Lawless: A Cowboys on the Edge Story Page 7
“I know.” He bent and placed a quick kiss on her lips. “I also know you’re still a little uneasy about us.”
She blinked up at him. “Am not.”
He shook his head. “Let me finish.”
Her eyebrows shot upward. “Are you telling me to shut up?”
“As a matter of fact…”
Her eyebrows wedged together in a fierce frown.
“Thanks for telling me about the asshole. Knowing what happened to bring you to Caldera explained a lot of things.”
She rolled her eyes. “It was a momentary weakness,” she muttered.
A smile tugged at his mouth, but he kept his expression serious. “I’m not like that guy. I don’t want anything of yours…except for your heart and your sweet tits.”
Her belly shook, but he couldn’t tell if she was smiling because her lips were mashed into a thin line.
“If you want to keep the title to your car—keep it. We can keep separate bank accounts—I’m all for it. When we get a house, I’ll have the title put in your name. You can have everything I own, and I’ll happily give it all to you. I don’t want you to ever be afraid that you’ll be without again.”
“Back up—a house?”
He tapped the end of her nose. “Keep up. My crappy apartment won’t do, and your house is too small.”
She frowned. “Too small for what?”
“For dogs and kids…”
“I’m thirty-five. I’m too old to spit out a passel of kids.”
“You might have one or two eggs in your ovaries left, and if not, I’d be up for adopting. If you don’t like the idea of changing diapers, we can get a potty-trained teenager. And did I mention dogs?”
Her eyes narrowed more, but there was a discernible curve to the corners of her mouth. “Dogs, as in more than one?”
“Substantial dogs, because our kids are going to be hellraisers.”
She grunted, and her gaze went to where her fingers were dragging on his chest hair. “You’ve thought a lot about this.”
“You haven’t?”
Her gaze still stayed lower. “My dreams weren’t quite as ambitious as yours.”
“What were you thinking?”
“Moments like this. Lazy ones, which I think kids might just kill.”
“We’d just have to wear their little asses out so we can have our alone time.”
“Hmm. And I was thinking about a long road trip on motorcycles.”
“Plural bikes?”
She shrugged. “Maybe, or we could just share yours.”
He let his smile stretch wider. “Better get that trip done before you pop out a kid.”
She slapped his shoulder. “You give the worst sexy talk.” Her gaze shot to his. “I’d like us to be more than girlfriend and boyfriend.”
Ty bent and kissed her mouth. “Not another word. I’m not letting you propose.”
“Because you don’t want to…do it?”
“I think I’m already doing it,” he said, giving her a sexy swirl of his hips. Her eyes rolled again, and he gripped her chin to hold her head still. “I’ll do the asking—in the right place at the right time.”
“Oh.”
And because he was satisfied that they’d both reached an agreement, however fuzzy around the edges, he began to move inside her.
“Thought you’d forgotten where your dick was,” she whispered.
“Not possible, not when your pussy kept giving me hugs.”
She burst out laughing, her entire body shaking as he got his knees beneath him, hooked hers under his bent arms, and began happily hammering away. She could laugh at his “sexy talk” all she wanted. By the time he was finished loving her up after the scare she’d given him that day, they’d both be smiling in their sleep.
Epilogue
Ruby’s stomach fluttered as Ty led her wherever the hell he was taking her.
It was date night, but he’d had all kinds of special requests—like that she “dress to the nines”—whatever the hell that meant. But she’d gone along with it, leaving work early and taking a leisurely bath amid scented bubbles before donning a figure-hugging black dress and sexy heels.
When he’d handed her a silky black scarf and told her to tie it over her eyes, she’d griped that it would ruin her makeup, but he’d only smiled.
That smile. Those dimples. She’d taken the scarf and tied it tightly, and yes, she’d let him lead her anywhere. God help her, she was crazy about the man.
After telling her they needed a house, he’d kept her busy the past couple of weeks, meeting with Carina Whitfield to look at houses. They’d found an old farmhouse on ten acres of land that required some paint and elbow grease, but they’d made an offer, which had been accepted, and they’d made a down payment. And yes, he’d insisted that all the paperwork reflected that she’d be the sole owner—over her protests—but Ty had remained firm on that condition.
And now, tonight. Of course, she knew what was coming. Just not where.
At least, not until she smelled pine and lemon once he carried her over the threshold of their destination.
When he drew off her blindfold, Ruby’s Roadhouse was all but deserted, except for Jimbo dressed in black slacks and a white button-down shirt, with a hand towel folded over his arm as he led them solemnly to their table.
A group of white candles in the center of the table provided the only light in this section of the dining room, but she barely noted them as Ty held her chair while she took her seat.
Moments later, Jimbo returned, carrying a bottle of champagne and two flutes. Lennie followed, rolling a cart she’d never seen before but which was filled with covered dishes.
Her two friends grinned and left them alone. She had no doubts they’d be watching from the kitchen window.
Sitting across from Ty, all she could do was smile. “I can’t believe you did this.”
“What? Closed down your roadhouse for the night?”
She laughed. “No, this,” she said, waving at the table and the cart. “How on earth did you manage to get those two to keep this secret?”
“They’ve been helping me plan it. It’s been a ‘thing’—secret meetings, phone calls all day.”
Ruby’s face ached because she couldn’t stop smiling. “Well, you’ll have to tell them their efforts are appreciated.” She lifted her chin and pinned him with a look. “So, what’s the special occasion, deputy?”
Ty cleared his throat and stood.
From the kitchen, she heard an excited, “Told ya. He’s gonna do it.”
Her heart began a rapid flurry of mismatched beats as he reached into the pocket of his sports jacket and pulled out a small velvet box.
Without any fanfare, he went to one knee beside her and opened the jeweler’s box. When he turned it for her to look, she gasped. The diamond was a lovely marquise set in a row of smaller diamonds. The band was a pale yellow gold.
Ty cleared his throat. “Ruby Tackett, will you—”
Ruby bolted out of her chair and tackled him. “Yes! Yes! Yes!” she squealed then kissed him.
Laughter rang out from the kitchen. “Not what I expected,” Jimbo drawled. “He didn’t even get a chance to ask her.”
“Don’t matter. She said yes!” said Lennie.
Ty lay on his back, his smile huge. “I take it you’re happy?”
She cupped his cheeks and kissed him again. “Now, how many dogs and kids we’ll have are still up for negotiation, but yes! I can’t wait to be your wife.”
“I can’t wait to make those babies,” he murmured, rolled her beneath him, and kissed her again.
“Well, I never…” Jimbo whispered loudly. “Better put those steaks in the warming pan.”
Cage
Montana Bounty Hunters: Dead Horse, MT
New York Times and USA Today Bestselling Author
Delilah Devlin
Chapter 1
As he approached the front door to the Dead Easy Saloon, Cage Morgan
flexed his hands, wincing as he did so due to the deep bruising on his knuckles. Still, sore knuckles felt like a small price to pay considering the size of the purse he’d won the previous night at the MMA bout in Bozeman.
Thinking about the $36,000 deposit he’d made at the bank that morning, he wondered why the hell he’d agreed to this meeting in the first place. Cage’s needs were simple, and the purse would pay his bills for the next four to six months until he accepted the next match.
However, he owed Fetch Winter the courtesy of meeting with his representative to talk about the possibility of a job. He didn’t owe him a “yes,” but he had agreed to listen. Fetch had led the unit that had pulled his ass out of a firefight which had killed several of his SEAL teammates back in Afghanistan a lifetime ago.
From the outside, the meeting place was like any other roadhouse bar. Wood plank siding, a tin roof, and a red neon “Open” sign. He climbed the three steps to the porch then opened the door. Music played on a jukebox, customers lined a well-polished counter, and in the rear, the crack of striking balls and groans sounded from the pool tables.
As he passed the bar, the bartender’s gaze narrowed on him, and then a broad smile spread. He lifted his chin to Cage. “Great fight last night.”
Cage lifted his eyebrows and gave him a little salute but didn’t stop. He made his way to a small round table tucked into a corner of the main room and took a seat.
A waitress with dirty blonde hair so straight it had to have been ironed paused beside his table. “What can I get ya, hon?”
Her smile was flirtatious, and while she was kind of cute for a middle-aged woman in a skin-tight tank with the bar’s logo on the front and short blue-jean shorts, he wasn’t interested in encouraging her to linger. “Whatever beer’s on tap will do,” he said and pulled a twenty from his wallet.
She smiled and moved away, her skinny hips wagging.
She was back inside a minute with a foamy beer and handed back his twenty. “Kip, the bartender, says it’s on the house. He won a pile of money last night on your fight.”
He pushed back the twenty. “You keep it then, and thank Kip.”
Just then, a commotion sounded at the entrance of the bar. “Damn, are you Reaper, that dude on TV?” asked a man who was holding onto the arm of a large man wearing a ballcap who was trying to get through the doorway.
Cage watched as the man who looked like he belonged on a Viking longboat shook the man off his arm.
Cage couldn’t make out what he said to the smaller man, but the guy held up his hands and backed away, grinning. As soon as the big man’s attention left him, he scurried to the bar, leaning over the counter to talk to Kip, whose gaze shot to the big man.
He watched the man in the ballcap grimace then step deeper inside the bar, his eyes narrowing as he searched the counter and then the tables. Cage knew the second when his gaze came to rest on Cage, because the other man tipped his chin before striding his way.
As the man approached, Cage assessed him like he always did, sizing him up as a possible opponent in the ring. They were of a similar height and weight. His arms and chest looked powerful. However, Cage could tell by the way the man moved that he wouldn’t have his same speed. Not that he was planning to fight this guy, but old habits died hard.
The big man stopped in front of his table. “You Cage Morgan?”
Cage nodded.
The man sat and whipped off his cap. “Thought the hat would work.”
Cage’s mouth twitched. “That was supposed to be some kind of disguise?”
The other man made a sound a bear might make just before it took a bite. “Fetch sent me.”
“I figured.”
“Said I was to try to schmooze you into taking a job.”
“I’ve been wondering why he isn’t here to do it himself.”
The other man raked a hand through his long blond hair. “I’m here to set up the satellite office. He’d have come, but he said we didn’t need the big guns. That you’d want this job once you heard what it was all about.”
Cage grunted and sat back in his chair. “You’re the guy in that reality TV show.”
Reaper gave him a dead-eyed look. “If I wasn’t makin’ bank, I’d take exception to your tone, dude.”
Cage snapped his fingers. “What’s it called?” He pretended the name escaped him.
“Bounty Hunters of the Northwest,” the other man said, sounding bored.
“Right!” Cage grinned. “I liked the episode when that wild man chased the bear.”
“His name’s Animal.”
Cage chuckled. “Fits.” He picked up his beer and drew on it, not knowing exactly why he was trying to rile the other man. Maybe it was because he viewed him as a competitor, and his instinct was to start the psych-out before a fight. Or maybe it was because he wanted to make sure the man didn’t waste a lot of time trying to convince him to take a damn job he didn’t want. “Can’t remember your name, though,” he lied.
“Reaper. Reaper Stenberg,” the big man said, his words a little garbled like he was grinding his teeth.
“Right,” Cage said. He took another swallow and waited for Reaper to give his pitch, but the waitress sauntered over again.
Her gaze went from Cage to Reaper, and Cage knew what was on her mind. Too bad for her, he knew Reaper was married, and he flat didn’t get into bed with another man, even if their dicks never touched.
“He’ll have the same as I’m having,” Cage said to hurry her away.
She was back inside a minute and set a beer in front of Reaper. He handed her a twenty.
“No, Kip said it’s free. He watches your show,” the woman said, sounding out of breath.
“Keep the tip,” Reaper said than turned his attention back to Cage.
The woman’s mouth tightened, but she moved along to another table.
“Saw you fight in Bozeman last night,” he said, his gaze direct.
Cage curled his fists and grimaced at the throbbing ache. “McMann gave me a run for my money.”
“You fight well. Heard you came to MMA through less than legal fights.”
Cage gave him a hard stare. “That was a long time ago.”
“Three years.” He took a sip of his beer. “Least, that’s what I hear. Bareknuckle stuff’s not for sissies.”
Cage almost smiled at the grudging compliment. “No, it’s not, but it’s hard on the body.”
“We could use someone like you. Fetch says you were a SEAL.”
Cage straightened in his chair. “I was.”
“Marine,” Reaper said, pointing at his chest with his glass.
“Won’t hold it against you.”
Reaper’s mouth twitched. “We’re building an office here. Broke ground last week. We hope to hire on eight to ten hunters to cover southwest Montana and into Wyoming and Idaho.”
“Sounds ambitious. From your TV show, it looks like you guys are sweeping up all the trash. Sure you’re leaving enough work for another agency?” Cage didn’t know why he asked. He still wasn’t interested, but he was curious about what Fetch was hoping to accomplish.
“America has the highest incarceration rate in the world. Long as that doesn’t change, we’ll have plenty of bounties to go around. And it’s not just bounties on folks skipping their court dates or mandatory drug testing. We help find prison escapees, pitch in on law enforcement manhunts—anywhere our particular talents are needed. Our Bear Lodge office helped bring in a terrorist who was recruiting anti-government whackos intent on building an army here in Montana.”
“That all sounds fine and dandy for someone who wants to be a bounty hunter. I don’t.”
“Well, Fetch thinks you might change your mind when you hear who we’re hunting. He needs someone with your skills to get close enough to make the takedown.”
Cage narrowed his eyes. “My skills?”
“Your experience in those illegal fight clubs. You’ve got connections that can get you inside.”
“Ask me who we’re hunting,” Reaper said, his expression neutral, his stare boring into Cage’s.
Cage was curious all right, but he didn’t want to ask. Didn’t want to know. He’d left that world and never looked back. Had the scars and the tattoo, thank you very much.
“Fetch explained how the money works, right? What a hunter gets as a percentage of the bond.”
“He did. And I still told him no.” Hunting people was something he’d done when he’d been in the Navy, and he’d been damn good at it. However, hunting Americans wasn’t something he had the stomach for.
“Ask me,” Reaper said, his voice lowering.
Cage wanted to tell him to go to hell. But he also wanted to know, because the hairs on the back of his neck were rising. Deep inside, he was still that man, the one who always found his target and always took him out. A cool dread washed over him, and he drew a deep breath. “Okay, I’ll bite. Who are you hunting?”
Reaper’s mouth curved. “Your wife.”
Also by Delilah Devlin
Montana Bounty Hunters: Dead Horse, MT
Cage (#1)
* * *
Montana Bounty Hunters
Reaper (#1)
Dagger (#2)
Reaper’s Ride (#3)
Cochise (#4)
Hook (#5)
Wolf (#6)
Animal (#7)
S*x on the Beach (related)
Big Sky Wedding
Quincy (#8)
Brian (#9)
* * *
New Orleans Nights
Hot SEAL, New Orleans Nights (Prequel)
One Hot Night (#1)
* * *
Uncharted SEALs
Watch Over Me (#1)
Her Next Breath (#2)
Through Her Eyes (#3)