Wrangling Wade (Silver Spoon Cowboys #6)

Chapter One

Wade

"What are you doing?"

"Jesus Christ!" I jump like a startled colt, sending cards flying all over the mostly bare living room when I hear Morgan Hendrix's voice directly behind me. I spin around, only to find her leaning against the doorframe of the cabin, one hand on her pregnant belly.

"Are you always this jumpy?" she asks with a shit-eating grin plastered on her round face, like she isn't the sole reason every cowboy on this ranch has learned to look over his shoulder. For the record, she is.

"Only when you're around," I drawl, kneeling beside the poker table to start gathering up the cards I dropped. A floorboard creaks as I place my knee on it, staring directly at the nine of diamonds sticking upright between two boards.

I pause when I see it, a shiver running down my spine. And then I mutter a curse to myself and pluck it out, adding it to the pile. I'm not a superstitious man. There is no such thing as unlucky or cursed cards.

Morgan throws her head back, laughing. "I'm not that bad."

She's also full of shit, but I let her get away with the lie. Mostly because she's pregnant, and Blaze would kick my ass if I made his pregnant wife cry.

Truth is, Morgan is hell on wheels, seven days a week. Life has been a lot more interesting around here since Blaze found her hiding out in one of our barns and decided the only solution to her problems was to marry her. She makes a shit cowgirl, but she's good people.

"Seriously, what are you doing? I thought poker night was canceled," she says, watching me as I reach for several cards that landed on the hardwood beneath the old table.

Well, shit…

"Uh, it was."

I'm a shit liar, and everyone knows it. But I also refuse to be the one who breaks the news that she's been unanimously voted off poker island. Fuck that. My mama taught me better than to make a pregnant woman cry.

Blaze can tell his wife that we voted her off the island.

It was his idea, anyway. He said she's won enough of our money.

Truthfully, I don't think he gives a damn about losing his money to her.

He'd give her every dime he had without missing a beat.

I think he just wants her all to himself because he's a selfish bastard like that.

"Wade Jessup." She stomps her foot. "Are you lying to me?"

"Who, me? Never."

"Liar." She laughs, and I know she isn't upset. Thank God. I've got one goal in life: never piss off a woman who knows where I sleep. Especially if her only friends are cowboys. "Am I being booted from poker night because I'm too pregnant to see my own feet?"

"Actually, no." I glance over my shoulder at her. "You were voted off the island because you never lose."

Her eyes crinkle at the corners, her gaze full of satisfaction. "So…you're all finally sick of giving away your money, huh?"

"Hell, yes," I chuckle. "You're ruthless, and we're poor." That's not entirely true. The Carringtons pay us damn well, and she knows it as well as I do. But I am not above playing the pity card here. It's bound to work out better than that nine of diamonds.

"Fine," she sighs dramatically as I haul myself upright. "I guess I won't hold it against you."

I exhale a tiny breath, glad her feelings aren't hurt. Everyone loves Morgan. We also love not losing our money to her. Since I'm pretty sure she was a cardshark in a former life, it's a delicate situation.

I place the cards facedown on the table before turning back to her, my arms crossed. "You should hold it against Blaze, though. It was his idea."

"Oh, I plan to," she says with a diabolical grin. "My motto is to always blame Blaze for everything."

"Good girl," I say, holding out my fist for her to bump. "That's my motto too."

She giggles, bumping my fist. "Hey. Remember the first time I beat you and Bishop?" she asks, this…gleam…in her eyes that has a bead of sweat rolling down my back. My stomach cramps, too.

"Remember it?" I ask, groaning. "I'd pay money to forget it. You swindled the shit out of us." Bishop and I had hangovers from hell the next day. Not Morgan. She drank us under the table and then went about her life like it was nothing. Honestly, I'm still convinced she cheated.

Failing to disclose that you basically used to drink professionally for tips is cheating, and I don't care what Blaze has to say about it. Bartending, my ass.

"You guys made the rules," she says with a careless shrug. "Not my fault you can't hang."

A laugh of protest rumbles from my lips. "No one can hang when you drink like a goddamn pirate, Morgan." I eye her sideways, suspicious as hell about that gleam. "Why are you bringing it up now?"

"Oh, because you owe me a favor, and I want to call it in." She beams at me. "It's the price for banishing me from poker night."

Fuck my life. It's been almost a year, and she hasn't once mentioned the favors we agreed to do for her. I was kind of hoping she'd forgotten. Clearly, my luck has turned.

"Goddamn nine of diamonds," I mutter.

"What?" Her brows furrow.

"Nothing." I wave her off. "What's the favor?"

"Oh, nothing major," she says sweetly. "I just need you to help keep an eye on someone for me."

There's bullshit…and then there's whatever Morgan is selling.

"Who?" I growl, my eyes narrowed on her too-innocent face.

"Just the new bartender at the Spur," she says dismissively. "It's not a big deal."

"The new bartender at the Spur?" I repeat.

"Yeah, Harlow Spencer. She just started two days ago."

Oh, fuck my life.

I stare at her for a long moment. "So…that's what this is."

"What?" She blinks at me, far too goddamn innocently.

"You're trying to set me up with the bartender."

"Who, me? Never. Who you date is your business."

"I've met serial killers more believable than you," I mutter, shaking my head.

"You have… Wait. Really? You've met serial killers?"

"That's not the point."

"Uh, kinda seems like the point to me," she mutters, her eyes wide. "How do you know serial killers?"

I just shake my head, grinning. "Why am I keeping an eye on the new bartender if you aren't trying to set me up?"

"Because you owe me?"

I twirl my finger for her to get on with it. We both know she's hedging.

"Okay, fine," she grumbles. "Maybe because I like her, and she said this guy won't leave her alone. I thought maybe if he thought you were dating, he'd go away." She eyes me critically. "You look mean enough. I mean, Bishop looks meaner, but he's doing me another favor."

What the fuck favor is Bishop doing for her? And why is this the first I'm hearing of it?

"What guy?" I ask, focusing on the important issue.

"Donnie? Danny?" She shrugs. "I don't remember his name. But I guess he owns a ranch close to Midnight Falls."

I arch a brow, my stomach clenching. "Danny Palmer?"

"Maybe?"

Son of a bitch. If Danny Palmer is hanging around the new bartender, she absolutely needs backup. I know exactly who he is, and he's a shady prick who thinks the world is his for the taking. Last time I saw him, I put my fist in his face.

He deserved it. Mostly.

I mean, I probably could have let the sheriff handle him, but punching him in the face was more fun for me. Instant gratification and all that.

I yank my hat off my head, scrubbing a hand through my overly long hair. "I'll handle it," I mutter.

"You will?" Morgan seems shocked. "Really?"

"Yes, really," I sigh. "Send me her schedule."

"Oh, that's easy." Morgan beams at me. "She works tonight."

My gaze flickers to the poker table, then back to Morgan. Guess poker night is off, then. Awesome.