Chapter 2 Flint
TWO
FLINT
The Silver Spoon Spur is packed like usual when Tanner and I take a seat at the bar, prepared to drink away the week and argue over whatever-the-fuck he brought me here to try to ease me into.
He thinks I don’t know that’s why we’re here, but I know how the fucker operates.
Anytime he wants me to do some bullshit, we hit the bar first. We’re always three beers in before he gets around to dropping the bomb, like he thinks a few pints of Silver Spoon IPA will make the news go down easier. Newsflash: It never does.
But so long as he’s paying, I play along.
“You going to get the cattle moved to the north field next week?” he asks as Lex, the bartender, slides two pints across the battered bar top to us.
“Yep.” I take a long sip. Christ, this shit is good. “We need to bolster the windbreaks before we move them.”
“Good deal.” Tanner runs a hand through his dark hair, sighing. “If the weather turns after Christmas, we’ll need to bring them all in. The new cattle run needs to be finished before then.”
I narrow my eyes on him, instantly suspicious. “Is that why we’re drinking today?”
He looks at me like he doesn’t know what the fuck I’m talking about.
“Cut the shit, Tanner.” I point my pint at him. “You only come out drinking when you want me to do some bullshit you know is going to piss me off.”
A grin flashes across his face. “You finally figured that out, huh?”
“Finally?” I arch a brow, snorting. “Motherfucker, I’ve been aware. But free beer is free beer.”
A rough chuckle scrapes up his throat. “Bastard.”
I just smirk in response and take another long drink. “Consider it payback for all the shit I do for you and your brothers.”
“Like we don’t pay you well.” He scratches the side of his face with his middle finger, making me grin.
“Damn right, you pay me well. And I’m worth every penny.
” It’s not a lie. The Carrington Ranch is a massive, multi-million-dollar operation.
As the ranch manager, it’s my job to keep the ranch hands in order and everything operating, freeing Tanner and his brothers to focus on other shit, like the finances and their hunting leases.
Wrangling cowboys is an impossible task most days.
Wrangling Carrington cowboys is something else altogether. They’re all pains in my ass.
“In all seriousness,” he says, “we need to get that new cattle run finished before Christmas. Can you do it?”
“I can set half the hands to bolstering windbreaks and monitoring the cattle in the north field next week, and the other half to finishing the run.” I drum my fingers on the bartop, considering it. “It’ll be tight, but we should be able to pull it off.”
“Good deal.” His shoulders relax, like he was worried I’d tell him we couldn’t swing it. As if that’s ever been a problem. We handle what needs handling. Always have.
The doors of the bar open, a blast of chilly air blowing through the crowded room.
I freeze with my beer halfway to my lips, my eyes locked on the curvy little elf stumbling inside.
Everyone in the bar seems to notice her at the exact same second.
For the first time in memory, the bar is quiet. Eerily so.
Not that I blame them or anything.
What the fuck is she wearing?
Her little elf costume looks like something a co-ed would wear to a frat party. It’s less costume and more porn-star getup. The skirt is short enough to qualify as indecent, and far too much of her creamy skin is on display.
She seems to realize it at the same time. She slaps her hands across herself like she’s trying to hide from the three dozen sets of eyes staring her down. But her head comes up, a stubborn tilt to her jaw that makes my goddamn dick hard, like she’s just daring someone to comment on her outfit.
“Jesus Christ,” I mutter, my heart pounding.
Every man in the bar is eyeing her up and down like she’s a goddamn steak sizzling on the grill.
But it’s not the costume doing it for me.
It’s the pink tint to her cheeks and the blue shade of her eyes.
She looks like a naughty little angel, doing her best not to show fear, even though she’s obviously scared shitless.
I plunk my beer down, hauling myself to my feet.
“Be right back,” I growl at Tanner, not taking my eyes off the mystery elf.
“Good luck with that,” he chuckles from beside me.
I ignore him, wading across the bar toward her, praying I get there before one of these other assholes does. It’s been a while since I had to break a jaw, but I will do it.
No one tries to interfere as I stomp toward her, as if they all instinctively know now is not the time to test me. Even Blaze Hendrix, one of ours with a penchant for causing trouble just to keep life interesting, just looks at me, shaking his head.
“You lost?” I ask, stepping up in front of the elf. Her eyes are even bluer up close and personal. And she’s even smaller than I thought. She barely reaches my chest.
She tips her head back, those big blue eyes locked on my face. “Do I look lost?” she asks, crossing her arms. It only manages to push her tits up in the band-aid she’s pretending is a top.
“Yeah, actually, you do.” I let my gaze run over her, not missing the way the flush to her cheeks runs all the way down her throat to her chest. “Most women who come here have dirt on their boots and buckles they won on the back of a horse. They aren’t dressed like… that.”
“Like what?” she asks, batting her lashes at me in a way that says I’m two seconds from stepping into a pile of shit I’m not prepared to handle.
“Like you belong on the set of a movie they can’t show on TV, Sugar Plum,” I say anyway. Let’s be honest. If she’s trouble, I’m fucking dying to know what kind.
Her eyes narrow on my face before she huffs.
“First of all, women are allowed to wear whatever they want to wear,” she says, her shoulders going back.
I barely manage to keep from grinning. “Second of all, maybe I did just come from the set of a movie they don’t show on TV.
And third, if I did, that’s none of your business. ”
“Well, if you don’t want comments on your outfit, maybe don’t waltz into a bar full of men who spend more time with pissed off bulls and pregnant heifers than people,” I suggest. “Most of them haven’t been with a woman in months. They’ll eat you alive.”
Her confidence falters, her gaze darting over my shoulder to the men now pretending to look everywhere but at the two of us. They’re all leaning in, though, trying to hear what we’re saying. Nosy bastards.
“How was I supposed to know that?” she demands after a moment, scowling up at me. “It’s not like my car asked me where it should break down!”
“Jesus Christ. Your car broke down?”
“Didn’t I just say that?” She’s wound up now, spinning like a top.
Fuck, she’s beautiful when she’s pissed.
“And for the record, I wouldn’t be dressed like this if people were honest in job listings.
But no, they can’t just say they want a hooker elf to film dirty movies for creeps.
Instead, they make it sound like you’re signing on to play a harmless little elf while Santa asks a bunch of kids what they want for Christmas and then gives them candy canes.
And then you show up, and bam! It’s a bait and switch, and you’re the bait. ”
I gape at her for a moment, trying to process everything she just said, and then I curse. “Someone tricked you into being in a movie, pretty baby?”
“Yes. I mean, no. They tried. But I walked out, and then my car broke down, and now I’m here.
” She glares at me. “So, please spare me your annoying lecture and just let me use a phone so I can call someone to take me home, so I can burn this outfit and drink enough cheap wine to forget this day even happened.”
I hesitate for a second, running through options. I could let her use my phone to call for help. I could escort her to the bar and ask Lex to let her use the phone back there. Neither option appeals to me.
“Come on,” I say, making a split-second decision that may bite me in the ass later, “I’ll take you home.”
She blinks up at me like I’ve lost my mind. “I’m not getting into a car with you. I don’t even know you.”
“Flint Stockton,” I rumble, nodding at Tanner at the bar. “You see the man at the bar?”
“Tanner Carrington?” she asks. Of course, she knows him. Everyone in town knows the Carringtons.
“Yeah, Tanner. I run his ranch.”
“Oh.” She purses her lips, considering.
“What’s your name, Sugar Plum?”
“Saoirse Murray.”
Jesus. She’s a goddamn teacher. I know this because Abel Jenner’s son, Trenton, is in her class. The kid talks about her all the time. According to him, she’s the “best teacher ever” because she spends part of every day reading to them, and she lets them do crafts on Fridays.
How the fuck did she end up answering an ad to play an elf?
“You’re a teacher.”
“Yes.” She lifts her chin again, like she’s just daring me to say something else about her outfit. I don’t, though. At this point, it’s the least of my concerns. The more pressing matter is getting her home, and then finding out who the fuck hired her so I can kill them. Slowly.
“My second-in-command, Abel Jenner’s boy, is in your class. Trenton.”
The moment I say his name, her face immediately softens. “You know Trenton?”
“I do. He likes to pretend he’s helping out on the ranch. Mostly, he just pushes hay into a big pile and then spends an hour jumping into it.”
She laughs softly, and my dick throbs in response to the low, throaty sound. “That sounds like him.”
“Let me take you home,” I murmur, my voice soft. “I’ll even send someone to take a look at your car, see if they can’t fix it, or at least haul it to a shop for you.”
She hesitates for a long moment.
“It’s almost Christmas. Consider this my last-ditch effort to get on the Nice List.”
That earns an indelicate snort. “I doubt you’ve ever been there, Flint Stockton.”