Cowboy’s Way (Saint’s Outlaws MC: Hawk’s Landing, SC #1)

Chapter 1

Cowboy

“It’s not too late to back out of this,” I lower my voice when talking to Demo. Not that I’m terribly worried about the others hearing since we’re about to make an announcement anyway.

“Sometimes you just gotta have a little faith,” Demo tells me, pausing to clasping my shoulder before continuing into church to join the others.

My eyes lock with Charm, one of the handful of us that know about the potential business venture I’m going to announce.

“Let’s get it over with,” he says with a smirk.

Taking his seat at the table, Demo quickly calls our brothers to order, his eyes scanning the room to make sure there aren’t any unexcused absences. We all know this takes precedence over everything else in our lives, so the only guys missing are Monk and Beast, who are on a job down in Mississippi.

I stay in my customary spot near the door, only half paying attention to the statement that Demo is making, one that he already ran past me at our earlier meeting. While most of what our chapter does is on the up and up, some of it, technically, falls under the criminal code.

At least in this state.

We have some alliances with other regional clubs whose activities are more criminal in nature, most of my brothers were in the service in one capacity or another and while we’ll turn a blind eye to what the Northern Grizzlies or Kings of Anarchy get up to, we also know they don’t dabble in shit that would keep us up nights.

“Hey, anyone know who scooped up the land next to Cowboy?” Rooster calls out when Demo mentions the upgrades that he’s planning on the bar the MC owns. “I was getting close to making an offer.”

“It’s been on the market for years, man,” I respond, shaking my head at him.

He’s not a bad guy and probably would have been a decent neighbor, even if he was Coast Guard.

“I was waiting for the price to drop some more,” the cheap bastard grumbles back.

“What? You wanted them to pay you to take it off their hands?”

“If it was such a good deal, why didn’t you buy it?”

“I got what I need,” I reply with a shrug.

And that’s the truth.

Demo knows I considered the property next to mine, but something he said years ago always stuck with me: There comes a time when your possessions possess you. Granted at the time, I only owned about three days worth of clothes, my phone, and my bathroom kit. Plus a Harley.

I grew up bouncing around foster homes, with barely a duffle bag of stuff to my name. After a couple of years in the Army, I didn’t have much more than that until I bought my first motorcycle.

The guys I served with always had the latest devices, gold necklaces, and nights out with their flavor of the month, but me? My phone might have been beat up, but I could always check my bank balance on it.

One-night stands aside, nothing was going to distract me from my goal. A home on a nice piece of land and some horses. Of course, after I got the horses, my world kind of opened to other animals also.

The same thing happened with motorcycles.

Years ago, when I was leaving the base PX, I saw a woman putting up an ad for a used bike. I remember glancing at it and thinking it was a mistake. I called out to her, my heart pounding in excitement at the thought of finally owning my own ride, but wondering what the catch was. The price was just too good .

She invited me back to her place so I could look it over. Not wanting any competition, I removed the page she had put up on the message board, then hurried to climb into the passenger seat of her car.

After an easy ride across base to the duplexes where the married couples lived and I was soon drooling over the bike, even though I felt a little guilty at the price.

With her permission, I used the test ride to bring it to my buddy who was a mechanic on base and after he inspected it, told me that I was a dumbass if I didn’t buy it. My next stop was the credit union—and there I was with my first Harley.

Some warning bell was still sounding in my head, even after I got the updated title back from the state.

About eight months later, Demolition returned from his deployment to find out what his wife had done.

It took a long while before I found what happened next amusing, but at the end of the day, I have his ex to thank for leading me to Demo and the Saints Outlaws.

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. My guard dog barely 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.

“I am. I have no idea who you are, who told you my name, or why you think this is my problem, but …”

“I’m Faith,” she replies, cutting me off before I can tell her where to go. “And when I called the police …”

“You called the police?” I shake my head, thinking I misheard her. Who the hell calls the police over a veggie garden? I wonder but keep that opinion to myself.

She looks down at Bruno before they both turn their eyes back to me, like I might be the crazy one. Then Demo’s words from the day before ring in my ears and I grin, taking a step forward.

“Well, this is a new approach,” I chuckle, quickly wrapping an arm around her and slamming my mouth over hers.

She isn’t my usual type, but I was already reacting to her fresh-faced girl next door look, so I decide to go with it. It’s been a while, but I’ve got to get back in the game eventually, so why the fuck not have a little Faith ?

“Oww! What the hell?” I garble the words after she bites my tongue. Then Bruno lets out a low woof! and pushes between us.

“What the hell are you doing?” she says, throwing my words back at me before looking down where her hands are pressed against my chest and as if in slow motion, she pulls one back to lightly slap the skin she had been lightly caressing a moment ago.

“Demolition didn’t send you?” I ask, feeling all kinds of disappointed.

“What are you talking about?” she snaps back, and we both seem to realize that our constant barrage of questions is getting us nowhere. “I told you, some of your animals have destroyed my property. I came here to get you to deal with it!”

“Huh, well, that’s too bad.” I shake my head regretfully and turn back to my house. “My animals didn’t destroy anything of yours. If you’re up for a fuck, follow me. Either way, I’m going back to bed. Come on, Bruno.”

“When I called the police—”

“Yeah, who the hell calls the police for a ruined garden, anyway?”

“Who else am I supposed to call? I had all that work done and now it’s trashed,” she answers, nearly running to keep up with my longer stride. “Look, regardless, there must be an animal on the loose, and who can help with that?”

And that’s when it hits me.

I stop in my tracks, causing Faith to run into my back, earning us another concerned woof! from Bruno. This time when I study her, I realize her cowgirl boots didn’t earn the distressed look and while her sweatshirt looks well-worn and stretched out at first glance, I belatedly realize that both items came out of the box that way. The sunglasses holding her hair away from her face have some designer logo that’s lost on me and the Jeep on the other side of my gate can’t be more than a year old.

“You’re a city girl,” I announce the conclusion I came to.

“Yes, I am. I told you, I just moved here.”

“Are you from the north?” I ask, swinging my gaze away from her Jeep and narrowing my eyes down at her heart-shaped face.

“No, I’m from Vegas,” she answers. “What difference does that make?”

“Vegas? Where are you really from?” I’ve never heard of anyone being from there.

“Los Angeles.”

My jaw drops. “Stick with Vegas, or the north, that’s not nearly as bad.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean? What am I supposed to do? And how do you know your animals weren’t the ones that caused the damage?” she asks, putting her fists on her hips and jutting her chin out.

“Look, I got chickens and horses. All the goats I own are rented out. Bruno, my guard dog here, doesn’t go past the barn without me,” I tell her, reaching for my door and signaling Bruno to go ahead. He gives her a mournful look before proceeding me and heads straight for his water bowl. “I’m sorry for your troubles, but I got a long day ahead of me. Maybe call the people who did the work in the first place.”

“Did you say you rented out your goats?” While Faith struggles to keep a smile off of her face, she spectacularly fails at hiding the amusement in her eyes.

“Are we gonna fuck, or are you gonna leave?” I volley back, hoping that my bluntness pays off—one way or another.

“I guess people in the backwoods are just as big of assholes as those in the city,” she bites out the words before turning and stomping across the yard to her shiny red Jeep.

I gotta admit, five-foot nothing of righteous indignation looks fucking hot on her.

Bruno nudges me with his head, and I let out a sigh at the look in his eyes.

“Fine. But you’re staying here, traitor,” I tell him, softening my words with a scratch behind Bruno’s ears.

Heading to my bike, I start it up and hit the remote for the gate. I can tell the moment she realizes I’m following her, but she continues on, turning down the road to the property that has sat empty for the past couple of years.

From the looks of the front yard, she must have had workers out here continuously over the last few weeks. The windows are brand new but haven’t had the surrounding trim installed yet and from the supplies lying around, I’d say the roofers will be around to finish the job today or tomorrow.

“You’ve been busy,” I tell her, hoping to defuse her temper. “Why don’t you show me the damage you mentioned?”

We barely round the side of her house when I know exactly what the cause of her problem is. “Dammit.”

“What is it?” she asks, and I study her face, wondering how she slept through the noise.

“Wild hogs. They don’t usually venture out this way, so I’ll have to keep a closer eye on my chickens. Fuck.” My mind races with a to-do list, the first of which is getting the guys together to hunt the beasts. “Christ, didn’t you hear them when they were running through here?”

A shadow flashes across her eyes, and I start to wonder how this woman ended up here, and why.