Page 98 of Perfect Cowboy

Anger fuels every footstep and I need to keep moving or else crushing sadness will drop me to my knees.

Anyone who has ever uttered the words, “it’sjusta dog” is not my kind of person. While I care for and respect all the animals on the ranch, Scout was a member of the family.

The only thing holding down the waves of grief is the thought of putting a bullet in the head of whoever hurt my boy.

No one is going to come on my property and harm anyone I love.

Period.

Whoever did itwillpay and I’ve always thought “an eye for an eye” had a nice ring to it.

“Gavin, we should wait until the morning,” Cameron says softly, from his position beside me.

I’m holding Bandit’s leash slack, being careful not to guide him based on tracks I’m seeing that could be from the men working today. His nose is to the ground, and he is happily on the trail doing what he does best. Bandit knows better than I do.

We’ll find him.

And we’ll kill him.

“If you want to go back home, feel free,” I return, not slowing my pace. “I don’t need your help, man.”

“Gavin…”

He’s worried.

It’s saturating his voice, but his concern doesn’t give me pause. Cameron doesn’t want me to go to jail, but he should know that I have plenty of places to bury a body where even the wolves won’t find it.

“Good boy, Bandit,” I say. “Find. Bandit needs tofind.”

It would have been much easier for whoever did this to kill a cow. They’re unattended for extended periods, and our property is huge. The guardian dogs can’t be everywhere at once.

Slaughter could have potentially gone undetected for a lot longer without any real risks. The guardian dogs would have eventually come to warn us, but the killer would be long gone before we reached the carnage.

But coming right onto the property where our buildings are? Ballsy, even in the middle of the night. Ranching isn’t a nine-to-five job, and anyone could have caught him in the act.

He’s made it personal, a direct hit. First, he tried and failed to kill Ashley. Now, he took Scout from me. What’s next?

He isnotgoing to get away with it, and there will be no “next” after he’s dead.

“I’m texting Bobby,” Cameron mutters. “You can’t–”

“Oh, but I can. And not only that, but Iwill. Appreciate what you’re trying to do, man, but Bobby can’t do shit from New Jersey. You can tattle all you want. No one is stopping me.”

Cameron sighs. He’s the only one with me as I sent the other guys back to bed, but I’d be more than happy to carry on alone.

The temperature is well below freezing, but I can’t feel the cold. Boiling, white-hot rage does that to a person.

I raised Scout from a puppy.

He was my hunting buddy, but he was also my shadow in day-to-day life. It was my job to protect him and reward his loyalty, and he died a horrific death all alone and in pain.

And it makes me fucking sick.

I’ve changed my mind. Shooting this motherfucker in the head is too kind.

Killing him with my bare hands will be a lot more satisfying.

“Have you thought more about what your parents said?” Cameron asks gently. “You know, just giving Ashley some cash so she can move away sooner? It’s not safe for her here, and now look what happened. What’s next?”

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