by Nicole Snow
“Rights?” I echo, barking out a false laugh. Glancing at Tory, I ask her, “Did either of these two pricks threaten you?”
“Oh, no, nothing so sinister! You know me, Faulk.” Carolina jumps in with a fluttery, innocent wave before Tory can answer. “We just...we don’t want those goats here.”
Ignoring Carolina, I keep my eyes glued to Tory.
Her attempt to force a grin fails as she shakes her head no.
Yeah, I don’t buy it.
She’s not intimidated that easily, but she’s scared witless right now.
Something happened here.
I also notice how she’d quickly glanced at the man, her eyes lingering near his waistband.
Since she wouldn’t be caught dead ogling his type, it isn’t hard to guess why.
Certain what I’ll find, I launch forward several steps and grab the guy by the front of his shirt with one hand.
My other hand reaches down, tugging the gun out of his waistband in one swift pull before he’s able to even think about pushing me back.
“What the fuck!” he shouts, fighting for his gun a second too late.
“My turn.” I stick the barrel into his stomach, just below his ribs. “Got a permit for this piece?”
It’s been a while since I’ve handled a weapon in a precarious situation, but nobody ever called me rusty. I’ll also bet every dime in my bank account a dirt bag like him would never qualify for a permit in any state.
He has trouble written all over his ugly mug. A life of crime and violence.
Exactly the type of bad boy poser that Carolina likes to mount when she can’t snag anything better.
He tries to step back, but I tighten my hold on his shirt, reeling him closer.
“Careful, now. I asked you a question. It’d be a damn shame if you need to chat with Sheriff Wallace instead of me.”
“Faulk, let Marvin go! He didn’t do nothing; he was just looking after me,” Carolina shouts, trying to barge in without quite getting between us.
“Marvin, is it?” I ask the man. “Where you from, Marvin? I can tell you’re not a local.”
“None of your damn business,” he throws back. “What the hell are you? Some kinda cop or something?”
It’s times like this I wish the Bureau let me keep my badge so I could flash it in his face, but no dice.
“Close enough,” I grind out, baring my teeth. “And I also know a thing or two about hell. I’d be happy to send you on a cruise there—no expenses spared—if you don’t beat it in the next twenty seconds.”
He scoffs, even as his face turns beet red. “You...you can’t tell me what to do!”
“Bad news. I can.”
“No, wait, wait, he’s staying here with me,” Carolina clucks, grabbing at my arm with those overdone nails.
Let her dig like an angry kitten. I’m not releasing my new friend till I’m good and ready.
“Are you paying rent with her?” I ask him.
He doesn’t answer.
Cool. A freeloader, then. Just like I thought.
Snarling, I shove him backwards so I can get a look at his license plates on the orange Dodge.
Oklahoma?
I do a double take.
Son-of-a-bitch.
For a second, I’m so shocked I almost lose my grip. But it looks like helping Tory did me another favor.
I bet he’s one of the weasels asking about me at the Purple Bobcat, looking to sell my whereabouts straight to Bat Pickett.
Carolina would’ve already told him all she knows, which is enough to confirm who I am and that I live here in Dallas.
Without releasing my hold on the asshole’s shirt or taking the gun out of his gut, I turn to Tory. “Close the gate on the trailer and back it out of the driveway.”
While she’s doing that, I tell Marvin, “Listen real good. You’re gonna get in that beat-up shitpile of a truck and start driving. Leave town, leave the county, and never come back, you hear?”
The defiant look in those nasty eyes tells me I haven’t been loud enough for him to read me.
“Who do you think you are?” Marvin snaps. “If you’re a cop, I’ll report your ass for—”
“You know who I am.” I push the barrel harder against his torso till he winces. Good. “But you don’t know what I’m capable of, and you don’t want to find out. That, I can assure you.”
“You don’t know sh—”
I laugh, cutting him off. “What you’re capable of? Sure, I do. And I guess you’ll just have to man up in jail for weeks, months, even years if I ever see you around this town again.”
“For what?”
“Threatening bodily harm against a lady trying to do her job,” I growl. “I don’t take kindly to folks fucking with my friends. In fact, I can’t think of anything I dislike more. You should also know that the sheriff’s a personal friend of mine, and so’s the entire Dallas police force. You don’t want to deal with that.”
Once Tory has her truck moved, I frog-march Marvin around his pickup to the driver’s door and shoulder-slam him against the metal. A menacing snatch of ink on his neck catches my eye.
Prison gang tattoo. Laughing Jokers, like the kind somebody designing poker cards on LSD might draw.
Shit.
More hints he has serious ties to the old Pickett crew.
I release his shirt and open the door. Before he gets in, I yank the phone out of his shirt pocket. An obvious cheap, bare-bones burner model.
“I’ll be keeping this.” I pocket his phone. “And this piece.” I poke his stomach with the gun again. “You can report that back to your sources, whenever you find the nearest store and active your next burner.”
I know that’s the first place he’ll go, too, straight for a new disposable phone.
He glares at me, his dark eyes turning into angry slits.
I stare venom back and rattle off the plate number of his truck.
“What the—?” he sputters.
“Hush, I’m memorizing. Your plate number will be called into the highway patrol within two hours. That should give you just enough time to hit the Montana border, if you’re lucky. And if that rusted-out box doesn’t fall apart on you.”
Marvin visibly turns pale. “Dude. Hold up...”
“Nah,” I say. “Every highway patrol this side of North Dakota deserves a fair shake. I bet they’ll be mighty interested in any warrants already posted for your arrest. I’m thinking you’ve got plenty.”
I hit a nerve there.
He climbs in his truck, cursing under his breath.
“What’s going on?” Carolina asks. “What’d you say to him, Faulk? Marvin? Hey, where are you going?”
“Marvin’s leaving town, sugar,” I tell her, slamming the truck door shut. “And I suggest you start taking lessons from the goats.”
“Huh?” She bats her eyes at me.
I gesture at the overflowing trash can and various junk sitting around it: cheap torn-up purses, discarded clothes, moldy packages of bread that could’ve went to families in need if her greedy ass hadn’t swiped so much from the food bank.
“You heard me. Be a goat. Clean this place up before you’re evicted, Carolina. There’re plenty of hardworking folks at North Earhart Oil looking for places to rent, and housing doesn’t grow on trees around here. It’s a seller’s market.”
She scowls at me and steps toward the truck as Marvin starts the engine.
I pull her away, wondering why the sour expression on her face suddenly brightens.
“Waitasec...you’re so jealous, you’re sending him away?” she asks, cringe-worthy flattery ringing in her voice. “Is that it?”
Not in this lifetime.
“Not hardly,” I reply. Then, just to make sure she doesn’t do something to harm the goats, I point to the fence. “See that shaggy black goat over there? We call him Hellboy for a reason. You so much as touch that fence and you’ll find out why. Let me tell you, having an ass full of horns ain’t pleasant.”
For a second, she and Hellboy lock eyes.
I try not to laugh.
Stuffing Marvin’s gun into my belt, I walk down the driveway, following him as he backs the truck out. He flips me the bird as he pulls away.
I have half a notion to shoot out a tire, just for the hell of it, but it’s a peaceful neighborhood, even if it’s a little run down.
The folks in the other houses don’t deserve that crap.
Tory and Owl are standing outside of her truck, trying to process what they’ve just witnessed. A sickness hits me square in the gut.
Like it or not, I’ve just potentially dragged her in deeper than I ever wanted to.
I hope like hell I’m wrong.
It can’t be that dire, right?
Bat’s still locked up in prison a thousand miles away. No clear release date in the foreseeable future, but if he’s able to land a lawyer who can sweet-talk a judge into an early parole...
Not fucking good.
Hopefully, her knee will be healed up by then, and we’ll both be far away from Dallas, and each other, whenever Bat gets out and tries something stupid.
I walk over, resting a hand on the hood of her truck.
She looks fine—relieved, really—but I still ask, “You all right, Peach?”
“I’m fine, but what the hell was that? Did you just kick him out?” She glances at Carolina, who’s glaring our way from her porch. “She must be a close friend of yours to listen.”
“Not even close.” I shake my head. “If I ever get that desperate, put a man out of his misery.”
I want to choke when I look back at Carolina, then Tory.
There’s no comparison.
Not with how cute she looks today, dolled up in her jeans, boots, and a red shirt with Dean’s Rent-A-Goat printed on it in big black letters. Peach and the caked-up, worn-out-looking Carolina don’t even inhabit the same universe.
“Sorry, Quinn. I just...I wasn’t sure. Didn’t mean to imply—”
“You know me better than that, woman. She’s a frigging barfly Grady barely tolerates at the Purple Bobcat because she pays in cash. Nothin’ more. And her hookup was a no-good drifter who’d better think twice about flashing a gun at one of my friends ever again.”
Her cheeks flush slightly. “He didn’t aim it at me or anything.”
“He made sure you saw it,” I say. “Not something he has any business doing.”
“You’re right.” She sighs. “God, I can’t believe it. Up until now, it was a pretty smooth day.”
I shake my head at her. “You were supposed to call me days ago when you went to pick up the goats at Ridge’s place.”
“I know, but with the bridge, I didn’t need a hand. Owl had them loaded up in no time as soon as the gate was open.”
“And what if Hellboy there knocked you off that bridge? Your knee could’ve been messed up permanently.”
She huffs out a breath, tapping her knee. “This didn’t have anything to do with the bridge.”
“No, it didn’t,” I agree. “How long have you been here? It’s evening, and I still see a lot of overgrowth, so I’m thinking not long.”
Looking at the fence, she nods.
“I’d just locked the gate when she came storming out of the house. We got into a spat and he let me know pretty fast he had a gun in his waistband when you called.” She frowns and looks at me. “How is it you always show up at just the right moment?”
“Must be fate.” I shrug and wink at her.
“Fate?” She shakes her head. “More like an omen.”
She feels bad about getting me involved, and I still feel pretty rotten about cutting our evening short the other night.
“Either way, I’m glad I called. Now you can’t avoid me anymore.” I take her arm and walk her to the door of her truck, grateful she doesn’t fight me. “And I’m damn glad you answered so I could get you out of this jam.”
“Yeah, well, we’re both happy about that. Thank you, Quinn,” she whispers, her cheeks beginning to glow.
“You never really responded to my texts. Until the other day, I was starting to wonder if Granny gave me the right number.”
“It’s the right number. I told you, I wasn’t mad, just busy. About the other night...it was weird. I think you know it, too, and...well, it shouldn’t be. I just don’t want you thinking—”
“Thinking what? We’re friends, Tory. End of story,” I say, cutting her off. “I didn’t mean any offense having to rush off to something important. And I still owe you. What’re you doing now? Looks like this job’ll have to wait till tomorrow. At least let me buy you a burger?”
“Um, you just came to my rescue,” she says weakly, twirling her cinnamon hair, avoiding my eyes. “If anyone should be buying supper, it’s me who should be getting yours.”
“You’re on,” I tell her, snapping my fingers. “This man never passed up a free breakfast, lunch, or dinner.”
Laughing, she shakes her head, sending that auburn mess of curls everywhere.
For a second, I wonder if she’d smile like that if I did the unthinkable.
If I slid my fingers through it, pulled with that gentle, growly tension a lot of girls like, if I brought my lips home for a taste of Little Miss Three Names.
Fuck, I bet I’d hallucinate her flavor.
She’d even taste like a peach.
And one time devouring her mouth wouldn’t be nearly enough.
I’d want to send my kisses marching lower, straight down that sun-kissed throat, lingering on her tits, gliding past her belly, straight to that sweet, hot heaven waiting between her—
No.
I pinch my thigh as my senses fly back, wondering what the hell I’m thinking. It’s gotta be the tension, the adrenaline rush from getting up in Marvin’s face.
Ever since that Old Town Boys bust with Ridge and Grace over a year ago, I haven’t had a lot of excitement, and like a lot of dudes, this shit always made me a little hard after it was over.
Guess it’s my way of feeling grateful to be alive and well with a new appreciation for life, including its finer pleasures.
Hiding my bulge, I swagger over and open her truck door, then wave to Owl, who instantly hops in. “How long do you need to drop off this rig?”
“Tonight? Oh, you’re serious—”
“Don’t back out on me now.” I gesture for her to climb in. “The diner on Main Street has awesome-ass burgers. I’ll pick you up in an hour.”
“An hour?” She shakes her head as she starts the truck, but she knows not to complain.
“Fine, lady. An hour and a half tops.”
Then I shut the door, knowing full well I’m slowly losing my mind.
5
Can’t Goat Enough (Tory)
Time to freak out.
My heart thuds a thousand beats a minute and I know it has nothing to do with the angry jerkface Quinn just chased out of town with his tail between his legs.
Or how he did it by snatching away the brute’s own gun and turning it against him.
A scary sight for a Chicago girl, where gun violence is a fact of life.
But with Quinn in control, I didn’t even flinch.
His command, his strength, his focus...
Wow. With his training, he clearly knows his way around an armed weapon and how to send folks packing who shouldn’t have them.
My heart’s still pounding.
It wasn’t even the standoff, really. Not with the way his truck squealed to a stop and he’d come barreling up the driveway, looking like he was ready to tear apart anything in his way with his bare hands. I couldn’t help but be reminded of the first time we’d met.
He’d been so ready to defend his grandpa’s bee boxes then. This red-faced, angry boy who calmed as soon as he realized I wasn’t a threat, just a silly little girl in over her head.
Today, he’d been ready to defend me.
I’ve nev
er had this before, but I’ve dreamed about it more often than I care to admit.
Jean-Paul was no Hercules. I honestly wondered sometimes what would happen if we got mugged or assaulted while bouncing around the city to museums and Italian restaurants with mouthful names.
Even back in Chicago, my eye wandered to hard, capable men who looked like they’d be able to quash violence as easy as swatting a fly.
And if I wanted to stop thinking of Quinn that way, comparing him to my idiot of an ex?
Yeah.
This so isn’t helping.
The strange, forbidden pulse and heat flaring between my thighs shouldn’t be happening.
My life is so messed up right now, and I really don’t need complications like my beast of a friend turning into the perfect hero before my eyes.
At least I know my strengths, though.
I’m too good at messing things up all the way around. Hence Quinn’s need to come save my bacon twice so far.
In all fairness, today wasn’t my fault.
Still, he’d arrived, bolting to the rescue like a knight in shining armor.
Sighing, I pull the truck into Granny’s driveway and park it far to the left so she has plenty of room to back her Nova out of the garage if needed. Owl follows me through the garage and into the house where Granny stands near the counter, wearing a white apron that says I cook as good as I look, and holding a purple monster in her hand.
“Hmm. What were we going to make out of this rascal again?” she asks without any sort of greeting.
“Eggplant Parmesan,” I say, feeling guilty about not being able to make it tonight, but I can’t back out on Quinn after that.
“Right. Another one of your mother’s meatless wonders. We’ll find a way to spice this boy up.” She opens the fridge and puts the eggplant back in the vegetable drawer, then rummages around on the other side. “Say cheese! I hope you like a lake of mozzarella with a side of eggplant, dear.”
She pulls out two bulging bags of shredded cheese with a saucy grin on her face.
“Aw, Gran, it’s delicious with just a little,” I say. “No lie. You’ll like it once you try it.”
“Maybe so, but it won’t be tonight.”
“Oh?”
She pulls out a head of lettuce and various other vegetables, stacking them neatly on the counter. “I just accepted an invitation to go next door. Otis and Velma are firing up their grill and have an extra steak. It’s a sample cut of the new Barnet Farm’s meat and rather delicious, or so they say. Wanna join me? I’m throwing together a shrimp salad as our contribution.”
