Montana Mavericks: a hot cowboy collection Read online

  Chapter Twelve

  Quinn finished with the scene and left Reese to handle his techs. Another dead body, this guy also tied to the drug trade, according to Reese.

  The drug trade in Maverick Montana? No way. Quinn would figure out a way to keep the citizens safe. At the moment, he concentrated his gaze on the watery road outside his truck. The rain had increased in intensity, and his vehicle nearly hydroplaned through Miller’s Crossing. The deputies had better hurry up and place those warning signs before somebody got hurt. Night was about to fall, and visibility sucked.

  His mind spun, and his gut ached. Who would break into Juliet’s gallery and steal the laptop? More specifically, who would want her to know so clearly that she was robbed?

  His radio buzzed. “Sheriff? There’s a report of a fight tonight at the high school,” Mrs. Wilson said.

  He sighed and pressed the button. “I’m on my way.”

  Five minutes and several lightning strikes later, he pulled the truck into the high school parking lot. Teenagers milled around, forming a circle. He hit his patrol lights. They scattered like scared rabbits through the rain.

  Biting back a laugh, he jumped out and grabbed the closest rabbit by the collar. “Mr. Benson. Who’s fighting tonight?”

  Billy’s eyes widened, and he gulped several times. “I, ah, don’t know.”

  Quinn did. His gaze caught on the two young men by the bleachers. The juniors stood, guilt on their faces, hands clenched. Pride filled Quinn that they hadn’t fled. “Donny and Luke?” He released Benson with a small shove toward the kid’s Subaru.

  Donny nodded his buzz-cut head, and freckles popped out on his pale face. Luke shrugged and shuffled his feet.

  Quinn lowered his voice to his best “don’t-fuck-with-me” tone. “Get in the truck. Now.”

  The boys almost ran each other over to get in the truck.

  Quinn eyed the rest of the group. “Everyone else, get home before this storm hits any harder.” Pivoting on his cowboy boot, he jumped back into the truck and turned off the patrol lights.

  Donny stretched his hands toward the heater. “Are you arresting us, Sheriff?”

  Luke cleared his throat. “Um, for what? I mean, we were just standing there. Right?”

  Quinn maneuvered the truck onto the road. “You planned to fight.”

  “Is planning illegal?” Donny asked, hunching his shoulders.

  “Could be.” Quinn cut him a look. “I’m sure I could find something to book you on.”

  Luke glanced at Donny. “Your mom is gonna be pissed.”

  “No shi—kidding.” Donny groaned. “My mom is pregnant—very—and on edge.”

  Luke snorted. “That’s an understatement.”

  “Shut up.” Donny elbowed him without much heat. “She’s kind of old to be pregnant.”

  Quinn coughed. “Jesus, Don. She’s only thirty-five. That’s not old, and your parents started early with you.” High school early, actually. But they’d stuck together, and they’d made it.

  “Yeah. Old.” Donny shook his head.

  Quinn took the turn out of town.

  “You gonna shoot us and leave us outside of town, sheriff?” Luke asked with a grin.

  “I might. You’re being such morons, I’d probably be doing your parents a favor.” Quinn shook his head.

  The tension in the truck abated as the kids realized they weren’t headed for the sheriff’s station.

  “Before I give you hell about planning a fight in my town, especially during a spring storm, why don’t you tell me what the fight was about?” Then he’d decide what to do with them. He wasn’t finished with them yet.

  The boys both shrugged.

  “Tell me, or we’re heading for booking.” Good thing he played poker regularly.

  Donny grimaced. “Sierra Zimmerman.”

  Figured. “You two are fighting over a girl?” Quinn asked.

  “Yeah,” Luke said.

  Quinn increased the speed of the windshield wipers. “Sierra is a great girl. Smart as heck and just as pretty. But you two have been best friends since diapers.” He’d caught them once stealing apples from McLeary’s farm; they’d eaten so much they’d puked as he’d taken them home.

  The boys shuffled restlessly.

  Quinn sighed. “All right. Here’s the deal. If you like a woman, you fight for her. With everything you are.”

  Two surprised faces turned their full attention on him.

  “However, you don’t fight each other. You don’t fight your best friend. Show some class, show the girl you’re a solid guy who will protect her, and give it all you have. With class, strength, and dignity.”

  Luke scrunched up his face. “That’s confusing.”

  Quinn barked out a laugh. “Welcome to romance. If you two fight over Sierra and one of you gets hurt or embarrassed, then she’s hurt and embarrassed. Do you want that?”

  “No,” they both said instantly.

  “Exactly,” Quinn said.

  Don frowned. “You’re a big war hero who carries a gun. Chicks love you.”

  To be young again. “Have you seen me use my gun?” Quinn asked.

  “No,” Luke said.

  “Exactly. I have a gun, I have training, and I’ll use it if I have to. But I certainly wouldn’t use it against my friend.” Quinn turned into the Maverick subdivision. “If anyone ever comes after your family or your woman, you go after them with absolutely no mercy.” He was probably going to get his butt kicked by their mothers for giving such advice, but he’d always been honest with the kids and given them his best. “Other than that, you fight fair and don’t scare your girl. Ever.”

  “Fighting scares girls.” Don nodded sagely.

  Quinn shrugged. “Frankly, I’m not sure if it scares them, but fighting ticks them off. For the most part, they’re a lot smarter than we are.”

  “That’s for sure,” Luke muttered.

  “So, what are you going to do with us?” Don asked, his gaze on the lightning zigging across the sky. “We know you have something in mind.” Luke nodded next to him.

  Now he’d become predictable? “Tomorrow you’re both offering to clean up leaves and debris for Mrs. Rush and her neighbor, Mr. Pearson, after this storm blows over.”

  “Pearson’s making moonshine again,” Luke said.

  Quinn shook his head. “We dismantled his still. If he starts walking around naked again, I expect one of you to give me a call.”

  “He likes being naked,” Donny said. “I mean, he’s not crazy or anything. He just said that at his age, the sun feels good on his wrinkles.”

  “Man, does he have a lot of wrinkles,” Luke chortled.

  “He’s over ninety.” Quinn snorted. “So, do you two have any questions for me now that we’ve talked?”

  Donny settled against the seat. “Are you going to marry the art lady?”

  “She’s pretty,” Luke said.

  That was not the type of question Quinn had invited. He sighed. “She is pretty, and I just started dating her.” He pulled his truck into Luke’s driveway. “Marriage is a long way off for me, kids.”

  Donny glanced at Luke. “As men, we’re stupid.”

  “Morons.” Luke leaped out. “Want to come in and play Xbox?”

  Donny glanced at Quinn, who nodded. “Sure. I just gotta call my mom. Thanks, Sheriff.”

  “Make sure you explain everything to your parents, because I will be talking to them.” Quinn forced a stern frown. “I’m sure I don’t need to tell you what happens if you two decide to fight again.”

  “Nope,” Donny said while Luke shook his head vigorously.

  “Good.” Quinn waited until they’d hurried inside before pulling out of the driveway. He grabbed his radio. “The high school is all clear, Mrs. Wilson.”

 
“Who was fighting, Sheriff?” she asked, her voice high with curiosity.

  “Donny Wilcox and Luke Merryweather were thinking about dusting it up, but they changed their minds. They both like Sierra Zimmerman.” He gave her the full story, knowing it’d be all over town the next day anyway.

  Mrs. Wilson chuckled. “Sierra is dating the Silvia boy. I saw them at the movies last night.” She clicked off.

  That figured.

  He maneuvered the truck through the storm, his shoulders relaxing when he arrived back in town. After a quick stop at his office, he wanted to get home to Juliet. It was time he followed his own advice and fought for the woman—even if he had to fight with her to get to the truth.

  His radio buzzed. Shaking his head, he lifted it. “Yes?”

  Mrs. Wilson cleared her throat. “Shelley at Babe’s Bar called and asked for you to drop by.”

  “Me? Why?” He hit his blinker to turn.

  “Well, apparently Hawk and Adam are getting into it.” Mrs. Wilson sniffed. “Though I doubt it. Hawk just got back in town, and he and Adam have been buddies for years.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Wilson. I’ll report in as soon as I figure out what’s going on.” Quinn scowled. He was finished giving speeches about friendship for the night. If Hawk and Adam were being assholes, he’d throw them both in cells until morning.

  He double-parked in front of the bar. The scents of tequila, perfume, and sawdust pummeled him as he walked inside. Country music played over the speakers, although the band dais remained empty. Good. Last thing he wanted to deal with was watching his baby sister sing in a bar, while she was home for spring break. Although the girl could sing.

  Hawk and Adam stood over by a pool table, beer bottles in hand. Well, no one had thrown a punch yet. Quinn made his way to the back, his gaze on his friends.

  “What’s going on, gentlemen?” he asked.

  Hawk gave him a look. “Nothing.”

  Hawk owned the ranch to the south of Quinn’s and had been Colton’s best friend since birth. Half Kooskia, he had dark hair, green eyes, and Native features. Quinn considered him another younger brother and was tempted to smack him just like he would’ve Colton.

  Adam cleared his throat. “Just a little disagreement about my band, Sheriff.” He was Colton and Hawk’s age. After graduating from college with a business degree, he’d bought the bar in town. He also played in the band and was a fairly decent guitarist.

  Quinn shoved impatience down. “Tell me you’re not fighting over a girl.”

  Adam coughed. Hawk stilled.

  “You have got to be kidding me.” Quinn shoved his hands in his pocket to keep from slamming their heads together. “Tell me you’re not fighting over my sister.”

  “Not like you mean.” Hawk took a deep swallow of his beer.

  “Explain before I kick your ass, Hawk,” Quinn said. So much for niceties.

  The outside door opened, and Colton shoved inside. Surprise lifted his eyebrows as he hustled toward them. “What’s going on?”

  Hawk groaned, while Adam grinned.

  Quinn settled his stance. “Somebody was about to explain that to me.”

  Adam’s eyes filled with amusement. “Hawk objects to Dawn singing in the band when she’s home during weekends.”

  Colton nodded his head toward the waitress. “We all object.” He smiled when she brought him a longneck. “Not that we don’t like your bar or your band, Adam. But Dawn is too young to sing in a bar. Besides, she should be staying at college and having fun each weekend instead of driving home.”

  “She’s legal to drink,” Adam said. “I think she’s old enough to make up her own mind.”

  Quinn was more interested in why Hawk felt the need to object on Dawn’s behalf. He eyed his old friend, who met his stare evenly and without blinking. “How long you in town, Hawk?” Quinn asked.

  “Just a week,” Hawk said.

  Quinn rubbed his chin. “While you’re here, let’s all meet up to secure the fences on both our properties before the next storm hits.” That way, he and Hawk could have a little discussion.

  Hawk’s full lip quirked. “I look forward to it, Sheriff.”

  Yep. Quinn was going to have to smack him a good one.

  “Sheriff?” the bartender bellowed. “Mrs. Wilson is on the phone. She said you left your radio and phone in the truck.”

  Quinn took a deep breath and focused on the bar. “And?”

  “There’s been a wreck out on the interstate, and they need more spotlights,” the bartender said.

  “This night is never going to end.” Giving anyone within his vicinity a hard look, the sheriff turned on his heel and headed toward the door and his next disaster.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Juliet glanced at the dark storm outside and hung up the phone. The caterer would be early the next day to set up, and he’d assured her everything would go smoothly. More than anything, she needed the show to go perfectly. Sophie deserved astounding success.

  Wiggling her feet back into an awake state, Juliet surveyed the sheriff’s home office. Dark walls lent a masculine atmosphere while the tumbled stone fireplace offered coziness. She could picture him sitting at the solid oak desk, filling out the ranching ledgers. The room even smelled like him. Sexy and strong.

  The doorbell rang.

  She pushed back from the desk and wandered through the sprawling house to the front door. Glancing in the intricate window set in the middle, she groaned. Then she pulled open the door. “Hi, Joan.”

  Joan Daniels opened her mouth and closed it quickly. She stood on the porch, casserole dish in hand. A low-cut blouse enhanced impressive breasts. Her jeans were tight enough they had to be cutting off oxygen to her feet, which were crammed into four-inch heels. “Hi, Juliet. Is Quinn home?”

  “No.” Ingrained manners forced Juliet to step aside. “Would you like to come inside?”

  “Sure.” Joan drifted by in a rose-scented cloud. She’d piled her blond hair high in a series of tumbling curls to compliment sultry and dark makeup. She sauntered through the hallway and into the kitchen as if she’d been there many times. “I brought dinner for Quinn as a thank-you for rescuing me from a wild cougar the other night.” She set the dish on the granite island. “He had to come out late at night.”

  “I know.” Juliet slid her polite smile into place, wondering who’d save the sheriff from the cougar now in his kitchen. “I was here when the call came in.”

  “Oh.” Joan maneuvered around the island to perch on a bar stool. “Well, you’re not the first woman to spend time with the sheriff. He’s a handsome man.”

  Had Joan “spent time” with Quinn? Juliet took the dish and placed it in the refrigerator. Hopefully the woman would leave since Quinn wasn’t home. Her manners got the better of her. “May I offer you something to drink?”

  “Absolutely. He keeps Wallace Brewery beer on the bottom shelf.” Too many teeth flashed when Joan smiled. “I’d love one.”

  Sure enough, there were several bottles of Wallace Pale Ale on the bottom shelf. Juliet grabbed two and handed one to Joan. Twisting off her cap, she shoved the fridge shut with her hip. “Cheers.”

  Joan removed her cap and lifted her bottle. “Cheers.” She tipped back her head and took a healthy swallow. She hummed. “It’s so thoughtful of the sheriff to keep these in stock. He likes the Robust Red, you know.”

  Actually, Juliet hadn’t known that. “Really? He always drinks Scotch when we’re out.”

  Joan frowned. “I wonder why he’s so formal with you. The man likes beer.” She leaned forward, elbows on the counter, false interest in her eyes. “Maybe he’s not comfortable with you.”

  Juliet took another sip. “I’ll have to ask him when he gets home tonight.”

  Joan’s eyes narrowed. “We’ll both ask him.”

 
The doorbell rang. Again.

  Juliet set her beer on the counter. “Excuse me.” She hustled through the hallway to the door. Hopefully Sophie or Jake had decided to drop by and check on her. She opened the door and smiled with every bit of manners she owned. “Hello, Amy. How nice to see you.”

  Amy Nelson arched an eyebrow. “Where is the sheriff?”

  “Out on a call.” Juliet stepped to the side, amusement and irritation battling for control inside her. “Would you like to come in? A neighbor and I are having a drink in the kitchen.”

  “For a moment.” Amy swept by Juliet and headed down the hallway. She charged into the kitchen and zeroed in on Joan. “Hi. I’m Amy Nelson.”

  “Joan Daniels.” Joan glanced at Amy’s dress. “That is a stunning dress.”

  Juliet reached for her beer. The dress was stunning. Sparkling red, the material shimmered and hugged Amy’s curvy figure perfectly. “I agree.”

  Amy smiled. “Thank you. We had a fundraiser for my uncle on the north side of the county, and I introduced him before his speech.”

  Juliet cleared her throat. “Amy’s uncle is the governor. He’s running for reelection.”

  “As is Quinn.” Amy squinted at Juliet. “I’m here to talk to him about the rest of his campaign. The man needs to get smart and start campaigning.”

  “Nobody can beat Quinn. I mean, he is our sheriff.” Joan finished off her beer.

  “True.” Juliet gestured toward the bottle. “Would you like another?”

  “Sure,” Joan said.

  Juliet turned toward Amy. “Would you like a beer?”

  “No, thank you.” Amy eyed the beer bottle like it might explode. “When will Quinn return?”

  The doorbell rang. Again.

  “Excuse me.” Juliet carried her beer down the hallway this time. “You have got to be kidding me,” she muttered. What other woman from Quinn’s not-so-distant past would be visiting now? She yanked opened the door and stopped short.

  Loni Freeze and Leila Lodge stood on the porch, holding hands. Leila jumped up and down. “Hi, Juliet! Uncle Quinn said you’d be here.”