Chapter Seventeen
‡
After feeding, watering, and medicating Masterson’s horses, Sawyer had turned them out into the smallest pasture to enjoy the grass.
As he mucked out the stalls, his muscles warmed to the exercise. It was good to be healthy again. And eating well. Mallory could make even vegetables in an omelet taste fantastic. And her bread with homemade strawberry jam? Hell, he might move past healthy right to a potbelly.
He tossed new bedding into the cleaned stall, breathing in the fragrance of clean straw. Damn, he’d missed having horses—even missed the chores. Contentment was a low hum in his blood.
It was shaping up to be a fine Friday.
When he’d wakened with Mallory in his arms, he’d simply held her and watched the dawn light brighten the room. Her slow breathing had been warm puffs on his bare chest. A rumbling purr had come from her massive cat at the foot of the bed.
Eventually, he’d rolled and pinned her under his body, then listened to her little sighs as he heated her up. When she took him inside her and wrapped her arms and legs around him, it felt like coming home.
And when they’d finally rolled out of bed… Sawyer grinned. Was there anything more delightful than a grumpy Mallory in the morning?
Racking the hayfork, he headed out of the barn with the wheelbarrow of manure. Achilles roused and ran in circles, giving high yaps at the menacing cart, which could obviously eat small puppies.
Returning from the compost pile, Sawyer spotted Virgil Masterson leaning against the corral fence. Arms folded over his chest, the police lieutenant was wearing a black uniform shirt.
A uniform. Sawyer’s muscles tensed—and Achilles stopped dead, looking up with dark, worried eyes. Sawyer forced himself to relax. He wasn’t incarcerated. He hadn’t done anything wrong… Okay, that was debatable. Nonetheless, he hadn’t been caught doing anything illegal.
“S’okay, pup. Go say hi.” As Achilles ran forward, Sawyer nodded politely. “Masterson.”
“Ware.” Virgil bent down to greet the tail-wagging puppy. “You’ve done a great job with the horses. I saw you brushing Dodger yesterday—without being bit or kicked. That damn Thoroughbred hates being curried.”
Sawyer shrugged. “The breed can have sensitive skin. I bought him a soft rubber currycomb and softer finishing brush. He’s mellowing out.”
“Fuck, who would have thought? He’s our only Thoroughbred.”
Admittedly, the way Dodger pinned his ears back and showed teeth, he looked belligerent—not like a sensitive sort of guy.
People often misinterpreted surly behavior in horses…and in humans.
Sawyer leaned the wheelbarrow up against the barn. Stalls were done, horses watered and out. The rest of the day was his until he tucked the stock in for the night. Maybe he’d reward himself with a ride later. “Are you taking the day off, or did you stop by to compliment me on my babysitting techniques?”
“Neither.” Masterson eyed him. Like a law officer. “There’ve been a couple of incidents that lead me to think we have a vigilante in town.”
Sawyer’s gut tightened, and he bent to ruffle Achilles’s ears. Att, Morgan, and Mallory all considered Virgil to be an honorable cop who truly believed in protecting and serving the public. And obviously, he was damn smart.
Straightening, Sawyer gave the cop a level look. “Vigilante type actions aren’t unheard-of when a gang moves into a neighborhood.”
“This is true.” Masterson’s tone got exceedingly dry. “Seems like this one is pretty fucking competent.”
Sawyer might’ve been pleased with the indirect compliment if fear of prison hadn’t been congealing his guts. “You got a point, Masterson?”
Masterson rubbed his face. “I like you, Ware, but we don’t need any vigilante shit here. If it’s you,”—his gaze hardened—“stop now. Even if I sympathize with why, I’ll put you away.”
The thought iced Sawyer’s veins. He wasn’t sure he’d survive another year of prison.
Didn’t matter. Att wouldn’t be safe as long as there were Aryan Hammers in town. “I’d expect no less, Lieutenant.”
Virgil tilted his head and moved toward his car.
“Masterson, one thing.”
Virgil turned.
“The Hammers are out for revenge. As a detective, Atticus doesn’t patrol, but he’s still at risk. Can you—”
“We can. He’s one of ours. Now that we know the danger, we’re keeping an eye out.” Masterson moved his shoulders. “Even when he gets pissy about it.”
“Good enough. Thanks.”
“Yeah.” Masterson nodded. “I think we understand each other then.”
As the cop walked away, firmly on his side of the law, Sawyer pushed his hat brim up and watched. Yep, understanding had been achieved.
Change in his plans?
Yep. He’d be more careful about covering his tracks.
Chapter Eighteen
‡
On Saturday morning, Mallory walked out of the bedroom, tying the belt of her robe around her. She smiled at the sight in the great room.
Having started a crackling fire, Sawyer was sprawled in a chair with Aslan on his lap and Achilles in a small ball at his feet.
Aslan, having excellent ears, turned his head and gave her a contented smirk. Good choice in males, Mallory. He has excellent hands.
Mallory smiled back. Yes, he really does. He also looked quite fine in just a pair of jeans. The man truly had a drool-worthy chest. “Good morning, Mr. Ware.”
Opening his eyes, Sawyer studied her with a lazy smile. “Now, don’t you just look bright and awake.”
“You…” She half laughed. “You are an evil man.” She’d been sound asleep, curled up with him at her back. Even before she’d fully wakened, he’d stroked her clit, and by the time she realized what was happening, she was feverishly aroused. Tightening one arm around her, he had held her in place, slid inside her, and taken her quite…vigorously…from behind.
She’d come twice. Needless to say, after that, she’d been wide awake.
Didn’t the man understand the joys of waking slowly? Then again, he was male and came equipped with his own alarm c’ock, right?
“Does this mean you won’t make me breakfast?” Oh, his blue eyes could steal a woman’s heart.
“Did that pitiful me expression succeed with your mama?”
“Like a charm.” Although he grinned, his aura darkened slightly with grief. And…bitterness?
She hesitated, but now wasn’t the time to discuss past hurts.
“Actually, it’s your turn to make breakfast.” She almost snickered at the way his face fell. However, having tasted his cooking, she wasn’t about to insist he prepare a meal. “I’ll make a deal with you, though. Any morning you meditate with me, I’ll make you breakfast.”
His coffee stopped on the way to his mouth, and alarm filled his face. “You want me to meditate? Seriously?”
“Yes, Sawyer, you.” She smiled at him. “I think you’ll find you like it more than you think.”
His indignant huff sounded like Aslan’s when the cat was pushed off a lap. “You drive a hard bargain, nymph. Would this be considered a dubious consent meditation? Do I get a safe word?”
She snorted.
Sawyer rose. “I’ll give it a shot. Let me put Achilles in his crate.”
After the puppy was tucked away with a chew toy, Mallory led Sawyer into the sunroom. Although morning sunshine streamed through the tall windows, the room was still slightly chilly. After a second of consideration, she pointed to a chair. “Why don’t you sit there? Keep your spine straight and relaxed.”
While he settled in, she took her usual cushion and sat cross-legged on the floor. As usual, Aslan sprawled nearby to supervise. The sun glinted off his white ear tufts.
“Now what?” Sawyer asked. His lips twitched. Amused, was he?
“Now you sit quietly, and let your mind go empty.” Because he was a competitive
soul, she added, “Count each breath.”
“Until I get to a certain number?”
“No, just keep counting in your head until I tell you the time is up. However, every time a thought drifts through your empty mind, you restart your count at one.”
Such a look he gave her. Without a doubt, the thought currently drifting through his mind was that she was certifiably insane. She held back her smile.
He waited a second, as if he thought she was joking. “Right.” With a sigh, he frowned and closed his eyes.
Closing her own eyes, she reminded herself to return after twenty minutes—no, better make it ten minutes—and let herself fall into the universe.
Time passed.
After ten minutes, she sped up her breathing, pulled herself into the now, and opened her eyes.
Sawyer still sat in the chair, back straight, his breathing long and slow. His aura was slightly clearer, and the darkness had diminished, even with that brief a time. Yes, meditation would be good for him. As she watched, she saw him frown before relaxing again.
“Sawyer, time to start the day,” she said quietly.
He opened his eyes and started to move.
“Take a minute to return to normal.”
He settled back. “You do this every day?”
“Mmmhmm.” When she saw he’d transitioned nicely, she rose, put the cushion away, and pulled him to his feet. “What was the highest number of breaths you reached before starting at one?”
Walking into the kitchen behind her, he made a disgusted sound. “Three.” He took a seat at the island, as she pulled out the makings for omelets. “Sometimes two. I thought I had a fairly peaceful mind.” He looked adorably irritated with himself.
“Practice will help.” Leaning over the island, she pressed a kiss to his firm, annoyed lips, and handed him a fresh cup of coffee. “It was nice to have company today.”
His expression softened, then his eyes narrowed as he looked around her home. “Do people give you grief about your lifestyle? Meditating and”—he waved his hand in the general direction of candles, cat carvings, and plants—“all this?”
“I get teased occasionally, especially if I talk about auras.”
He set his coffee down and gave her a disbelieving stare. “Auras. That’s like a glow around people or something?”
“Exactly so.” She shook her head. “Apparently the talent appears in my family off and on. Mom said her grandmother had the ability.”
“What exactly do you see?”
“It’s like a halo effect around the whole body. Colors give me an idea of personality traits. Darkness indicates problems of various kinds.”
“Interesting.” Despite the skepticism in his gaze, he hadn’t completely dismissed the idea.
“Ready for breakfast?” When he nodded, she started sautéing mushrooms, onions, and green peppers. Realizing he still stared at her, she shook her head. “Seeing auras isn’t that useful a talent, and I only mention it to close friends.”
“So people in town don’t gossip about you?”
She snorted. “Not really. I’m sure you collect more.”
When his gaze hardened, she winced. That had come out wrong. He didn’t like being seen only as a convict.
She walked around the island to push between his legs and give him a warm hug. He rarely initiated hugs, but if she offered one, he totally returned it. Sawyer gave fine hugs. “They’re probably wondering what a hunk like you is doing with a quiet gardener homebody. Compared to your life, mine has been pretty boring.”
“The locals think you’re boring?” He lifted her chin. “Do you have no idea of how strong you are? How balanced? How peace follows you”—his lips twitched—“even in all the noise of a construction site?”
Her mouth went dry at the look in his eyes.
“It’s odd. I thought you were appealing when I met you. Now”—he frowned—“now I think you’re one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever known.” Before she could process his words, he kissed her. Slow and gentle and devastatingly thorough. His hand on her ass pressed her against an increasingly hard erection. His hand in her hair kept her head tilted for his pleasure.
She was held and ravaged. Oh, the man could kiss.
By the time, he released her, she was flushed and aroused—and the vegetables in the sauté pan were ruined.
At the scorched scent in the air, she ran to the stove and yanked the pan off the fire. “Mother of cats!”
“Sorry, nymph.” He grinned. “How about we take a shower?” The heat in his gaze said he planned more than that. “Then try breakfast again.”
“Deal.”
*
Sawyer almost tripped over the pup and barely caught his balance on the rough wood of the boardwalk. They should have practiced this heeling shit more at home.
Apparently, Achilles hadn’t received the memo that a dog was to walk politely beside his owner rather than herding him. Unable to get his way, the pup took the leash in his mouth and tugged. I’ll lead.
“Not happening, Achilles.” Sawyer waited for the puppy to settle before starting again. He had a list of supplies to fill and a counseling session to endure, but there was no urgency to this Monday morning.
First stop was the feed store.
The feed store owner saw Achilles and smiled.
His smile faded when he looked at Sawyer. No surprise there. In the past, the short, wiry owner had always remained politely distant.
“Ware. I was hoping to see you.” With a measuring stare, the owner leaned on the counter. “The drug buy you interrupted? My grandson was one of the boys. Seems he wanted to impress Simmons’s girl, Jasmine, so he was hanging with the gang wannabes and acting macho. Real macho to get busted buying meth.”
Oh, hell. Sawyer eased back a step. How pissed off was the feed store owner? “I’m, uh…” Couldn’t honestly say he was sorry, could he? “That’s a shame.”
“Not to my mind.”
Sawyer stared. “What?”
“Best he get a hard lesson now than a fatal one later. Meth? Jesus fuck, he’d have been addicted in a New York minute.” The man’s leathery face creased in a smile. “Thank you for breaking up the buy.”
Sawyer relaxed into the warm feeling. “Just happened to be in the right place at the right time.”
“Someone else might not have stepped forward or would’ve gotten spitted on a switchblade. Navy SEAL, right?” The old guy held his hand out. “Terry Breton—Green Beret in ’Nam.”
Well, damn. The Vietnam snake-eaters were fucking famous. “Tough duty. I’d take desert over jungle any day.”
From the strength of his grip, the vet hadn’t lost much muscle over the years. “What can I do for you, frogman?”
“Morgan Masterson said you can handle large orders of hay and grain. Starting next spring, I plan to supply trained trail horses to guide businesses. Might lease to outfitters as well, if they’re interested.”
“No shit?” Breton considered. “Providing stock isn’t a bad plan, especially since Mac retired and closed down the Sierra Pines Outfitters last year. You could well fill the niche. And some guides might add horse-packing trips if they don’t have to deal with stock upkeep and training—and wintering.”
“That’s what I’m hoping.”
The old guy frowned. “You sure you know what you’re in for? Your place on Kestrel Mountain has excellent pasture, but it’ll be under snow soon enough.”
“My younger brother bought land in the foothills. I plan to overwinter the horses there.”
“Smart…although transportation of stock is a pain.” Breton scratched his chin. “You might make a horse drive though. Could even be profitable. Tourists pay good money to ‘help out’ on working drives.”
Sawyer snorted. “I like working with animals; people—not so much.”
The man’s laugh sounded like rocks rubbing together. “My brother’s the same way. Here’s a thought. Hire the Mastersons to deal with the people
while you wrangle the stock. You’d both profit.”
Sawyer stared at him. “That’s a…damned…good idea.”
“Yep. Merely self-interest on my part. You bring in more tourists, we all benefit.” He opened a drawer and pulled a paper from a file. “Here’s the going price list for feed. Although it’ll change by spring, it gives you ballpark figures. If you can, give me some notice, and I’ll work out a delivery schedule.”
“A puppy!” The squeal of delight came from the back of the feed store. A girl in the indeterminate age range between five and ten charged up to Sawyer and took his hand. “Can I pet your puppy?”
Taken aback, he stared at the mite: big brown eyes, short hair like a pixie, too fucking cute. After squeezing her hand—tiny, tiny fingers—he turned to Breton. The gangbangers would destroy this pixie. “Tell me she doesn’t get this familiar with…everyone.”
The man grinned. “I like you, Ware. Didn’t think I would, but I do.” He smiled down at the child. “Since she might inherit the store someday, she’s allowed to talk with her future customers in here—although I didn’t notice a proper greeting. This is Mr. Ware, Emma.”
“Sorry, Grandpa.” The girl’s freckles disappeared under a bright blush, and her pink-sneakered foot rubbed against the hardwood floor. She looked up at Sawyer. “It’s good to meet you, Mr. Ware. Can I pet your puppy…please?”
In full agreement, Achilles whined.
Caught between two pairs of pleading eyes, Sawyer chuckled. “Go for it. His name is Achilles.”
The youngsters, canine and human, met in a happy tangle on the floor.
“If you have errands to run now, we’ve got a fenced area behind the store, and Emma would be happy to dog-sit. She’s good with animals,” Breton offered.
“Yes, yes, yes.” The girl nodded enthusiastically.
Sawyer looked down. The pup’s tail was going a mile a minute. “Achilles would sure prefer playing with your Emma rather than sitting quietly. Thanks.” He handed the leash over to the beaming little girl.
Stepping out onto the boardwalk, he headed toward the other end of Main Street. His counselor, Jacob Wheeler, had offices on the second floor of the realty building with several other professional businesses. Atticus’s woman, Gin, had joined the counselor and specialized in children and family issues.
Master of Solitude (Mountain Masters & Dark Haven Book 8) Page 19
