Whatcha Gonna Do With a Cowboy (11 page)
Read Whatcha Gonna Do With a Cowboy Online
Authors: Jodi Linton
Epilogue
Five weeks had passed since I’d last heard from Colt Larsen and his troublemaker of an ex-wife, and I didn’t miss them one bit.
It didn’t take long once I booked and carted Kate Matthews off to the feds for word to get around that everyone involved in bringing down Kate had gone against every damn protocol known to every law enforcement agency around. For the most part I’d gotten off pretty damn peachy. Well, I suppose that’s a little white lie. Hard to believe that Ector County had given Elroy Sampson the sheriff’s badge to Pistol Rock. Something I’m still clenching my teeth over.
In the end, Gunner took the worst beating. His superiors were not amused with his involvement in the case, or his cooperation with a marshal on forced leave who’d been shaking down leads on a case he had no business nosing into in the first place. Right now we were both enjoying a much-needed three-week vacation courtesy of the deputies and Rangers. Still, I wouldn’t wish my worst enemy to be in Larsen’s boots, what with Kate being the kind of person she was and him carrying a torch over an ill-fated love affair. As it was, Rip Granger fared better than any of us. He’d gotten his money back and immediately cashed out and moved off to someplace in Mexico.
It was dusk, and the charcoal grill was smoking. I smiled at Gunner as I walked down the porch steps and strolled along the gravel driveway. The wind had picked up, nipping at the back of my neck. Smashed pumpkins circled the metal trash cans, and I breathed in the smell of freshly mown grass still hanging in the air.
I reached the milk jug–shaped mailbox at the end of the drive, inhaling deeply as I opened it. I was pleasantly surprised to find my fingers skimming across a postcard. I pulled it out and focused on the address: Tarpon Pass, Texas. A small smile pulled at my lips as I scanned Colt Larsen’s chicken scratch.
Hello there, Deputy Briggs,
I hope all is well in your neck of the woods. I’ll never forget my time spent in Pistol Rock and anxiously look forward to my next visit to your charming town. As you know, Kate is awaiting trial, and I’m currently working a case away from home. I guess I wrote you because I wanted to tell you not to be a stranger. I appreciate everything you did to help me find Kate, and I wouldn’t mind partnering up with you again sometime. Until then, keep doing what you do, which basically means not taking shit from anybody.
Yours truly,
Federal Marshal Colt Larsen
P.S. If you tell anyone I said you could watch my back again sometime, I’ll deny it and tell them you forged this note.
Grinning, I folded the postcard in half, shoved it into my back pocket, and made my way toward the house. Gunner was hunched over the grill, concentrating on how much more time he needed until he could flip the steaks.
He looked up. “Did we get anything interesting?”
“Not really.”
That boyish grin returned, the one that always seemed to melt my heart. For a moment I stood there and stared at
my
cowboy enjoying life as he pulled the steaks off the fire and snuffed out the charcoal. And when he turned around, smiling, I knew I was finally home.
I pulled open the back door and stepped inside the house.
“Sweetheart, I think we’re gonna be all right,” Gunner shouted into the kitchen.
I opened the fridge, reached inside, and pulled out a couple of Shiners. “Yep,” I hollered back at him. “I think you’re right.” I pushed through the door, beers in hand. He was sitting on the swing. “Beer?” I asked, picking up on that sexy, knee-weakening look working slowly across his face.
“I thought you’d never ask.” Gunner grinned, grabbing the beer and me in one swoop as he pulled me down onto his lap. “But you know damn well I’m gonna want more than a beer from you tonight.” His lips coasted just under my chin, lighting brushfires all over my body. His fingers danced down my stomach, and when his hand sank beneath the waistline of my jeans and his fingers pulled and tugged at my panties, I was only too happy to give it to him.
Not that I was going to tell him that, not quite yet. By my count, it was past time to make this cowboy beg.
“So what do you say,” he asked, his voice smoother than a cold beer on a hot October night. “Do you want to play, Laney Briggs?”
I looked up at him. God, those deep, brown eyes were deadly. It sucked how much he had me pegged. I reached up and cupped a hand around his ruggedly handsome face, then pulled his sexy lips toward mine. “I’m so game, cowboy,” I told him.
We locked eyes, and then he kissed me. His mouth was tender, and the kiss stole my breath. My arms wrapped around his trim waist, and my fingers unhooked his handcuffs from his belt. I snapped one around his wrist. “Say please.”
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Acknowledgments
First off, I want to thank my husband, Jared, you’re a good sport! I couldn’t have gotten through the past year without you by my side. And then to my kiddos, Jake and Maggie, for allowing me the time and space to type my next Laney story.
Thanks to my editors and Q&A reader, Terese Ramin, Cynthia Young, and Theresa Cole, for making Laney and Gunner the best that they can be. I learn so much each and every time. Also, thanks to Fiona Jayde for giving Laney a rocking pair of red cowboy boots and covers. And to all the folks at Entangled for the support, help, and guidance. To the bloggers who welcomed Laney, Gunner, and Pistol Rock with open arms. I truly appreciate y’all’s support and reviews. Anita Orr, for loving my cowboys, especially Gunner Wilson. I’m grateful for your time and support you put into each and every one of Entangled’s books. Shey Houston, you are the best, and I value the friendship we have. RT2014 would not have been the same without you.
A very special thanks goes out to Amanda Usen, fellow Entangled author, for taking the time out of her busy writing schedule to give me advice and pointers on how to make
Whatcha Gonna Do With A Cowboy
even better. Your insight was invaluable. And you helped me save the cat.
Last but not least, thanks to my Facebook Street Team, the Pink Pistol Readers—y’all are the best, and you make cowboy Friday lots of fun.
About the Author
Jodi Linton
lives and works in Texas with her husband and two kids. Most days she can be found cozied up to the computer, escaping into a quirky world of tall tales, sexy, tight jeans–wearing cowboys with a protagonist sharp-tongued enough to hang any cowboy out to dry. There’s a good chance she’s brushed paths with a few of her characters, but she’ll never tell, those lips are sealed. She is currently at work on her next Laney Briggs book.
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