Page 9 of Cowboy's Way

“Sorry, just out of curiosity, what should I do if I come across one?” she asks, looking between the sheriff and me.

“Back away slowly and if there’s a tree to climb, do that,” Paverson advises her. “Read up a bit more, but if you’re paying attention, you’ll probably hear them before they see you.”

“Should I look into getting a gun, maybe?” And there she goes, shifting her eyes toward the sheriff again.

“Have you ever shot one before?” I ask her, trying not to sound patronizing.

“My ex taught me,” she cautiously replies after a moment, keeping her eyes on the plant she’s placing in the shallow hole she dug, and I catch the change in the sheriff’s eyes at Faith’s tone.

Thankfully, I school my face before Paverson’s eyes swing over to see if I noticed the subtle change in the woman between us. I did, and maybe I’m jumping to conclusions, but all I can think is that Faith already has a gun. One that, I’m certain, isn’t registered.

Demo and his sister are two of the most observant people I know. Considering that Faith has raised all our curiosity within a twenty-four-hour period, that tells me two things. While she may not be a master criminal, she definitely has something that she’s hiding.

When her eyes drift back up to look at my face, looking startled at how intently I’m studying her, she hardens her mouth for just a second.

I let out a deep breath.

“Let me get your number,” I say, getting a snort from Paverson and a blush from my beautiful neighbor. “We can do some target practice to see what you’re comfortable with.”

The sheriff’s radio squawks and hearing the call, it’s obvious that she has to leave. I stand aside, waiting as Faith thanks her for talking her through the replanting process.

I never met Demo’s father, but the smirk that Paverson gives me when she’s pulling away tells me exactly who they got that trait from.

“Babe, ya gotta work on your poker face. I don’t care that you have a piece on hand, but you’ve got a lot of workmen in and out of here, so make sure any weapons you have are locked up,” I tell Faith when she looks back at me.

“It is,” she responds, and for some reason, I’m surprised to hear the singular in regard to her weapon. “Do you think that she …”

“Yep.”

“You didn’t let me finish.”

“That’s how obvious you are,” I respond with a shrug, looking around to locate Bruno just as he’s taking a dump in her yard. My eyes sheepishly meet hers and the expectant look I see in hers is softened by the twitch of her lips. “You don’t happen to have any plastic bags, do you?”

“In the pantry,” she says, tilting her chin in the direction of the door that leads into her kitchen.

Turning on my heel, I take both the back steps at once and enter her house. I let out a low whistle, surprised at the new appliances throughout the room. God only knows where her money came from, but it’s obvious she plans on sticking around here.

Locating the pantry, I spot a brown paper bag that’s stuffed with plastic bags and grin, remembering seeing something like that in several foster homes along the way. Back outside, Bruno is shamelessly slobbering over Faith as I deal with his mess.

“You’re not bringing him with you tonight, are you?” Faith asks when I join them, and I bark out a laugh.

“No, he’ll be at home, considering eating my couch,” I tell her, knowing better than to bring myblack bearout for night hunting.

“Do you want to leave him with me?” she asks. “I wouldn’t mind the company and that way your furniture will be safe. If you have a leash, I could bring him home in the morning.”

While it isn’t a necessity, I slowly nod. I’m not in the habit of pawning my buddy off on others, but I figure this could open the door to me getting to know her better.

“He wouldn’t need a leash for the walk home in the morning, but I’d ask that you put it on him when you bring him outside for relief. He’ll know to stay with you and won’t go wandering off if he catches a whiff of me,” I tell her.

“Sure thing! Now what about his dinner? Anything else I should know?” She laughs when he gives an unexpected bounce at the word dinner but goes right back to petting him.

“I’ll bring him home for that and pick up his dog bed, some treats, and toys,” I tell her, and Faith laughs again.

“He can sleep on my bed …”

“Where are you planning on sleeping? He ain’t as cuddly as me nor does he know how to share a bed,” I inform her, crossing my arms as I wait to see how she’ll respond to that. “Plus, I haven’t washed him in a couple of weeks.”

“Well, then he can have the couch, it’s old and I’m not worried about it.”

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