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Chapter One

Bishop

"Imet someone."

I glance up from the stallion I'm trying to shoe to find Morgan Hendrix standing by Jon Bon Pony's stall, her hands shoved into her pockets and an innocent look on her face.

This isn't good news for me.

With Morgan, that look never is.

I toss my rasp aside, lowering Stryker's leg to the ground while trying to mentally prepare for whatever wild shit she's about to dump in my lap. Goddamn, I'm too tired for this. I slept like shit last night. And unless I'm way off base here, I'm going to sleep even less tonight.

I miss when life on this ranch was boring.

Once upon a time, all I had to worry about was the never-ending list of shit that needed to be done around here. And then everyone started falling in love. Nothing turns a ranch upside down faster than a bunch of cowboys losing their minds over their women.

For the record, that'll never be me. I have nothing against love. It's just not something I intend to find for myself. I know exactly what that kind of madness will do to a man. Ask my pops. He spent his entire life chasing after a woman who was too busy chasing her dreams to worry about the husband and son waiting at home.

And I'm sure my old man is up there right now, telling everyone in heaven who will listen how they had a love story so great they even died together. The truth is…it was only great in his mind. In hers, I don't think it even registered once the front door closed behind her. She forgot we existed as soon as her feet hit the porch every time she'd leave again.

"Did you hear me, Bishop?" Morgan asks.

"Unfortunately," I sigh. "Are you telling me this because you hope I'll talk Blaze out of murder, or because you're hoping I'll give whoever you met a head start?"

"What?" She blinks at me, confusion clouding her gaze.

"Your husband is going to be pissed that you met someone when you're wearing his ring and carrying his kid, Calamity." And I'll probably have to help him bury the body of whichever poor bastard charmed her.

Is thirty-nine too young to retire? Maybe I should ask Flint.

"Oh. Oh!" Morgan's eyes widen, her mouth popping open. Two seconds later, her hands land on her wide hips, her eyes narrowing on me. "What the heck, Bishop? You think I'm cheating on Blaze?"

Well, put that way, it does sound stupid. She's as obsessed with Blaze as he is with her. Just last week, she was pissed because Coby Kaiser refused to tattoo Blaze's name on her because she's pregnant. Apparently, that's "discrimination against pregnant women".

Don't ask me. Morgan's wild all the fucking time.

But still…

"You're the one who started this conversation with 'I met someone'," I remind her. Maybe it was small talk. Maybe it was a confession. Or, hell, maybe she's about to fuck up my whole world. With Morgan, there's no telling. She's always up to something. And it's always some bullshit guaranteed to cause chaos.

You gotta love her crazy ass, though.

She rolls her eyes at me. "I'd never cheat on Blaze."

"Glad to hear it." I shoot her a slow, lazy grin. "Didn't much feel like being an accessory to murder tonight. I'm tired."

"The fact that you're only objecting to murder because you're tired is deeply concerning," she sniffs before turning to scratch Jon's ears. The horse eats up the attention, his tail swishing enthusiastically against the stall, like a damn dog.

"Who'd you meet?" I ask after a moment. More importantly, why is she telling me? I know damn well that there's a reason. I'm just not entirely sure I want to know what that reason is.

"A musician."

"Huh." I lift Stryker's leg again.

"Her name is Callie Jenkins."

Well, fuck me.