Page 27 of Wrangled
“Without sounding like a dick?”
I chuckle. “You want me to stay out of your way, huh?”
“Yes, ma’am. We have our system down pat.”
“Alright. I have a little area set up on the porch while I conduct some interviews. Will I be out of your way enough there?”
“Yeah, that works. We try to be as quick and as quiet as we can.”
I wave him off. “As I didn’t even know about any of this until two minutes ago, I’m just going to let you do your thing. If you need me, just come find me. And help yourself to coffee. I have half a pot, but feel free to make more.”
“That’s mighty kind of you, ma’am. Thank you.”
I offer him a smile and snag my coffee on the way to the swing. I sit with one foot tucked up under me, using the other to swing myself slowly.
I blink when I see a large fridge-freezer with all the bells and whistles being wheeled inside minutes before the old one is carried out. The sound of another vehicle approaching catches my attention. This one is a newer model truck that looks like it gets polished regularly. I wince as it blows up dust, wondering how irritated that might make the driver.
The delivery guys ignore the truck and the guy as he steps out. He looks around at the property with a look of disdain—one that already has my hackles up. I don’t care if this place is in disrepair. All it needs is a little TLC. But I want to give thisguy a chance to redeem himself. I’m as guilty of letting first impressions cloud my judgment as he is, but it’s more difficult than I thought it would be.
He approaches the guy with the clipboard. I can’t hear what he says, but the clipboard guy shakes his head and points at me. The newcomer slips his shades from his face and hooks them in the front of his T-shirt. His eyes move over me from bottom to top in a slow perusal that makes my skin crawl.
He stalks forward, his walk full of false swagger and confidence as he jogs up the steps to me. “Calliope Hart? I can call you Calliope, right? I’m Ryan Michaels.”
He holds out his hand to me, so I stand and shake it before placing my empty mug down. I don’t offer him a drink, but I do indicate for him to sit in one of the chairs facing the swing. Instead, he sits at the end of the swing and man spreads his legs before leaning back, his arm resting along the back.
I gape at this man’s audacity just as a voice speaks behind me. “Excuse me, ma’am?”
I turn to a man behind me in a black Stetson and think it’s Shepard for a second until he tips his head back a little, and I get a look at his face. He’s every bit as captivating as Shepard is, but in every opposite way possible. Whereas Shepard is by anyone’s standards handsome in that swoon-worthy, white knight kind of way, this man is dark and tormented, and every one of my dark little fantasies brought to life.
Tall, fit, and tanned in that way you only get when you work outside, this guy towers over my five-foot-five frame by at least a foot. He’s wearing black jeans and a faded gray T-shirt that showcases an intricate series of tattoos etched into his arms and neck. He has a sharp jawline covered in day-old stubble, full lips, and a slightly crooked nose. His face would be remarkably ordinary if it weren’t for two things: the black eyepatch coveringhis left eye and the startling violet color of the one staring down at me.
“Ma’am?”
“I’m sorry, I haven’t had enough caffeine yet to function properly. What did you need?” I’m impressed that I sound normal, even though on the inside, my brain is humming the theme toJawsfor some reason.
“I asked if it was okay for me to take this up to your room. It’s labeled bedroom, but I didn’t want to impose without permission.” His voice is deep and gravely, like he drank a glass of whiskey and chewed the glass down after it. I have the strangest urge to curl up next to him and have him read one of my books to me.
“I’ll take it.” Ryan jumps up and moves to take the box.
I step between them, my teeth gritted. “Thank you, Mr. Michaels, but I think Mr. …” My voice trails off as I wait for Stetson to introduce himself.
“Hawkin. Riggs Hawkin.”
“Riggs. Nice to meet you. As I was saying, Mr. Michaels, Riggs has it covered. Why don’t we get our interview started?” I throw over my shoulder before nodding to Riggs to carry on.
Riggs offers me a polite nod before heading inside. I turn back to Ryan. “So?—”
“You shouldn’t let people like that inside when you don’t know who they are.”
I cross my arms over my chest, his eyes drifting down to my tits at the move. Where Shepard made my skin tingle, this man makes my skin itch. “I don’t know you either, and you didn’t seem to have a problem with going into my room. At least Riggs asked. You assumed.”
“Your lawyer has screened me. Besides, we both know this is just a formality. I’m good at what I do, Calliope. Pretty littlething like you needs someone like me at their back. It’s the only way people like that asshole won’t take advantage.”
I’m reeling from too much information, but the thing that sticks with me the most is the caustic tone with which he spoke of Riggs. “People like that?”
“Criminals. You didn’t see his tattoos, did you? I recognize a couple of them as gang affiliations.”
“What did Jenny tell you about me?”
