Total pages in book: 59
Estimated words: 58727 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 294(@200wpm)___ 235(@250wpm)___ 196(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 58727 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 294(@200wpm)___ 235(@250wpm)___ 196(@300wpm)
And she chose me.
The second our eyes connected—yeah, it sounds corny as fuck—but the ridiculous chemistry between us was insane. My dick was hard when she was pulled off my finger and onto the dance floor. It was hard all the way back to the ranch and only went down when I rubbed one out in the shower. And then only for a short time because I couldn’t stop thinking about her.
Now, I’m instantly hard all over again.
Fuck, I feel the pull now, like a living thing between us. My heart pounds and my dick throbs. My fingers itch to brush over her soft skin, to get back inside her pussy and give her that orgasm we were both denied.
“Austin Bridger.”
I have to snap out of my stare or I’m going to get both of us in big fucking trouble.
I have no intention of letting anyone know I had my hands on one of the police officers investigating the death on the ranch. That I know how she looks when she’s aroused, that she makes a little whimper when my finger’s in her pussy. That she doesn’t mind a little exhibitionism. I’m not a sharer, but that was hot as hell.
What we did on our own time—even in front of an entire bar—isn’t for anyone else to know about. I don’t kiss and tell or ruin someone’s career by being an asshole. Especially if I’m interested in a potential round two.
I pull my head out of my ass and offer her my hand. “Miles.”
She nods and a pretty flush spreads across her cheeks.
Peterson clears his throat. “Any chance we can go inside and sit down? It’s a hot day.”
Chance tenses.
“The porch is nice and shady,” I offer. “After a morning counting calves, this’ll be a nice break.”
No way is Peterson getting in the house to look around without a warrant. And I need a little time to come to terms with Sadie from the bar being Sadie, the detective.
I still want her in my bed, preferably naked and without her badge, gun, and warrant.
Peterson’s jaw clenches, but he returns to the rocker he vacated when we came up.
Sadie still hasn’t said a word. She leans against the porch railing, forgoing a seat.
Chance settles on the opposite end of the railing, resting his hip against the post, while Austin takes the vacant seat.
I take the opportunity to stand beside Sadie so it’s easy to see everyone. And to pick up her floral scent, which dredges up memories of the night before.
“Any idea who the victim is?” I ask Sadie.
Her gaze holds mine for a moment and then she blinks. “None yet. The body was sent to the coroner in Missoula.”
“Do you have an idea who it might be?” Peterson asks. “You three were at the creek the day before the body was found.”
I look away from Sadie and to the jerk who not-so-subtly insinuates we killed a man.
“We went over this already with you, Officer,” Chance says through clenched teeth.
“Detective,” Peterson corrects. “You could have killed the man and no one would have found him for weeks. Months, if ever. That stretch of creek is pretty isolated.”
I frown at the absurdity. “And like we said last night, why would we kill the guy, dump him in the creek, and then break up the beaver dam so the water would go down and he’d be discovered? I’m no detective, Detective, but that makes zero sense.”
I don’t like this fucker any more today than I did last night.
“My woman found the body.” Austin’s voice is deep, almost a growl. “Tripped over it. You think I’d subject her to something like that?”
Austin and Carly have gotten close fast. I like her. She seems to be coming into herself with him. Seems to be in his nature to take care of people, like he does for his mom.
“We’re reviewing the employees of the ranch, ruling them out one by one,” Sadie says.
Her voice is soft and almost velvety. Just as I remember.
“We’re more interested in your father because, well…he’s dead. We can’t interview a dead man,” she adds.
Chance stands. “My father’s lawyer is Tom Shankle. Talk to him.”
“We want to hear about him from you,” Peterson replies.
Chance turns, sets his hands on his hips. “If I were going to commit murder, I’d have done it already.” He holds up his hand. “And no, it wouldn’t have been the man in the creek. I’d have killed my father. And I’d have been justified in doing so.”
“Sounds like you’re telling me you have violent thoughts,” Peterson pushes.
“About Jonathan Bridger. That’s all I’ve got left when it comes to him. If you want to put this murder on me, you’re wasting your time, but have at it.” Chance removes his hat, swipes a hand over his hair, and sets it back on his head. “Got work to do.”