Preacher (Montana Bounty Hunters: Dead Horse, MT Book 2)

by Delilah Devlin

  True to form, Marti had been quiet since they’d nabbed Jasper, letting Cage and Preacher take care of the paperwork involved with the handoff.

  When they’d climbed into his SUV, she’d taken her seat beside him and raised a hand. “Not a damn word.”

  He’d pressed his lips together to keep from grinning, knowing she was likely regretting the fact there were witnesses to her takedown. The cops who’d shown up to make sure Jasper’s friends wouldn’t decide to do something stupid—beyond harboring a fugitive—had been all over Marti. Their interest had only intensified when they’d learned she’d been the one to get the drop on all three of the men.

  While he and Cage had felt a little useless, it had still been funny as hell watching the men in uniform angling to get her number.

  Knowing it was going to be a long drive, he decided it was time he and Marti got to know each other a little better. They’d been assigned as partners for three weeks now, and he still didn’t know much about her other than she was a hardass and unafraid to mix it up in the gym with a little hand-to-hand during the tactical training Cage insisted they undergo. “So, did you give your cellphone number to any of those Anaconda boys?”

  From the corner of her eye, he watched as she aimed a killer glare his way. “Nope.” Her arms crossed over her chest. “Already have a boyfriend.”

  His eyebrows rose. “Seriously? Why’d you never mention him?” He couldn’t imagine who would have the balls to ask her out on a date. The guy had to have big brass nuts.

  “He’s a park ranger,” she mumbled.

  “You meet him while you were hunting that skip in Yellowstone?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  Man, pulling words out of her was work. “He have a name?”

  “Don’t most folks?” Her head turned towards him. Her mouth curved into a smirk.

  He arched an eyebrow. “You know, most partners try to get to know each other.”

  She let out a deep sigh. “You got a girlfriend or a boyfriend?”

  He chuckled. “Nope. Neither.”

  “Got a preference?”

  “I do.” His chest shook because she was grinning now.

  “So, why’d you come to Dead Horse? I heard you started out in Bear Lodge with those ‘fake’ bounty hunters.”

  “They’re not fake.”

  “I know. I’ve seen Bounty Hunter Barbie in action.”

  “Was she your inspiration for that little act you put on back there?” he asked, shooting her a quick glance.

  Marti wrinkled her nose. “She said we women should use what God gave us to bring dirtbags to justice. Can’t believe I did that.”

  “Me neither. It was an inspired play.”

  Marti laughed. “It was, wasn’t it? I had all three of them on their knees.”

  “You know, Lacey’s going to make sure you’re outfitted with everything a Bounty Hunter Barbie needs, now.”

  She groaned. “Oh, good Lord. I didn’t think about that. She’s going to be all proud mama over this. Probably give me a shit-ton of makeup and a push-up bra.” She turned his way again. “His name’s Caleb McKay, by the way. My boyfriend.”

  Preacher relaxed. This was what he’d wanted. Getting to know a partner helped in building a bond. They had to trust one another when it counted. “Sounds like a fake name. Caleb McKay sounds like it’s right out of one of those romance books.”

  “I know, right? Not that I read those.”

  “How’d you two meet?”

  “Well, it’s a long story and involves an asshole I was chasing, named Ardell Forman, and a big, angry bison…”

  Preacher settled back in his seat, smiling as Marti rested her foot on the dash of his SUV and began her tale...

  Chapter 2

  Two days later, Preacher got a text as he was climbing into his black Suburban, ready to head into work.

  Fig: It’s your turn to bring the donuts. Get them from Deadly Delights.

  Preacher checked his watch. He had time.

  How many? And what?

  Fig: Two dozen kolaches. Two dozen mixed. Don’t drag ass.

  Ooh, bossy. Who pissed on your cornflakes?

  Fig: HaHa. Got a lot to go over.

  Preacher’s mood lightened. He didn’t mind donut duty, not when the woman behind the counter at Deadly Delights was one very pretty blonde who wore confectionary sugar like most women wore powder on their noses. Whenever he saw a light dusting on her cheek, he had the urge to lean over the counter and lick it. Likely every male in the vicinity had the same urge.

  Asking her out on a date had been on his mind for a while. He’d never noticed a ring on her finger and hadn’t seen her around town with any guys, so he thought maybe he should. After all, he’d been here a little while and needed to make some friends. Maybe, he could talk her into showing him around.

  He grimaced. That might not be the best line. It would be the world’s shortest date. Dead Horse was a tiny town. A guided tour would take all of ten minutes.

  Deadly Delights was on Main Street, which was on his route anyway with the Dead Horse Motel on the opposite side of town from Montana Bounty Hunters. Preacher shook his head as he passed the businesses lined up along the strip—Dead Center Guns & Pawn, Dead as a Doornail Hardware, The Drop-Dead Gorgeous Salon.

  He laughed. “They certainly have a theme going.”

  He passed the lone empty and boarded up store with the name “Dead ‘n’ Gone Antiques next to Deadly Delights and pulled into an empty parking space in front of the donut shop. Inside, business was brisk. He stood in line, trying not to look as though he was checking out the shapely proprietor while he was certainly checking her out. When it was his turn at the counter, his reason for being there completely escaped him.

  It was those eyes—the prettiest blue, like cornflowers or maybe bluebonnets—although why he remembered any flowers’ names when he couldn’t remember his own was a mystery. Or maybe it was her pretty light blond hair that she always wore in a long braid. Or maybe her pale skin with that light dusting of caramel-colored freckles across the bridge of her nose. He kept his gaze above her shoulders because he’d never drag it away from her full breasts and hips…

  “Did you want something?” she asked, leaning over the counter, her expression becoming concerned.

  You and some of that whipped cream frosting you’re wiping off your fingers… Frozen in place, he was sure he probably looked like a complete moron. He raised his phone to read the text message from Fig then cleared his throat. “I need kolaches and donuts.”

  The woman’s mouth twitched at the corners. “How many people you feeding? Just yourself?”

  He felt heat begin to fill his cheeks. Dammit. He’d never get her to go out with him if he couldn’t untwist his tongue. “Two dozen of each. And mixed… Um, mixed donuts, that is.”

  She nodded and pulled four pink boxes from beneath the counter, unfolding them then laying down tissue paper or some such in the bottoms of the containers to line them.

  She quickly filled his order then stacked the boxes neatly beside the cash register.

  He already had his credit card out, not wanting to extend the conversation because he’d likely make a bigger fool out of himself if he did. Then he noticed the light coating of something white on her collarbone. It looked like the glazing on the donuts she’d put into the box. His mouth watered.

  She rang up the order and handed him back his card. “Would you like a cup of coffee to take with you, sir?”

  “Preacher,” he blurted.

  She shook her head. “Pardon me?”

  “Not sir. Preacher.”

  “That your first or last name?”

  “It’s what I’m called.” At this point he wished the floor would just open up and swallow him whole.

  “Well, Preacher,” she said, leaning over the counter and smiling as she handed him a coffee, “you have a good day.”

  He managed a nod before reaching for the boxes and the coffee and quickly ex
iting the store. “Damn. Fuck. Shit,” he whispered under his breath as he headed to his vehicle.

  Another chance missed. It would be five more days before he’d have donut duty again. He wondered if he shouldn’t practice in front of a mirror before he attempted to talk to her again, or maybe he needed a wingman or woman to help him out.

  The thought of asking Marti to accompany him made him snort. Yeah, like he’d ever let that happen. She’d never let him hear the end of it if he froze like that in front of her.

  The crew was seated around the table when he arrived. Lacey stood and reached for the boxes. She’d already laid out paper plates and napkins. The boxes were passed around the table.

  “Was that pretty blonde working today?” Lacey asked, her gaze locking on him.

  He felt heat creep into his cheeks. “Yeah. Of course. It’s her place, isn’t it?”

  “What’s her name? I keep forgetting to ask.”

  “Laura Pinchot,” he blurted, then realized he’d been baited when Lacey’s grin stretched.

  “Laura Pinchot. Pretty name,” she said. “Why haven’t you asked her out on a date? That’s how you swing, right?”

  Preacher narrowed his gaze and shot her boyfriend, Dagger, a glare. “Is she always in everyone’s business?”

  Dagger smiled and placed his arm around her shoulder. “It’s just who she is. She wants everyone as happy as she is.”

  Lacey scoffed and pushed his arm away. “I’m still not talking to you.”

  “What’d he go and do now?” Fig asked, one dark brow arching.

  “It’s not what he did—it’s what he didn’t do,” Lacey said. “And I’m not talking about it.”

  “Good to hear,” Dagger said, under his breath.

  “He doesn’t like it when I talk about sex with other people.”

  “You have sex with other people?” Fig said, her eyebrows rising, but her tone teasing.

  Lacey’s shoulders shook. “Would serve him right.”

  “I’ll remember that the next time you ask me to go d—”

  Lacey elbowed his side—so hard, apparently, he was left breathless.

  “Can we get back to business?” Cage said, his tone dry.

  “Hard to do when we never started…” Fig muttered.

  “Fig, let’s go over the list from the home office. Anything in our area, starting with the highest bounties and working our way down…?”

  * * *

  Assignments were made. Lacey and Dagger were heading toward Helena to grab a pedophile who’d failed to make his date in court. Lacey had left with fire in her eyes, eager to be the one to take the unlucky fellow down. No doubt a pretty pink boot would find itself lodged in the guy’s nuts if she had her way.

  Cage had offered another middling bounty—one for a meth dealer who’d skated out of town the morning he was due in court—to Preacher and Marti, but Preacher had asked to take a list of drug test skips so he could stay closer to home this week, saying he had some personal business to attend to, so Cage and Marti headed out together.

  Preacher had sat with Fig, working on cold calls to relatives and girlfriends until he was pretty sure he’d have no trouble finding his skips.

  When he headed toward the door, Fig lifted her chin. “Say hi to Laura.”

  He hadn’t bothered answering—or turning around to give her a scowl, because his hot cheeks would’ve told her she’d hit her mark.

  Once he was in his SUV, he glanced at the folders in his hand but ended up tossing them onto the seat beside him. He wasn’t going to get a thing done until he faced the issue that had been nagging at him all day.

  Asking a woman for a date wasn’t a big deal. He’d done it dozens of times—and most women said yes. Maybe they had because they’d known he was a member of an elite fighting force. Nowadays, he was just a rough bounty hunter. No uniform, but a badge that most folks either eyed with disdain or humor, depending on which TV show they happened to watch.

  Well, he’d ask her, and if she said no, that would be it. At least, he’d stop obsessing over her. There were plenty of single women in this town. Hell, he’d take out old Nadine from the diner with her missing teeth and grumpy disposition. Didn’t matter. All he was looking for was company.

  Right. What he was looking for was what Cage and Dagger had. Someone to go home to because having a loving partner was what made a home.

  He turned onto Main Street, taking his time while he tried out different lines in his head. By the time he parked in front of Deadly Delights, he was pretty sure he’d forget every one of them, which was frustrating as hell. He’d never had this problem talking to a woman. Sure, he wasn’t the smoothest, but he could manage to carry on half of a conversation without losing his focus. There was just something about her. Something different. Something more. Maybe it was the thought of what she must smell like when a man got up close, like vanilla and secret spice. His dick stirred just thinking about getting that close, and he reached down to readjust himself.

  Get it together. Ask her out. You’re a warrior not a fucking pussy.

  Drawing a deep breath, he exited his vehicle and walked to the door of her shop. Through the window, he could see the shop was empty, then he spotted her. Her back was to the window as she wiped down a counter, her ass twitching enticingly in her jeans. Her Deadly Delights pink T-shirt hugged her waist and the top of her hips. Both were a little on the generous side, something he admired. But he was getting ahead of himself, imagining what she looked like beneath them, round and pale and pink…

  Good Lord, he was getting hard again.

  He reached for the handle and opened the door. The bell above the door tinkled, and she turned, a smile already on her face. When she saw it was him, her smile changed. He wasn’t sure exactly how or what it meant, but her lips seemed a little plumper. And there he was again, imagining how they’d feel beneath his or around him.

  “Twice in one day,” she said, a hint of sparkle in her eyes.

  “I like your donuts.” God, for the second time that day he wished the floor would swallow him whole.

  “I make sandwiches, too,” she said, “if you don’t want a sugar coma. I was about to make myself a chicken salad sandwich. Care to join me?”

  His heart stuttered. Had she just…? “Sure,” he blurted. “I’d like that.”

  “Do you like a lot of mayo?”

  He nodded. “Sure,” he repeated.

  “Sweet or tangy relish?”

  “Tangy,” he said, glad he got the word out without his tongue garbling it.

  She lifted her chin toward a table in the corner. “Go have a seat. I’ll bring some tea. Sweet?”

  “Of course,” he mumbled.

  She laughed and turned away. His shoulders slumped, feeling as though he’d better get seated and get his shit together, because he was about to have to face her across a table, and who knew how that would go when he wasn’t ready and hadn’t practiced in his head what he’d say to her when he had her to himself other than, “Can I kiss you?”

  * * *

  Laura moved around behind the counter, gathering what she needed to make the sandwiches. She’d already prepared chicken salad and just needed to add a bit of mayo and the relish. While she worked, she tried her best to tamp down her excitement.

  He’d said yes! Okay, so this wasn’t exactly a date or anything like it, but she’d had her eye on him for a few weeks now. She knew he was one of the bounty hunters in the new agency that was building an office on the edge of town. From Nadine, she’d learned that most of them were former military types, which made sense when you looked at them. Most of the men, and one of the women, looked extremely fit and carried themselves with the confidence only battle-tested people could. While she’d met all of them over the course of the last month, seeing as how they had a daily donut run, the one she’d been most impressed with was sitting at her table now.

  Preacher, he’d called himself. Likely it was one of those nicknames the men in his unit
had given him. But why Preacher? Was it because anyone he faced in battle called out to God? She chuckled at her own thought. She was building him up in her mind to be this heroic figure, and he was likely an average Joe—with a god-like physique. The man didn’t have an ounce of fat on his hard body.

  That thought sank like a lead weight. What would a man who took such great care of his body want with a woman who liked her own donuts a little too much?

  Well, she had him for the next little while. She’d make the most of the moment.

  She brought the sandwiches, a bowl of kettle-fried chips, and two tall glasses of ice tea to the table.

  He stood as she approached and reached to take the tray.

  She let him, feeling like her femininity went into hyperdrive as she stood beside him and noted his height and the breadth of his shoulders. When he held out her chair for her to take her seat, she smiled. “Someone taught you manners.”

  “My mother was big on that,” he said, then closed his lips. He took his seat across from her and waited as she handed him his plate and set the bowl in the center of the table, the glasses beside their settings. She reached behind her to stow the tray on an empty table then faced him again, catching his glance as it whipped up from her breasts to her face again. So, maybe he didn’t mind a little extra padding in certain places…

  His gaze went to his sandwich, and he picked it up, taking a deep bite then slowly chewing.

  She did the same, only a smaller bite because she hoped to prolong their conversation. “You’re one of the bounty hunters. How do you like the work?”

  He swallowed and gave her a nod. “I like it fine.”

  She waited for a moment, expecting a little more clarification, but when it didn’t come, she smiled and glanced around her shop. “I love what I do, too.”