Cowboy Loyal: Colorado Cowboys, Book 2 by Harper Young

Author:Harper Young [Young, Harper]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2021-01-14T05:00:00+00:00

15

Dane

I should’ve brought Piotr.

That’s the first thought that pops into my head when I reach the end of a winding dirt road and a rusty trailer comes into view. The place is a piece of shit, but parked outside of it are several shiny trucks that cost a pretty penny.

The three pitbulls chained in the grass stand up and watch me park. I sit in my truck, looking at the trailer’s closed door and considering.

I didn’t bring Piotr for a number of reasons. It’s enough that I’m taking all this time away from the ranch. Cord can hardly afford being short one hand, so forget two. Also, when I planned this visit to Clements, it made sense to go on my own. It’s gotta look more harmless that way.

But now I wish my buddy were here. Hell, not only Piotr. I’d take any of them. Cord. Jameson. Tucker. As long as they had a pair of eyes to watch those dogs as I walk for the front door.

My fingers linger in front of the glove compartment. I should keep my gun right where it is in there, but that instinct to live is kicking in real hard right about now.

The door opens, and a tall man stands there on the small porch, a shotgun in hand. The hair on the back of my neck stands up, and I wave at him through the glass. He scowls in return.

Fuck. So here goes nothing.

I roll my window down. “I’m not armed.”

“What you want?” he barks.

“I’d like to talk to Sam.”

It seems impossible, but that scowl deepens. “He’s not here. Who are you?”

“Dane Carter.” There’s no reaction. “I work at McPherson Ranch,” I add, unsure whether that’s a good or bad fact to tack on.

A second man comes to the door, this one shorter and older, with salt and pepper hair and thick eyebrows. My mouth goes dry. Sam Clements.

I’ve only had him pointed out to me from a distance—while being told to steer clear of him. Not that I need that advice. I wouldn’t touch a man like Clements with a ten-foot pole… unless it helped Violet.

“Who?” Clements calls out at me. “McPherson?”

“I work at McPherson Ranch,” I say.

He shakes his head and says something low to the shotgun man, then turns for the door.

“Boy,” the shotgun man says, though he might not even be as old as me, “you have twenty seconds to turn that truck of yours around.”

“Wait,” I croak from my dry throat. “I have an offer.”

Clements pauses in the doorway, back to me, and looks over his shoulder. One of the dogs growls.

Clements turns to fully face me. “It better be just you.”

“It is,” I nod.

He jerks his head at his lackey and goes back inside.

“Come on then,” the tall man calls.

Inside the trailer, there’s next to nothing. A couch here. A floor lamp there. Kind of reminds me of Todd’s place. Except Sam Clements offers me a beer from the cooler in the kitchen, which I decline. Thanks, but no thanks.

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