Chapter Four
Blaze
Iwait until I hear the shower running, and then I stride back out to the living room, where Flint is still waiting.
"We've got a problem," I growl, fully prepared to hop in my truck right now and go handle it.
Fuck Roger Burkett and his bullshit police report.
I'll shove it up his ass. Maybe he'll think twice about fucking with her when his lies have his guts bubbling, and he's shitting the ink they're printed on.
"I can see that," Flint says, grinning at me. "I assume she's yours?"
I just grunt instead of responding, because what the hell am I supposed to say?
I met her an hour ago, and she's already got me feeling like I'm ready to tear the town apart to clear her name.
That isn't me. This isn't shit I do. I wrangle cattle, drink, and raise more than my fair share of hell around here.
I don't play the knight. No one could ever even mistake me for one.
And yet…saddling up to fight for her honor feels like the only thing to do right now.
So yeah, she's mine. I just need a minute to process how utterly and thoroughly fucked that makes me. Because Morgan Lott does not look like she wants to be mine. Not even a little bit. And I think she may raise a whole lot more hell than I've ever even imagined.
"She worked for Roger Burkett as a maid," I say instead of telling Flint any of that. "He filed a police report accusing her of stealing over thirty thousand dollars' worth of jewelry."
Flint's brows rise, a shocked whistle bursting from his lips. "No wonder she was sleeping in the barn."
"She didn't do it. She says he still has the jewelry and that this is an insurance scam. She thinks he's probably done it before."
"You believe her?"
I glare at him.
"Don't look at me like that, motherfucker," he says, crossing his arms. "It's a valid question. I knew Darius. He spent some time upstate for theft. A few times, actually."
"Doesn't mean his daughter is the same," I growl.
If we're judging her by the sins of her father, then we need to judge me by the sins of mine.
And Flint knows damn well how much time my pops spent in prison for drugs.
The few times he actually blew into my life, the police dragged him right back out because the drugs were always more important to him than his kid and the wife he left behind.
"Oh, I'm aware," Flint murmurs. "But it makes her an easy target. I'm guessing Roger knew it when he hired her as his maid."
I tilt my head, studying him. "Where is your head at?"
"Roger is a prick," he grunts. "He cheats at everything. Wouldn't surprise me in the least if he hired her specifically because he knew people would never believe her over him when he started casting aspersions."
"You believe her."
"Of course I do," he mutters. "There are three empty cabins on the property.
She could have broken into and stayed in any one of them.
She chose the barn. And if she were a thief, there are things far more valuable on this ranch than whatever jewelry Burkett claims to have.
I imagine she'd have had a hell of an easier time getting away with stealing any of it than by stealing from her boss, where she was bound to be the first suspect. "
He has a point. We didn't even know she was here to point the finger at her. She could have waltzed off with anything, and we would never have suspected her. But she didn't.
"The question is, what are you going to do about it?" he asks.
"Kill him."
"Figured you were going to say that." Flint shoots me a big grin. "Want a little advice?"
"I'm pretty good with my plan, actually."
"Too bad." He hauls himself to his feet. "She doesn't need you to kill him. The truth dies if he does. She needs you to nail his ass to the wall and clear her name. Convince her to talk to Dillon. He can help."
Goddammit, I hate when he's right. It's a lot more fun for me when he isn't.
"Fine. But if he tries to arrest her, I might shoot the sheriff."
Flint just chuckles, slapping me on the back. "Everyone wants to shoot the sheriff, Blaze. We're all just smart enough to realize that we need him more than we need the momentary satisfaction of watching him howl in pain."
"When have you ever wanted to shoot the sheriff?"
He shoots me an amused look. "When haven't I wanted to shoot him, motherfucker? We're talking about Dillon here."
He's got a point there, too. Dillon Armstrong is a damn good sheriff. He's also the biggest pain in the ass in this town. He spends more time with his nose in everyone else's business than he does his own. And for some damn reason, we keep re-electing him.
It's a mystery to me, too.
"I'll talk to her," I sigh, scrubbing a hand through my hair. She isn't going to like it. I think that might actually be an understatement, but unfortunately, Flint is right. We need Dillon's help nailing Roger's ass to the wall.
"Saoirse and Letty are going shopping this afternoon. I'll ask Saoirse to pick up some things for Morgan," Flint murmurs, striding toward the door. "I assume she'll be staying here."
I hesitate, not sure Bishop will be thrilled with that since we bunk together, and then I remember that look in her eye in the bedroom—the one that said she was thinking of running.
"Yeah, she's staying here," I decide. "But she doesn't want new stuff. She wants her stuff. I'll go retrieve it from Burkett's."
"Good luck," Flint says, his laughter floating back to me as he ducks out the door.
I flip him off…but hell. I think I need more than luck.
If I'm going to convince her to stay, not just until this is resolved, but permanently, I'm going to need a damn miracle.
Because that girl has chaos written all over her.
And I've never—not once in my damn life—been able to resist a little chaos.
Idon't need a miracle, I decide not even an hour later. I need rope and handcuffs. Maybe a dungeon to hold her wild ass.
"You should go wrangle something," she says as soon as she finishes eating, her eyes already on the door like she's plotting her escape. "Or ride something. Or whatever it is you do when you aren't kidnapping women."
"I didn't kidnap you, Calamity. I saved you."
"From Jon Bon Pony and his donkey sidekick?" She scoffs at me. "I was saving myself just fine, Blaze."
"Yeah?" I grin, placing myself between her and the door. "Is that why you decided to escape the stall by climbing over it?"
"There was another option?" she asks, completely serious.
I pinch the bridge of my nose, breathing steadily. If I don't, I may lose it. She spent two nights in a stall she didn't even know how to escape from. Jesus, take the motherfucking wheel. Please.
"The door was an option, Morgan."
"Couldn't reach the handle," she says with a shrug, her gaze climbing up and down my body like she wasn't just sizing up the window to see if she could make it. "Unlike you, I wasn't built to fight Godzilla."
Would she murder me if I fucked my kid into her right now? I want to do it, so badly my dick is screaming.
"Not even from whatever the fuck you stood on to climb over the door?"
"I…" Her face falls into a mask of pure chagrin. "I didn't think of that, actually."
I tip my head back, laughing up at the ceiling. Of course she didn't think of that.
Jesus Christ.
I've always been a pain in the ass. I know it. My friends know it. The whole goddamn universe knows it. I cause trouble just to make life interesting. And I've always figured that somehow, some way, I'd pay for it someday.
This is that day.
She has to be the world's way of paying me back for every prank I've ever pulled, every smart ass thing I've ever said, and every goddamn problem I've ever caused. She has to be.
Because it's not even eight in the morning, and I've never been this stressed in my life. I've also never wanted to keep being this stressed about someone else in my life.
"If I go to Burkett's to get your shit, are you going to behave?" I ask her.
She blinks at me, her mouth in a little O. "What?"
I prowl toward her, eager just to be close to her. "You heard me, baby. If I go get all of your stuff, are you going to be here when I get back?"
"You want to go get my stuff?"
"Yes."
"But…why?"
I hold out a hand, waiting until she slips hers into mine to pull her up from the couch.
Once she's tucked up against my chest, staring up at me like she isn't sure if she wants to flee or kiss me, I answer her.
"Because this ranch is your home now, Calamity.
For as long as you need one. You belong here. "
She flings her arms around me, her face pressed to my chest. The way her body shudders like I just gave her the moon has my heart threatening to beat straight through my ribcage.
I groan, disentangling myself before I do something I'm pretty sure she'll regret when I'm done—like tumbling her to the floor and fucking her raw. She isn't ready for that yet. Frankly, I'm not sure I am either.
Whatever this is, it's fast. And it's a little bit terrifying, too.