cabin on the Comanche reservation. His very quiet, very lonely cabin.

He was a workaholic that nobody even suspected was a family man at heart. Holding down three jobs certainly didn’t leave time in his schedule for dating, but that was kind of the point. He’d been there, done that, and nothing had come of it. So, he worked long hours to fill the void, hoping the good Lord might take pity on him and send “the one” his way someday.

Someday had turned into months. Then years. Tonight was his thirty-eighth birthday, and he could safely say he’d finally stopped having any expectation about someday.

Nope. He was finally past that, which was why he was planning a different kind of birthday celebration — one that involved inhaling a whole tray of cookies from his favorite bakery while listening to a football gameandgetting caught up on one of his many rawhide projects. It had been way too long since he’d last gotten to spend an entire evening in the workshop behind his cabin — transforming leather into custom saddles, stirrups, rugs, boots, gloves, and more. It had started off as a hobby, but it had turned into a pretty profitable side gig. He only wished he had more time to devote to it.

He pulled his truck beneath the carport, locked it, and marched straight toward his shop with the box of cookies in hand. His long black hair swung in the evening breeze, plastering itself across his eyes. However, he didn’t slow his stride. He was too anxious to get back to etching a one-of-a-kind design into a custom saddle. They were the rage among the young and single folks in town. Mostly the ladies.

He was well aware that some of them only ordered stuff from him in the hopes of landing a date with him. It never went anywhere. The last woman who’d flirted up a storm with him had ultimately walked away after claiming:Your problem is that you’re married to your work. You always have been.

Was it true? Maybe it was.

He unlocked his workshop, stepped inside, and grew still. Every instinct in him told him he wasn’t alone. It didn’t make sense, considering that he’d just finished unlocking the door.

“Who’s there?” His gaze fell on a candy wrapper on the floor. It didn’t belong to him.

He tossed the box of cookies on his work table and turned on the light switch. A warm golden glow flooded the room. “I said who’s there?” Though he could sense a presence, it wasn’t accompanied by the usual prickle of foreboding he felt when danger was near.

He scanned the hanging rack of leather strips and pieces, his work table in the center of the room, and the supplies crammed on the shelves beneath it.

An outline of a leg took shape, one with a sneaker at the end of it.A kid?His insides softened. He was a sucker for kids.

“My name is Hawk Chesney,” he announced quietly. “It’s my birthday, and I brought a box of cookies home from the bakery. If you want some, they’re on the table.”

The leg didn’t move.

“The cookies are right above where you’re perched,” he continued in the same quiet voice.

The leg finally moved. The movement was accompanied by a female sigh. The rest of her appeared as she climbed out from beneath the cabinet.

Hawk found himself face-to-face with a terrified teenager. Blonde with stringy braids. Too thin —waytoo thin. Frazzled jeans. It looked like she could use a bath, and her arm was in a sling. Were those blood spatters? He certainly hoped not!

“You caught me.” She gave him a sullen look. “Please tell me you weren’t kidding about those cookies.”

“Nope.” He pointed at the table.

“Are you for real?” She gave the white box a longing look. Then she turned back to him, scowling. “Who goes home alone on their birthday with nothing but a box of cookies?”

---