CHAPTER 1
“What’s that?” Troy fixed the offending object with a suspicious glare.
“What does it look like, dumb ass?” his best friend replied.
“No, hell no,” Troy protested loudly. Heads turned in the tiny café, at least heads of anyone not a regular customer. The waitress just refilled Troy’s glass, completely inured to loud arguments from the two men.
“I’m going on vacation, remember?” Troy pretended not to see Ken’s smirk. “Sun, sand, hot guys. You know va-ca-tion. That thing normal people do to forget real life.”
“The pay’s good.”
Damn. The three little words he could never ignore. Troy accepted the offered photograph with an exaggerated sigh.
“It’s an easy job,” Kenneth Saunders, attorney-at-law, protested.
“That’s what you said about the last one.”
Ken shrugged. “How was I supposed to know the ex was going to follow you?”
Troy sighed again, quietly this time, studying the back of the picture. He didn’t want to look at it. He’d been thinking lately about finding another line of work. This one was getting to his last nerve.
He flipped over the picture. “Damn,” he murmured. Was he drooling? He surreptitiously checked his reflection in the window. No, but it was a close thing. Fuck him raw, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen such a gorgeous sight.
“Who is he?” Troy asked, unable to tear his eyes from the vision. Even in an amateur photograph with bad lighting, the guy was stunning. Tall and muscular, mile-wide shoulders narrowing down to slim hips and thighs roped with visible muscles. The tight, tight blue jeans left nothing to imagination. His dirt-streaked shirt hung open, giving a tantalizing glimpse of chiseled abs through the thin white tank top. Troy would just bet that a taut, mouth-watering ass went with that body. The face was shadowed beneath the wide brim of a well-worn cowboy hat, but who cared? A body like that made up for all kinds of ugly.
“His name is Rafe Morgan. A horse breeder from Wyoming.”
“So where do I come in?”
Damn, for a minute there he’d forgotten why he had the picture. If Ken was bringing it to him in the form of a job, then the hunk was probably distressingly straight.
“Inheritance case.”
Score! Maybe not so straight. Or at least, maybe corruptible. That could be fun.
“All right, lay it out.”
“I thought you might say that.” Ken dug through a briefcase big enough to double as a suitcase. He tugged on the edge of a manila folder, yanking until it ripped free. He handed it over.
Troy eyed the ragged edges and coffee stains with wry amusement. It was a damn good thing that Ken was brilliant in the courtroom, because his organizational skills seriously sucked.
He flipped the folder open and scanned the contents. Rafe Morgan. 37. Single, no kids or exes. Sole owner and proprietor of the Double M. Breeds an even mix of quarter horses and Appaloosas. Known for producing solid reining horses, both for competition and work. Mother and father deceased. Siblings…
“Mark Morgan?” The name popped off the sheet and caught his attention. “He’s your client?”
Ken nodded. “Yeah. A half brother. Seems Dad sometimes got a little wild on Saturday nights.”
“Isn’t that a song?”
“Focus, Troy.”
“Sorry. So what does he want with Morgan?”
“Which one?”
“Now you’re the one who needs to focus. What does little Morgan want with big Morgan?”
“Oh, right. Well, Mark Morgan just turned eighteen and got a good look at Morgan Senior’s will. He brought it to me. It’s a vague sucker.”
“Let me guess. Rafe inherited the ranch from dear old Dad, and Mark wants a piece of the pie?”
“That about sums it up. Morgan Senior was a bit of a bastard and didn’t leave much to his illegitimate family. Mark’s strapped for cash.”
“So how’s he affording you? And for that matter, how’s he affording me?”
Ken shrugged, a hint of red staining his high cheekbones. His delicate features,
“What’s that?” Troy fixed the offending object with a suspicious glare.
“What does it look like, dumb ass?” his best friend replied.
“No, hell no,” Troy protested loudly. Heads turned in the tiny café, at least heads of anyone not a regular customer. The waitress just refilled Troy’s glass, completely inured to loud arguments from the two men.
“I’m going on vacation, remember?” Troy pretended not to see Ken’s smirk. “Sun, sand, hot guys. You know va-ca-tion. That thing normal people do to forget real life.”
“The pay’s good.”
Damn. The three little words he could never ignore. Troy accepted the offered photograph with an exaggerated sigh.
“It’s an easy job,” Kenneth Saunders, attorney-at-law, protested.
“That’s what you said about the last one.”
Ken shrugged. “How was I supposed to know the ex was going to follow you?”
Troy sighed again, quietly this time, studying the back of the picture. He didn’t want to look at it. He’d been thinking lately about finding another line of work. This one was getting to his last nerve.
He flipped over the picture. “Damn,” he murmured. Was he drooling? He surreptitiously checked his reflection in the window. No, but it was a close thing. Fuck him raw, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen such a gorgeous sight.
“Who is he?” Troy asked, unable to tear his eyes from the vision. Even in an amateur photograph with bad lighting, the guy was stunning. Tall and muscular, mile-wide shoulders narrowing down to slim hips and thighs roped with visible muscles. The tight, tight blue jeans left nothing to imagination. His dirt-streaked shirt hung open, giving a tantalizing glimpse of chiseled abs through the thin white tank top. Troy would just bet that a taut, mouth-watering ass went with that body. The face was shadowed beneath the wide brim of a well-worn cowboy hat, but who cared? A body like that made up for all kinds of ugly.
“His name is Rafe Morgan. A horse breeder from Wyoming.”
“So where do I come in?”
Damn, for a minute there he’d forgotten why he had the picture. If Ken was bringing it to him in the form of a job, then the hunk was probably distressingly straight.
“Inheritance case.”
Score! Maybe not so straight. Or at least, maybe corruptible. That could be fun.
“All right, lay it out.”
“I thought you might say that.” Ken dug through a briefcase big enough to double as a suitcase. He tugged on the edge of a manila folder, yanking until it ripped free. He handed it over.
Troy eyed the ragged edges and coffee stains with wry amusement. It was a damn good thing that Ken was brilliant in the courtroom, because his organizational skills seriously sucked.
He flipped the folder open and scanned the contents. Rafe Morgan. 37. Single, no kids or exes. Sole owner and proprietor of the Double M. Breeds an even mix of quarter horses and Appaloosas. Known for producing solid reining horses, both for competition and work. Mother and father deceased. Siblings…
“Mark Morgan?” The name popped off the sheet and caught his attention. “He’s your client?”
Ken nodded. “Yeah. A half brother. Seems Dad sometimes got a little wild on Saturday nights.”
“Isn’t that a song?”
“Focus, Troy.”
“Sorry. So what does he want with Morgan?”
“Which one?”
“Now you’re the one who needs to focus. What does little Morgan want with big Morgan?”
“Oh, right. Well, Mark Morgan just turned eighteen and got a good look at Morgan Senior’s will. He brought it to me. It’s a vague sucker.”
“Let me guess. Rafe inherited the ranch from dear old Dad, and Mark wants a piece of the pie?”
“That about sums it up. Morgan Senior was a bit of a bastard and didn’t leave much to his illegitimate family. Mark’s strapped for cash.”
“So how’s he affording you? And for that matter, how’s he affording me?”
Ken shrugged, a hint of red staining his high cheekbones. His delicate features,
Similar Books
