“You can turn aroundright nowand get thefuckoff my property,” Mason shouted at the dark-haired man sitting behind the wheel.
The man frowned as he cracked the driver’s-side door open, but when he caught sight of Colt—who made a point of letting his jacket flap open to reveal the butt of his gun—he closed the door and rolled the window down instead.
“You haven’t responded to any of my emails or phone calls,” the man said, his tone belligerent. “What else am I supposed to do?”
Was he a spurned lover? Colt frowned at the thought. He didn’t want Mason. There was too much water under the bridge for them, but the idea of someone else touching him, loving him, sparked a flare of jealousy Colt had never felt before.
“Take a goddamnhint,” Mason railed. “That’s what you’re supposed to do.”
“What’s going on here?” Colt demanded evenly. His gaze locked on the driver, hyperaware of the man’s movements as he catalogued every detail to memory.
Mason gestured at the man with a flap of his hand. “Meet Jack Wilks. Your number one suspect.”
“Suspect?” Jack squawked, his eyebrows shooting up. “What the hell are you talking about? I just want my lease reinstated.”
Mason stomped right up to the driver’s-side door, his body so tense and spring-coiled Colt could feel the red-hot vibration in his own bones. Colt jumped forward to deescalate the situation and maneuvered himself between Mason and the truck. He placed a hand on Mason’s chest and gave a firm push for Mason to back up.
Mason didn’t even flick a glance at him. To Jack, he growled, “That will never happen.”
“Okay, okay.” Jack slanted a nervous glance at Colt. “I’ll just pop by later, then, so we can talk.”
Jack was pulling away before he even finished his sentence.
“The hell you will!” Mason shouted at the retreating vehicle.
Mason turned to Colt with a fury in his eyes that set Colt back a step. It wasn’t that he was afraid of Mason in any way, but it was the rush of desire that blasted his guts like a bomb had gone off. The second time in a matter of minutes. Sure, Mason had grown into a beautiful man, but like this—fiery and intense and alive—he was magnificent.
“You can put that piece of shit at the top of your suspect list,” Mason ground out as he spun on his bootheels and stormed back to Colt’s truck.
He slammed the door closed and glared at Colt through the windshield, who stood rooted to the ground from Mason’s outburst and his own wild freight train of emotions.
“Well?” Mason shouted, his voice clear and impatient from behind the glass. “Let’s go!”
Colt shook off the unexpected and unwanted arousal, took a deep breath, and walked back to his truck.Just a job, he mentally reminded himself.Just a fucking job.
Mason flipped the black bean burger patties sizzling in the skillet. They could have gone to the dining hall and had whatever Aiden, his live-in head chef, had prepared for dinner, but Mason needed to keep his mind and body busy. He also didn’t feel like being around all the hands, fielding their questions about what had happened with Cuervo and Thad, and did they know who was behind it, and so on.
They’d been at the hospital for hours and ended up bringing Thad home with them. He was fortunate his injuries were minor enough that he didn’t need to stay, but they were severe enough to keep him from much physical work for the next few weeks. He’d cracked three ribs, had massive bruising from the force of the seat belt, a minor case of whiplash, and multiple facial lacerations. But he was alive.
That Thad hadn’t been able to stop the truck troubled Mason. The brakes had failed. Mason had put new brakes on the truck last year, so there was no way that should have happened.
He rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand and pushed a lock of hair behind his ear. It was a little after seven in the evening, but it may as well have been midnight after the roller coaster of a day he’d had. His emotions had run the gamut and continued to do so. Fury at what happened to Cuervo, panic over Thad’s accident, and guilt that it had been Thad behind the wheel at all. He was supposed to have been driving the truck—it should have been him. And what if Katie had taken his truck instead? Or Trina? He wasn’t going to give Colt the satisfaction, but he could at least admit to himself things had become more serious than he’d anticipated. He’d been so certain whoever was trying to scare him with mischief-level threats would give up.
“That smells good.”
Colt walked into the kitchen and interrupted his thoughts from their downward spiral. He sat in his usual seat at the end of the island that he’d claimed as his office. Papers, notes, and photos were scattered about. Mason shook his head at how quickly Colt had taken up space in his house. Like he belonged there. Even Diesel and Marley accepted him as family and only perked their ears when Colt came into the room, not moving from their spot between the kitchen table and the foyer.
Mason forced a semblance of a smile he knew there was no way Colt would believe was real but really didn’t care just then. “Black bean burgers with sun-dried tomato and feta.”
“Say what now?”
Colt had looked at him funny the first time Mason told him he was mostly vegetarian—much like he was looking at Mason now—even though he raised buffalo, as well as chickens. He wasn’t hard-core about it. He did have a buffalo steak once or twice over the winter.
“You’ll love it,” Mason said with a confidence he didn’t have to feign.
“Hmm, we’ll see,” Colt said skeptically. “Can I help?”
“Thanks, but no. I have it all under control.”
