Page 2 of Cowboy's Way

The gavel hitting the table pulls me back to the present and my head snaps up to see my brothers all looking at me.

“Sorry,” I mumble, rolling my eyes at Demo’s glare. “Demo and I have been in talks with The Gallium Family Bail and Bonds group out of Sumter.”

I pause, more than expecting the growls and groans that sound off around the table. Our Chapter operates a Bond shop and private investigation business. On top of that, we monitor reward work in the region.

That’s what Monk and Beast are working on now. Some old guy with cancer offered up twenty-five grand to track down his daughter; seems they had a blow-up a few decades back and she hit the road. I always shake my head at people waiting until the bitter end to try to make things right.

Besides that, if we did buy this group, we’d double our bail bonds and fugitive recovery work.

The couple that built it isn’t the reason the guys are moaning. It’s their two idiot sons who have tread on all of our toes over the years. Then throw in their daughter, who’s the brains of the three kids, but has a titanic sized chip on her shoulder, making her impossible to deal with on the best of days.

“Anyway, Bud and Kitty want to retire down to Savannah and are taking offers on the business,” I inform them. “As you can imagine, their boys are furious but never saved a dime, so they can’t afford to take it over. Anyway, Nickel’s going to head there for a few days to check their books, and we need a volunteer to go with him.”

“Why don’t you go?” Tater calls out.

“Farmer’s hours, boys,” Risk, our enforcer, replies before I can. “I learned my lesson when I gave him shit the last time. I’d take a road trip over covering for Cowboy any day.”

I just smirk, looking around until Frost raises his hand to volunteer. “Appreciate it. And remember, this could be good money for us, so ignore the brothers and don’t go fucking with Mabel.”

That last line gets half of the room laughing, while more than a couple of the guys study the table in front of them. I chuckle, thinking they likely tried—and failed—with the buxom brunette.

“Any other business?” Demo asks and is greeted by silence. Slamming his gavel down a final time, he gives us a nod. “Well then, I’ll be on the water, boys.”

Leaving church, I wait until Demo strides past me, but there’s no doubt he’s ready to be out on his boat. I’m fairly certain he enjoys the water more than the road nowadays, and in this part of the world, that’s easily accomplished.

*

Reaching over, I slap at my phone. Momentarily confused as my brain catches up to the sound of the tone.

Sitting up, I curse and look around for a pack of smokes, but with none in sight, I drag my ass out of bed.

Rocco, who’s more or less the caretaker around here, took his annual two weeks off, so I’ve been getting up at the ass crack of dawn to handle the first round of chores. That allows me a couple of hours of rest before my day really gets started.

The alarm that woke me is the motion sensor down near the barn, so I pull on a pair of jeans and slide into my boots to go see what the fuck set it off.

Turning to grab a T-shirt, I notice that Bruno isn’t on his bed, so he probably headed out the doggie door to relieve himself. The fact he’s not barking his head off also tells me that there’s nothing to worry about; he’s extremely protective of his home and rarely strays far from it, unless he’s by my side.

Closing the door behind me, I follow the well-tread path to the barn and turning the corner of it I stop so quickly I nearly trip over my own feet.

My Bouvier des Flandres is large, even by breed standards, and while he resembles a shaggy black bear—he currently looks like the happiest dog on the planet. His belly is up, hind legs spread open, with drool sliding down his muzzle.

There’s a woman bent over him, her ass only covered by white pajamas with thin blue and green stripes—and there’s very obviously nothing under them. She’s got a sweatshirt on, but it’s ridden up around her waist as she rubs Bruno’s belly and tells him what a ‘good boy’ he is.

“I’m going to have to disagree with that,” I reply. Myguard dogbarely opened his eyes lids all the way when I turned the corner.

“Shit!” she squeals, spinning around to face me, but looking back when Bruno taps her leg with his large paw, wanting her to continue petting him. “You scared me!”

“And you’re trespassing, so I guess that almost makes us even.”

I drawl the words out, my eyes taking in the gentle curve of her hips, the more obvious curve of her chest under her sweatshirt, her shoulder-length, light brown hair looks like she just rolled out of bed, and how her bright brown eyes are assessing me right back. This woman could be on a runway, so what the fuck is she doing in this backwater?

No, that’s not right—they’re cataloging my ink and seem stuck on my left bicep. Which I slowly flex, not only so she can get a clearer picture but to let her know I appreciate her attention. The way she holds her shoulders back, I’m not sure if anyone ever hinted to her that she’s on the short side, and the thought of doing so—solely to see her reaction—brings a smile to my face.

“Are you Logan Jones?” she asks, sinking her hand into the fur on Bruno’s neck as he sits up, leaning against her. “I just moved in next door and I think some of your animals might have gotten out last night. I cleaned up the remnants of an overgrown vegetable garden and installed a fence around it, but something tore right through it and destroyed everything.”

“No,” I say, folding my arms across my chest.

“No, you’re not Logan Jones? Is he around?” She looks around like another person is going to materialize in the barnyard when the sun’s barely up.

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