17. Colt

Chapter 17

Colt

I 'd been in and out of breakfast before I saw the pretty little woman currently staying at Circle Bee. I haven't gotten to spend any time with her yet thanks to the business over in Casper. Little Rugby comes from a prize sheep herding line that goes back ten generations, each one of them worth their weight in gold. He'd cost a pretty penny, and I'd had to race to get him before someone else did. I'd barely beat the three other ranchers chomping at the bits to add him to their ranch despite his steep price tag. Now, he'll be a part of Circle Bee, and we'll have a line of Old English Sheepdogs when he's old enough to breed. For now though, the little fuzzball is acclimating to life with so many new brothers and sisters.

Dolly bays at me with her droopy face while I lean against the door to the kennels. When I look over at her, her tail thumps loudly against the grass and I smile.

"I know you're ready, girl. We just gotta wait for our new helper," I tell her, rubbing her head.

Dolly is a retired cop, just like I am. Hell, we even left at the same time. The department had tried to keep her when I was forced out, but she refused to listen to anyone else. She even bit one of the trainers, so she was retired with me despite their desire to fuck with me. Seems the both of us are stubborn fools. Only difference is I can't smell drugs from a mile away like Dolly can. She was good at finding criminals. I was good at killing them. What a pair we make.

I lean against the kennels, watching the big house for any sight of her. I'd purposely finished breakfast fast so I could relish the sight of her walking toward me when it was time. I'd got only a brief look at her the day before, and there's something about her that has me curious. She's a beautiful woman, sure, but that's not what draws me in. There's something in her eyes, a sadness, a pain, that I'd like to dig out with a metal spoon and inspect. There are things in her soul I want to know about. So what if I also want to bury myself between her thighs? So what if I want to see her kneeling before me, those large hazel eyes looking up at me, lips parted in?—

Dolly boofs and I shake the image from my mind before my arousal starts to show. Except I realize quickly that Dolly wasn't barking to save me. She was letting me know someone is coming.

I look up and freeze at the sight before me.

Fable is walking across the yard, but unlike yesterday when she'd been wearing jeans and a t-shirt that showed off her curves, she's dressed in a. . . costume? That's all I can think to call it. She's wearing what looks like old western garb, like those old western photos you see, or even like an old John Wayne movie. Her hair is braided into two thick pigtails that threaten to have me fist them and use them for leverage. She's wearing a brown skirt with rough fringe and leather boots beneath that. Her shirt is a lighter tan color, and there's a red scarf across her shoulders that's probably meant to fight the morning chill.

"Hey," she says with an uneasy smile. "Gunnar said I'll be spending the day with you today."

I nod, looking her up and down as she stops in front of me. I almost expect her to have a rifle at her side to complete the look, but of course she doesn't. Dolly's tail thumps in hello when she stops, and she smiles over at the red bloodhound before reaching out to pet her.

I look around just in case this is one of Gunnar's pranks. When I don't see him laughing around the corner, I focus back on Fable.

"Yes. You'll meet the dogs and. . . what is happening right now?" I ask, breaking out of my spiel. "Why are you dressed like that?"

Honestly, I expected jeans and a t-shirt. While this isn't bad really, I'm just confused. No one mentioned any costumes to me. My eyes drop to the hint of the prosthetic I can see when the skirt swishes and I'm reminded that Gunnar did, at least, warn me about that. No one had known. Clearly, she'd been hiding it, and I'd like to know why she felt the need to, but we don't know each other enough yet to ask. I promised Gunnar I'd be mindful of it without treating her any different. Gunnar, apparently, has taken a liking to Ms. Fable Everhart.

At my question, she looks down at her outfit and nervously smooths her hands down the skirt. "I'm Annie Oakley today. Or dressed like her," she answers. When I stare at her, she wrings her hands together. "It's called cosplay. I just thought. . . it would make it more. . . fun. If I were to dress up, I mean." I open my mouth but I'm not sure what to say so I close it again. At my silence, she adds, "I made it last night."

"You made it last night?" I repeat. " All of it?"

"Well. . . yeah," she says, looking down at her outfit again. "It isn't super intricate. I finished it before bed." When I just stare at her, she grimaces. "Is it okay? Or should I go change? I understand if it's not suitable for what we're doing today."

I shake my head. "Don't change on my account. The outfit is fine. I'm just surprised is all. I didn't realize you'd be dressing up."

"I didn't plan on it at first," she says slowly. This time when she meets my eyes, she doesn't waver. "But then I decided, if I enjoy doing it, what's stopping me? Gunnar took me to the craft store in Steele yesterday and I loaded up with fabric. I brought my sewing machine with me, so. . ." she holds out her hands as if to say, "here I am." And I can't fight the smile that curls the corner of my lips.

"I like it," I nod. "It's gonna get covered in fur though."

"That's okay," she says eagerly. "I don't mind getting dirty for puppies."

I open the door to the kennels and gesture for her to go before me. "Lucky you, we have a two-month-old litter of puppies, plus little Rugby you met yesterday. So, you'll get plenty of puppy kisses today."

Immediately, her demeanor changes from nervous and uneasy to bright and cheerful, and something inside me, some beast I'd rather not look at too closely, rears its ugly head. It's a part of me I'd rather never let out again, had planned to never let out after I left the police force, but here it is, begging to be let out.

For her. The sweetness in her eyes begs me to corrupt it, demands I soil her, and it takes everything in me to swallow it back down.

Curiosity eats away at me. I want to peel back her layers and see what makes her tick. I want to see what other costumes she has in store for me. I want to sweep her away into the mountains and fuck her in the wilderness. I want to see her tears running down her face as she gags on my?—

"All of this is for the dogs?" she asks, interrupting my thoughts.

I clear my throat. "Yeah. Circle Bee does business in two things: honey and herdin' dogs."

"Not cattle? I know Gunnar said y'all still take part in the cattle drive."

I shake my head. "We participate in the Green River Drift every year, but our cattle herd is small compared to many of the other ranches out here. It's tradition, so we join in, but we don't make no money at it. In fact, I think it costs us more than we make. Our profits come from renting bees out to farmers, honey distribution, and selling world-class workin' dogs."

"Oh! I knew about the bees, but not about the dogs being such a major part. The website didn't really cover it extensively," she gushes, waiting for me to lead her where she needs to go. When I step around her, she follows, and Dolly happily accompanies us. "How many dogs do you have at one time?"

She's fully invested and listens intently. And her voice is like really good moonshine, not that shit that comes from Naomi over at Steele Mountain. Fable Everhart seems genuine and sweet, corruptible.

"Depends. We have our main breeders, which change off and on depending on how many litters they've had, but mostly it remains around twelve of them. We don't breed our dogs to death here. They get top notch care, and then they get to retire after they've had a few litters and enjoy their lives. Then if we have litters, those puppies add to our number until they go to a new home. We train the dogs before they go on to greener pastures, so we also have trainees. All that's to say, I have no idea," I answer honestly. "The number changes pretty regularly."

She laughs and claps her hands together. "It sounds like there are plenty fur babies to pet either way. Is this one a trainee or a breeder?" she asks, pointing to Dolly.

"Dolly here?" I ask, and Dolly boofs in answer. "Neither. Dolly is a retired police dog and lives out her days however she pleases. She comes from a pedigree line, though. Her daddy, in fact, lives over at Steele Mountain Ranch, Ole Red."

"She doesn't look that old to be retired," she comments.

"She's not. But when I left the police force, she wouldn't work with anyone else, so she came with me."

She glances at me in surprise. "You were a cop?"

I laugh. "You seem surprised."

"You just don't. . . seem the type is all," she replies carefully.

I quirk my brow at her. "Cops don't look like me out in Florida?"

She shrugs. "Maybe Wyoming is different, but every cop I've ever met was either an asshole, like the bullies from high school who want power, or was full dad persona. You don't seem like either."

I lean closer and she glances up at me with wide eyes. "What makes you think I'm not one of the bullies?"

She snorts. "You work with dogs, silly. I can clearly see the way you care about Dolly when you talked about her. Plus, she loves you. I'll always trust a dog's opinion over a person's."

My brows furrow. "Dogs can be bribed."

"So can people," she shrugs. "Hell, you can bribe me with a good cake. That don't mean nothing."

Fuck. She says the word cake and now I'm thinking about eating cake off her ass cheeks. "You like cake?" I ask.

"Of course, I like cake," she laughs, gesturing to herself. "Don't I look it?"

"Yeah," I grunt, my voice huskier than I'd like. "What else do you like?"

The need to know everything about her slams into me. Fuck, I want to strip her bare and study her under a microscope, even if she's wrong about me. There's this tortured sweetness about her, so painful, so sweet she could make my teeth ache if I taste her. She's so bright, and yet there's this darkness over her, like she's a flower field overcast with thunderclouds. Brilliant but muted. Why? What happened to her to cast such shadows?

"Far too many things to list," she admits, looking around. "So where are these puppies I get to pet?" Her eyes are bright with excitement, eagerness, and I really want her to be lookin' at me like that.

I pop open a door instead of answering and release the newest litter like I'm releasing a stampede. She immediately drops to her knees and lets them swarm her, laughter pouring from her lips, but her head twitches to the right, as if she's hearing someone else talk beside her. I follow the direction and see nothing there, but it only adds to the intrigue.

She looks up at me, her smile wide, her silly outfit making me want to lift that skirt and see if she tastes like cake. "This must be the best job in the world," she declares.

I blink and tilt my head. It's certainly paying off right now. "Yeah. It ain't too bad," I answer before I kneel down and take a seat beside her, letting the puppies attack me, too. It's been so long since I've just let myself enjoy it, but right now, sitting beside her, it feels. . . nice. "Not bad at all."

Dolly comes over and lays across my lap and something roars inside me that hasn't roared in years. Hunger. Excitement. The thrill of the chase.

I'd trust a dog's opinion over a person's.

Yeah, but sometimes even dogs love the monsters that raise them.