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He was tired of waiting. Ms. Cross was moving too slowly for him. While he admired her skills, he knew Denver Langston would be a tough cowboy to crack.
Thus, he used his money to his advantage, by doing some digging.
He found what he needed.
He sweet talked the woman named Cathy, the mother of Denver Langston’s son. She was also the former fiancé of Mason Langston, the second son of the Langston family. Mason Langston was a professional bull rider and wanted nothing to do with Hallow Ranch.
That worked for Mr. Moonie just fine. One less brother to deal with.
Hallow Ranch would be his soon enough.
Cathy was a dumb woman. She thought her pussy could give her the world and Mr. Moonie was fine with letting her think that.
The two spoke quietly together at the end of the bar.
Then, thirty minutes later, Mr. Moonie’s cock was in her mouth. He fucked her face violently, stroking her tear-stained cheeks as she looked up at him. He praised her and promised her the world as he released down her throat, and then he gave her two hundred bucks.
Not for the blowjob.
She had another job to do now.
Then Mr. Moonie called Valerie Cross and fired her.
Chapter Thirteen
Denver
Threedays.
Three days had passed since she left, and yet, my sheets still smelled like cherries.
It was driving me insane, laying down in bed every single night, smelling her sweet scent and getting a raging fucking hard on from it. I tried to ignore the urge, but then I would be lying in bed and looking at the spot on the wall where I’d pressed against her, and my control would snap.
I’ve fisted my cock seven times since she left, thinking about those gasps and her green eyes as I came.
It was fucking ridiculous and pissed me off to no end.
I glared at the spot where she used to park her car, then looked up to where it was parked by my truck the morning she left.
Son of a fucking—
“You looking for that woman, Dad?”
I turned around to find Caleb sitting on his stool. Narrowing my eyes at him, I took a long sip of my water. “Who are you talking about, son?”
Caleb blinked and then shrugged. “The pretty one who pisses you off?”
My eyebrows rose. “Who in the—”
“The guys are talking about her in the bunkhouse,” my son continued as he brought his sandwich to his mouth. I watched as he took a bite, gulping it down with that red juice he likes so much.
“Number one, who taught you that word? Number two, you don’t need to be listening on in their conversations, son,” I scolded.
“Answer to number one, you did. You cuss all the time. I have ears. That leads to number two; the guys in the bunkhouse talk loud,” he said, taking another bite.
I found myself looking at the ceiling.
Jesus fucking Christ.
