Chapter 2
DOMINIC POWELL
Los Angeles, California
I knew it before I even opened my eyes—the distant traffic, the whir of a ceiling fan, the faint scent of perfume in the sheets. Not my sheets.
I didn’t take women home if I could help it. It was easier this way. Cleaner. No awkward goodbyes at my door, no lingering looks like they were memorizing the space for next time.
There wouldn’t be a next time.
I blinked up at the unfamiliar ceiling, my shoulder still sore from last night. I’d spent way too long throwing darts with a woman who refused to quit. One round turning into three, then five, then…
Well. Here we were.
The bed shifted beside me. “You’re up already?” A dawdling sigh followed.
I glanced over. She was watching me, her dark hair spilling across the pillow, her lips curved in a sleepy smile.
“Old habit,” I murmured, swinging my legs over the edge of the bed.
She stretched, arms overhead, making no move to cover herself.
“How come we’ve never done this before?” she said.
“Because I don’t mix business with pleasure.”
She laughed. “Dom. How many times have I saved your ass?”
“Plenty.”
“So basically, you’re telling me that either we stop working together, or this doesn’t happen again. And I can’t see either one being realistic.”
I kissed her forehead. Susan Nolan. She was quick with a joke and hell on cross-examination. A forensic expert who’d pulled my cases back from the brink more times than I could count. Smart. Capable. And as I’d just learned, very good in bed.
But I’d meant what I said. I didn’t mix business with pleasure.
“You should stay for breakfast,” she said. “We could grab a drink later this week.”
The words were casual, but there was a flicker of something else there.
I trailed my fingers along her bare shoulder before pulling back. “Susan, you’re incredible.” I met her eyes. “But I don’t do encores.”
She let out a short, resigned laugh. “Dang. Is this your idea of charm? Because it’s working. Barely.”
She sat up, dragging the sheet over herself. Her thighs pressed together like she could still feel me there, maybe craving another taste. But she shook her head as if she knew this was coming.
I never lied. I never sold them a dream, never promised anything past the morning after. They always knew the score.
She rolled her eyes but smiled. “Your loss, Powell.”
I grinned, grabbing my jacket from the chair. “I know. But I’ve got to take care of my heart.”
“You don’t strike me as a man who gets his heart broken.”
“I don’t.” I shrugged into my jacket. “But I’ve had it stop on me before.”
Her brow creased. “Wait—serious?”
I didn’t explain.
Women didn’t break my heart. Cases did. The late nights, courtroom marathons that bled from weeks into months, and coffee strong enough to wake a corpse. I’d burned myself out too fast.
Three years ago, at thirty, I had a heart attack.
Propped on one elbow, she studied me for a second.
“You still haven’t answered about mixing business with pleasure.
Are we done working together? DNA pulls?
Reading traces no one else can? You know you’re screwed if I switch sides.
” Then, with a wicked grin, she let the sheet slip from her shoulders.
“And as for the pleasure part…we both know you can’t resist me. ”
I reached forward, gently wrapping the sheet back around her. “You’re magnificent. But I’m not doing either.”
Her expression stalled. “What do you mean?”
“I quit law.”
She gasped. “You’re kidding.”
“I’m not.”
She stared at me. “Wow. You’re serious.”
I nodded.
“So, where’s a guy like you running off to?”
“Somewhere with more trees than people.”
She snorted. “That really narrows it down.”
I hitched my shoulder. “Somewhere with more boots than dress shoes.”
Her lips curved, amusement flashing in her eyes. “If you’re no longer a lawyer, how do you bluff your way into a woman’s panties?”
“Hey, I don’t need courtroom theatrics to get a woman into bed.”
“Oh, so just a natural talent, huh?”
I grinned. “Let’s call it a strong closing argument.”
She rolled her eyes but laughed. “Still don’t buy it. Lawyers can’t go to quiet places. What are you gonna do? Break horses?”
“Last I checked, ‘breaking horses’ isn’t covered under personal injury protection.”
She burst out laughing. “Oh, Dom. This is why any jury would eat out of your hand.”
I tossed her a lopsided smile. “What can I say? It’s a gift,” I said. “Maybe I’ll stick to fishing.”
She looked me over, skeptical. “A man like you sitting still long enough to fish? I give you a week.”
She wasn’t wrong.
But a quiet life was what I needed now. And for the foreseeable future. I might regret it later, but I had a cushion fat enough to carry me for years without working a single case.
I used to be the guy who thought money made the world go round. But almost dying had a way of changing one’s perspective, though it took me a while to figure out what to do with that. Truth was, if I ever needed to put the suit back on, I would. But until then?
I’d be just fine in flannel and jeans.
“Good luck with that, cowboy,” she called after me as if reading my mind.
Pausing at the doorway, I tapped two fingers to the brim of an invisible hat. A half-cooked cowboy salute.
Her laughter followed me out.
I swung by my place to grab my suitcase. The rest of my stuff was already packed and en route. The house had sold fast, and at a price so ridiculous that even I felt bad about it. Almost.
It was another reason I could kick back. Early retirement? Semi-retirement? Cowboy sabbatical? Whatever you called it, I had funds, time, and no one breathing down my neck. I had the freedom to waste my days screwing up in peace, and maybe learning a thing or two along the way.
In the back of the taxi to LAX, I rolled an old courtroom coin between my fingers. It was a gift from my mentor, a man who’d believed in me more than my father ever had. He’d called it a token of promise. I liked to think I’d made good on it.
People used to say I’d end up like my father. The Tiger of L.A. Ruthless in court, worse at home. He never handed out tokens. He never believed in luck, only leverage.
But this coin wasn’t about luck.
I kept it to remember exactly who I didn’t want to become.
And here I was, pulling the most un-tiger move possible, ditching courtrooms for cowboy country.
I tucked the coin inside my pocket, then called my buddy Noah Lucas.
“Big Dom! Been a while.”
“Hey, buddy.”
I hadn’t caught up with him as often as I liked since he moved from Salt Lake City.
I’d always been based in California, but a high-profile merger case had brought me to Utah.
That’s where we first crossed paths. Back then, he was still in the city, and I was drowning in legal briefs.
Neither of us had expected to keep in touch, but life had a way of surprising you.
First, I’d ended up in his neck of the woods again to help clear his girlfriend’s name from a tangled criminal saga.
Then they got married, had a baby, and now he’d traded city life for wide-open pastures, joining his brother to run their family’s ranch.
He was a full-fledged cowboy, horses and all.
“Hey, how’s fatherhood treating you?” I asked.
“It’s wonderful, Dom. It is. And Maya is a natural.”
I wouldn’t have pegged her for the motherly type, especially with her brush-with-the-law past. But that’s the thing about finding your person. It changes the story you thought you were writing.
“Catching any sleep these days?” I asked, the go-to question for anyone with a newborn.
He let out a short laugh. “A rancher never has enough sleep from the day we take our first steps. So, yeah, I’m surviving.
Just have to be a little more attentive now since we’re dealing with a human baby, not a calf.
” A pause. “Although don’t tell Maya I said that because, apparently, that didn’t come out right. ”
I chuckled. “Your secret’s safe with me.”
“So, where’ve you been? I’ve heard nothing but crickets from your end.”
“Just needed some quiet. Been mapping out my life. Big existential ‘what’s next?’ phase.”
“Huh! Biological clock finally chiming in?” he deadpanned.
“Please. I wear a smartwatch. It never ticks.”
“Sure, but it does tell you when you’ve been sitting too long without making a move.”
I glanced at my watch. Since when did Noah Lucas start outsmarting me?
“Fair,” I said. “Let’s just say the map’s got a new destination. Buffaloberry Hill.”
Silence.
Then a drawn-out, incredulous, “You’re moving here?”
“You better believe it.”
Noah let out a laugh. “You do realize this is a ranching town, not a golf retreat?”
“I’m aware.”
“You own a single pair of boots yet?”
“Two,” I said proudly. “And a hat.”
“Oh hell,” he muttered. “You actually bought a hat?”
“Listen, I take cowboy conversion very seriously.”
“Uh-huh. Do you even know how to saddle a horse?”
“Do you even know how to file a tort claim?”
“I don’t need to,” he shot back. “You don’t need to know how to saddle a horse here. You just need to know how to ride one.”
“Well,” I said, “that’s a minor issue.”
“A minor—” He groaned. “I’m gonna have to teach you, aren’t I?”
“You offering? Because I’ll take you up on that.”
Noah sighed dramatically. “This is gonna be painful.”
“For me or for the horse?”
“Both.”
I smirked. “Good thing I’ve got six months to figure out how to sit on one without falling off.”
Noah groaned again. “Jesus. Buffaloberry’s doomed.”