Alone in the Wild(57)

I should feel shocked and sickened. Instead, rage washes over me. White-hot, all-consuming rage.

I slide the gun from under my jacket, keeping it close to my body so Owen won’t see. When Cherise spots it, her eyes only narrow and meet mine in defiance.

I jam the barrel under her throat. “You didn’t like my offer? Then say so. You don’t need to be a bitch about it.”

I’m speaking low, my words only for her, but Owen hears and his laugh rings out behind us.

“Cherise didn’t like your offer because she’s the clever one here,” he says. “And no one takes that away from her.”

“No,” Cherise says, her teeth gritted. “I didn’t like her offer because you were fool enough to consider it, Owen. A pretty girl shows a bit of spirit and intelligence, and you fall over yourself.”

“So you were jealous? That’s new. I like it.”

“’Cause you’re a fucking idiot. I don’t give a shit if you want to screw her. I do give a shit if your dick stops your brain from working. She wasn’t going to negotiate with us. She was just buying time and keeping you from hurting her damned dog. Now, since you haven’t noticed, she’s got a—”

My free hand chops down on her throat, cutting her off in a strangled gurgle. I wrap my hand tight around her throat and twist toward Owen, my gun swinging on him. His eyes widen. Then he laughs. Throws back his head and laughs.

“Gun on the ground!” a voice snarls as someone crashes through the forest. “Fucking gun on the fucking ground, now!”

I do not for one second think the newcomer is talking to me. I recognize the voice, the words, even the crashing of brush.

Storm lets out a bark and races to meet Dalton.

“Back to Casey,” he says after a pat on the head, and she returns to me, tossing Cherise a growl for good measure.

“Jacob?” Cherise says, and it’s clear from her voice that she’s trying to come up with another explanation. This man might look like Jacob, but he certainly doesn’t sound like him.

“Nah,” Owen says. “This is his big bro. Hey, Eric, long time.”

“Not long enough,” Dalton mutters. “You remember the position, Owen? I put you in it often enough. I’m sure you must remember.”

“Fuck you.” Spots of color touch Owen’s cheeks. “This isn’t Rockton.”

“Yeah, it’s not. But I still have the gun, and you’re still a fucking idiot.”

Cherise lets out a cackling laugh at that, but Dalton ignores her, his attention on Owen.

“On your hands and feet,” Dalton says. “Ass in the air. I know you remember it.”

“Eric?” I murmur. His gaze shoots my way, and I subtly shake my head. I’ve already made an enemy here in Cherise, and I don’t want to make the situation worse by humiliating Owen in front of her. Dalton’s gaze goes from Owen to Cherise, and he grunts, and I know he understands.

“Just put the rifle on the ground,” Dalton says.

Owen does. Dalton walks over and picks it up.

“Hers is over there,” I say, gesturing. Dalton nods and collects it.

Then he looks at me. “You okay?”

I don’t answer, but he must see something on my face and his goes rock hard.

“What happened?” he says.

“I was playing hide-and-seek with Storm,” I say. “These two are the ones who found me.”

“And…”

I shrug. “They said something about selling me as a wilderness wife, blah, blah, blah.”

A laugh sounds. It’s not Dalton, who—despite my light tone—looks ready to spit bullets. Cypher strolls from the forest.

“That’s your own fault, kitten,” he says. “You are such a sweet and docile little thing. Can’t blame them for thinking you’re in need of a big, strong husband. They were just taking care of you.”

“Evidently,” I say.

I rise off Cherise, keeping one eye on her in case she attacks. Dalton walks over and lowers his lips to my ear. “You okay?”

“I will be,” I murmur as softly as I can. “But I’d like to ease out of this.”

He nods. There’s nothing to be gained by getting into a pissing match with these two.

Dalton kisses the top of my head and tugs my hood back up.

“Are you shitting me?” Owen says. “The cowboy? Really?” He shakes his head. “You can do so much better, girl.”

“Girl?” Dalton’s brows shoot up. “She’s a woman, and her name is Casey.”

Owen ignores him. “What the hell do you see in Deputy Dawg here?”

Now my brows are rising, as I say, “Deputy?”

“Owen left Rockton right before my father retired.”

“Eric’s the sheriff now,” Cypher says. “Casey here is a homicide detective. Or is that homicidal detective?”

“Depends on the situation,” I say, smiling my thanks at him for continuing to lighten the mood.

“You’re … a detective?” Owen says. “Like, a cop detective?”

“That’s usually what ‘homicide detective’ means,” Cypher says. “You picked this boy for his looks, didn’t you, Cherise?”