Page 29 of Forbidden Cowboy

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Page 29 of Forbidden Cowboy

“Papa wasn’t invited either. How do you think he’s going to take it?”

Hart snickers behind me, and the anger I’ve been holding surfaces.

I spin around. A couple of giant steps, and I slam my brother against the wall.

I press my arm against his throat, stopping his cocky chuckle. “I’ve always had your back.”

“Was that while you were sneaking around with a Fox?”

I lean close to his ear. “You’re one to fucking talk. Don’t pretend you haven’t screwed the enemy. And I didn’t say a damn word. Ever.”

His jaw tightens. Anger pools in his glare. “I didn’t prance my easy fuck around for the town to see.”

My arm is in the air and swinging before my judgment catches up—his jaw cracks. My knuckles throb. The punch motivates my brothers to jump in and separate us.

“Is this how I raised my boys? To fight over a Fox?” My pa’s low and deep rumble sounds like thunder. “Guess I failed in raising men.”

“How can a boy raise men?” Mr. Fox maintains a similar stern tone. The space shrinks around the two overbearing men.

Sheriff Nash slams his boots on the floor. “How the hell y’all get in here?” The man lacks common courtesy, manners, and all things kind.

The cold metal kisses my palms as I wrap my fingers around the bars. I catch sight of the Foxes, and Wildes join me at the front of the cells. All appear equally unsettled with the confrontation of our fathers. The last time our dads were together was a town meeting five years ago. Thomas’s brokengavel and a row of smashed chairs later, they’d both been banned from attending town meetings.

The sheriff plows between the two burley men. He’s equally muscular and not afraid to get physical.

“Molly!” He shouts down the thin hallway leading to the front receptionist's desk and exit.

“Yes, sweetie.” Molly Nash happens to be the sheriff’s mother—a sweet little old lady who knits baby hats between phone calls and visitors.

The sheriff growls. “It’s Sheriff Nash in the workplace. What did I tell you about letting visitors back here?”

“No visitors, but their kids are in jail. I would’ve liked to have visited you in jail when you were young.”

Nash holds his hands up, halting her from further speaking. He steps back. “You two, out.”

“I’ll be taking my girls with me.”

The sheriff presses a flat palm against Mr. Fox’s chest, halting his stride. “Not yet.”

“What the hell do you mean not yet?”

“The law punishes criminals,” my pa snickers. I see Hart replicated a hundred times in this man. Everything from his anger to the way he presents himself. Boss of the family. Boss of the room.

“Your boys aren’t free to go either. A meeting at town hall is being organized as we speak.”

“What the hell do my boys in jail have to do with a town meeting?” My pa’s question is reasonable—my curiosity spikes.

“The damage to the town hall is severe. I can charge every Fox and Wilde with mischief concerning property, and mischief causing danger to life, which is an indictable offense and liable to imprisonment. Or they can listen to what Thomas and the town council say.”

My pa shoves a finger in the sheriff’s chest. “Council can kiss my ass.”

“Pa,” I growl.

Calvin Wilde stares me down with his deadly glare. The one he enforced growing up. That single look sure had me obeying the rules without question. “I’d want to stay behind bars if I were you, too.”

“Is that how you raised your boys? On threats and violence?”

“Better than raising them to manipulate men to get what they want.”




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