The Old Man's Back in Town Read Online Free PDF

I’d resisted because the local law dog also happened to be Joel’s brother. While I liked to think my hesitation had more to do with not letting some heavy breather bully me into running with my tail between my legs, I had no doubt that my pride figured into the mix.
    “I’m not sure if you know this,” Buffalo said, “but you need to actually pick up the receiver to make the phone stop ringing.”
    I flipped him off and lifted the handset. “The Ugly Rooster,” I said, using my usual greeting.
    A thick silence came through the line, sounding as if I’d tuned into some empty airspace out over one of the government’s testing ranges. I’d almost rather have the breathing. After the count of three, I hung up.
    “Dead,” I answered Buffalo’s wrinkled brow. I double-checked to make sure the 12-gauge shotgun I’d brought from home earlier this week was still under the counter.
    The bell over the front door jingled, making me jerk in surprise, raising the shotgun in reaction.
    Buffalo hollered over his shoulder, “Bar’s closed.”
    “I disagree.” The deep voice nearly made me choke on my tongue.
    I gripped the shotgun, wishing I’d loaded it with rock salt instead of slugs.
    “You brought out your big gun to welcome me home?” Joel Andersen asked, closing the door on the wailing groan of the Nevada winter wind. “I’m flattered.”
    I put the shotgun down on the bar before I did something stupid like shoot Joel in the toe.
    “Well, well, well,” Buffalo said, his tone low. “Would ya look at that—the old man’s back in town.” He cocked an eyebrow at me. “Am I leavin’?”
    “Stay,” I said, my gaze focused on Joel as he crossed the bar floor, shucking his thick coat along the way. He must have thought he was staying, too. He was mistaken.
    Joel was carrying, as usual, his Colt .45 riding in his shoulder holster.
    Before I sent him back out into the cold winter night, I took a moment to drink in the sight of his wind-ruffled black hair, stubble-covered square jaw, and bright green eyes. My heartbeat ratcheted, my core cranked up the heat, and my mouth went dry.
    Ah, damn. Hell was coming to Christmas.
    Joel cozied up to the bar.
    I crossed my arms over my chest. “Like Buffalo said, the bar’s closed.”
    “I heard him, Shooter.” My childhood nickname rolled off his tongue like he’d never deserted town and left me face down in a mud puddle.
    He patted Buffalo on the back. “Hey Buff, I’m hanging around for a bit. Want some help with fixing up the ol’ Goldwash Grand?”
    Hanging around for a bit? How long was a bit? More importantly, why was Joel here? No, even more worrisome, how was I going to keep from ending up in his bed when just the sight of him had me wanting to vault the bar, lay him out with my fists, and then have my merry naked way with him?
    Criminy, I’d seen centipedes with more backbone than I had when it came to the green-eyed devil in front of me.
    “Free labor? You’re hired.” Buffalo snuck a glance my way. “But aren’t you gonna miss the wild Vegas nightlife?”
    “No,” Joel answered Buffalo, but his green eyes held mine captive, a fire burning in their depths that practically made my skin crackle from the heat. “The nightlife here is much wilder.”
    I took a step back before I got seared. “What do you want, Joel?” I asked, not mincing words.
    His gaze dropped to the front of my shirt. “I need to talk to you, Montana.”
    My body felt the invisible pull that was always there between us, lassoing me, tugging me in.
    I grabbed a bottle of whiskey from the shelf, needing something to scrub the taste of Joel off my mind. “Here’s the deal,” I said, pouring myself a shot. “I spent the last few months trying to work you out of my system.” I tossed back the amber liquid, which burned all of the way down, firing me up. “I’ll be damned if you get to just walk back into my life and fuck me over again.”
    The phone rang. I yanked the