Page 154 of Nothing Special X: The Last Stand

He flipped a page with a snap and jabbed one thick finger at an article as if it’d offended him.

“Now see,” Walker muttered, lowering the newspaper with a disgusted flick of his wrist, “this is what I don’t understand. Interim sheriff been sitting in that office collecting a check but ain’t done a damn thing.”

Syn frowned.

Walker slapped the paper with the back of his hand. “Is there not one qualified man in this county willing to apply for this job?”

Sheriff.

A badge without the constant beat of a war drum.

A county that needed help.

Syn set his fork down slowly, not ready to admit how hard that thought had just hit him.

“Pick the B, girl,” Amelia shouted at the game show. “Ain’t no word got two Qs in it like that. Pick the B.”

The contestant picked a Q.

Amelia threw both hands up. “Ugh!”

Bull poured coffee into a thermos and bitched about there not being enough vanilla creamer, Fox kept stealing bacon from Walker’s plate while he was consumed with the news. Dale wouldn’t stop trying to assign Rid extra tasks that he continued rejecting, and Syn sat there eating the best breakfast he’d ever had while the room roared around him.

Fox turned his attention on him. “You ready for your lesson?”

Syn swallowed. “Uh yeah, I think so.”

“Don’t be anxious. You met Nimbus,” Fox said. “He likes you.”

“He liked frozen apples.”

“Same thing in horse language.”

Syn took another bite of potatoes. “You’re right. It’s a horse. How hard can it be?”

Every person in the kitchen went quiet.

Syn paused with the fork to his mouth.

Fox grinned. “You’ll be fine.”

“No, wait a minute, what was that?”

No one answered.

Before Syn could press further, a voice came from the doorway behind him. Deep and melodic, still rough from sleep. “Got room for one more?” Furi stood in the doorway.

Rid glanced up, then turned his head and spit orange juice clear across the dining room.

Dale jerked back. “Jesus Christ, Rid.”

Rid’s eyes went comically wide. His mouth hanging open as he stared past Syn.

Furi’s hair was brushed out, fluffy and loose, a long champagne-gold fall spilling over his shoulders, down his back, almost to his hips.

He wore a black tank top that left his arms and shoulders bare, inked skin on full display. His denims rode low on his hips, faded and worn, tucked into biker boots that gave the ranch environment a dose of city sexiness.

He looked rested and beautiful.