Cowboy Logic - B.A. Tortuga Page 0,37
no idea. How did you keep someone from hurting you when they really wanted to?
“We both will. We’re smart dogs.” The cookies came out while she put the coffee on.
He nodded and got the mugs. Maybe he ought to hire someone to follow Conor, a private investigator. That was an idea. They’d have updates that way. And warning.
Tomorrow he’d call Al, see who was good, how much it would cost.
“Mmm. Peanut butter. Hey, your lemon goo was good, by the way.”
“Thank you. I know you had your doubts.” He also knew that it was damn good.
“I worried the kids wouldn’t—” She frowned, staring through the big bay window behind him. “I think I saw a light out there.”
“Okay, grab the shotgun. Stay on the porch. I’ll go look.” He never questioned her, just went toward the kitchen door, hoping to catch whoever it was.
“Not if that asshole is trying to get to my horses. Then I will hunt him down and kill him.”
“The dogs will protect the horses,” he snapped. “You keep a barrier between him and the kids.” He knew he didn’t need to tell her that, but they didn’t need to go running off in all directions. “And text Jericho.”
He headed outside, trying to see what the light was out there, who it was.
It was a man with a phone, flashlight app on.
Please God, let him not shoot me, whoever it is.
“Who is that?” Logic shouted.
“Who the fuck are you?” The snarling voice was the same one from the other day. Conor Morrow. Too bad. Anderson had hoped he’d be smart enough to stay away.
“The guy who almost shot you. Bailey has the gun in her hands now, and trust me, she’s way more pissed than me.”
“You can’t have her.”
He almost ruined the whole thing by cracking up. “Dude, I’ve been around in her life for a long fucking time. You’re nothing to her. Get out.”
Conor made an inarticulate sound of rage. “I don’t know you. You can’t have been around that long.”
“Eons. She’s calling the cops. There’s a restraining order. You’d better move.” God save him from assholes.
“Restraining order.” Conor spit in the dirt. “No one cares.”
“Someone must, or you wouldn’t be staggering around here with your little phone.” He was taunting, and he knew it, but Morrow needed to shit or get off the pot. It was chilly out here, and his coffee was getting cold.
It was way, way easier to be all macho now that he knew the asshole didn’t have a gun.
“I’m going to kill you.”
“Not drunk like you are.” The smell of the alcohol hit all of a sudden, as if Morrow had belched or something. God almighty.
“Conor Morrow! You get the fuck off my land.” He could tell Bailey was still on the porch, but you could hear her jack a round from where they stood.
“The police are coming, asshole, and she’s a great shot. If I were you—which I most definitely am not—I’d get gone.”
Morrow made this amazing sound, even ragier than the last one, and whirled around, stomping to a pickup, which had obviously been driven in without its lights on. He gunned the engine when he left, roaring out.
“Did he really think he would just waltz up in here?” he asked the air. Then he raised his voice. “Tell me you didn’t fuck the son of a bitch!”
“Anderson! You keep your voice down. And no. I did not.”
“Good girl.” Also, thank God. He’d hate to have to bleach her. He would. Dip her right in a fifteen percent solution with hot water. He didn’t head in until he saw the blue light special speeding across the cattle guard. “Deputy Dave is on the way. Make more coffee.”
“I texted Jericho. You call him and make coffee, and I’ll go talk to the officer.” She pinned him with a look. “Did you expect Jericho to come save us?”
“No, you old witch. I wanted him to know what was going on because one of his kids is here.”
“Oh.” Now she puffed out a chagrined breath, and he hid a grin. She hated it when he was the voice of reason. “Well, you call him.”
“Okay, Miss Puffy Pants.” He left her out there with the shotgun, tugging out his phone to call Jericho, way sooner than he’d expected to have to.
“What the fuck is happening over there?” Jericho barked.
“He’s gone. The police are here. Breathe. She’s asleep.” Was it perverse that he thought Jericho sounded sexy when he was mad? It was probably