The fact the new job came with a female partner did take some adjustment, but he was okay with that. He’d worked with a few females while in the Army, women who’d been adjunct members of their teams when they’d had to work house to house rooting out insurgents, because the females could interact with the women of the house where the males were met with only stony silence. Marti was prior military, too, and had spent some time in the sandbox, so they had something in common although she never talked about her experiences. Hell, she rarely talked about anything except work.
True to form, Marti had been quiet since they’d nabbed Jasper, letting Cage and Preacher take care of the paperwork involved with the handoff.
When they’d climbed into his SUV, she’d taken her seat beside him and raised a hand. “Not a damn word.”
He’d pressed his lips together to keep from grinning, knowing she was likely regretting the fact there were witnesses to her takedown. The cops who’d shown up to make sure Jasper’s friends wouldn’t decide to do something stupid—beyond harboring a fugitive—had been all over Marti. Their interest had only intensified when they’d learned she’d been the one to get the drop on all three of the men.
While he and Cage had felt a little useless, it had still been funny as hell watching the men in uniform angling to get her number.
Knowing it was going to be a long drive, he decided it was time he and Marti got to know each other a little better. They’d been assigned as partners for three weeks now, and he still didn’t know much about her other than she was a hardass and unafraid to mix it up in the gym with a little hand-to-hand during the tactical training Cage insisted they undergo. “So, did you give your cellphone number to any of those Anaconda boys?”
From the corner of her eye, he watched as she aimed a killer glare his way. “Nope.” Her arms crossed over her chest. “Already have a boyfriend.”
His eyebrows rose. “Seriously? Why’d you never mention him?” He couldn’t imagine who would have the balls to ask her out on a date. The guy had to have big brass nuts.
“He’s a park ranger,” she mumbled.
“You meet him while you were hunting that skip in Yellowstone?”
“Uh-huh.”
Man, pulling words out of her was work. “He have a name?”
“Don’t most folks?” Her head turned towards him. Her mouth curved into a smirk.
He arched an eyebrow. “You know, most partners try to get to know each other.”
She let out a deep sigh. “You got a girlfriend or a boyfriend?”
He chuckled. “Nope. Neither.”
“Got a preference?”
“I do.” His chest shook because she was grinning now.
“So, why’d you come to Dead Horse? I heard you started out in Bear Lodge with those ‘fake’ bounty hunters.”
“They’re not fake.”
“I know. I’ve seen Bounty Hunter Barbie in action.”
“Was she your inspiration for that little act you put on back there?” he asked, shooting her a quick glance.
Marti wrinkled her nose. “She said we women should use what God gave us to bring dirtbags to justice. Can’t believe I did that.”
“Me neither. It was an inspired play.”
Marti laughed. “It was, wasn’t it? I had all three of them on their knees.”
“You know, Lacey’s going to make sure you’re outfitted with everything a Bounty Hunter Barbie needs, now.”
She groaned. “Oh, good Lord. I didn’t think about that. She’s going to be all proud mama over this. Probably give me a shit-ton of makeup and a push-up bra.” She turned his way again. “His name’s Caleb McKay, by the way. My boyfriend.”
Preacher relaxed. This was what he’d wanted. Getting to know a partner helped in building a bond. They had to trust one another when it counted. “Sounds like a fake name. Caleb McKay sounds like it’s right out of one of those romance books.”
“I know, right? Not that I read those.”
“How’d you two meet?”
“Well, it’s a long story and involves an asshole I was chasing, named Ardell Forman, and a big, angry bison…”
Preacher settled back in his seat, smiling as Marti rested her foot on the dash of his SUV and began her tale...
Chapter 2
Two days later, Preacher got a text as he was climbing into his black Suburban, ready to head into work.
Fig: It’s your turn to bring the donuts. Get them from Deadly Delights.
Preacher checked his watch. He had time.
How many? And what?
Fig: Two dozen kolaches. Two dozen mixed. Don’t drag ass.
Ooh, bossy. Who pissed on your cornflakes?
Fig: HaHa. Got a lot to go over.
Preacher’s mood lightened. He didn’t mind donut duty, not when the woman behind the counter at Deadly Delights was one very pretty blonde who wore confectionary sugar like most women wore powder on their noses. Whenever he saw a light dusting on her cheek, he had the urge to lean over the counter and lick it. Likely every male in the vicinity had the same urge.
Asking her out on a date had been on his mind for a while. He’d never noticed a ring on her finger and hadn’t seen her around town with any guys, so he thought maybe he should. After all, he’d been here a little while and needed to make some friends. Maybe, he could talk her into showing him around.
He grimaced. That might not be the best line. It would be the world’s shortest date. Dead Horse was a tiny town. A guided tour would take all of ten minutes.
Deadly Delights was on Main Street, which was on his route anyway with the Dead Horse Motel on the opposite side of town from Montana Bounty Hunters. Preacher shook his head as he passed the businesses lined up along the strip—Dead Center Guns & Pawn, Dead as a Doornail Hardware, The Drop-Dead Gorgeous Salon.
He laughed. “They certainly have a theme going.”
He passed the lone empty and boarded up store with the name “Dead ‘n’ Gone Antiques next to Deadly Delights and pulled into an empty parking space in front of the donut shop. Inside, business was brisk. He stood in line, trying not to look as though he was checking out the shapely proprietor while he was certainly checking her out. When it was his turn at the counter, his reason for being there completely escaped him.
It was those eyes—the prettiest blue, like cornflowers or maybe bluebonnets—although why he remembered any flowers’ names when he couldn’t remember his own was a mystery. Or maybe it was her pretty light blond hair that she always wore in a long braid. Or maybe her pale skin with that light dusting of caramel-colored freckles across the bridge of her nose. He kept his gaze above her shoulders because he’d never drag it away from her full breasts and hips…
“Did you want something?” she asked, leaning over the counter, her expression becoming concerned.
You and some of that whipped cream frosting you’re wiping off your fingers… Frozen in place, he was sure he probably looked like a complete moron. He raised his phone to read the text message from Fig then cleared his throat. “I need kolaches and donuts.”
The woman’s mouth twitched at the corners. “How many people you feeding? Just yourself?”