Her Heart-Stealing Cowboys [Hellfire Ranch 2] (Siren Publishing Ménage Amour) by Jennifer August Page A

followed through with his threat.
    Rebecca handed back her signed receipt. She had a feeling the wedding party—whoever they were—could set off bombs in their rooms and she wouldn’t report it. She understood kids being kids even if they were adults. No need to ruin a wedding weekend just because of shenanigans. Although maybe bombs aren’t the best example considering one has already gone off in this hotel. “Okay, great. Thanks.”
    Whitcombe slid the metal key across the countertop then snatched it back. “Oh, dear, 230 won’t work.”
    Tag shifted beside her. When she peeked up at him he wore a look of growing impatience. She held out her hand. “It will be fine, Mr. Whitcombe.”
    “No, no. You see there is also a single, young man from Bastrop in 228. He’s just across the hall from you.”
    Tag inhaled sharply. “What’s his name?”
    “Sheriff, you know I can’t tell you that.”
    The ticking muscle resumed in Tag’s jaw. “Is that the reporter? Don’t tell him a God damn thing about anything, Whitty. You hear me?”
    The Brit sniffed and drew himself up so tight he resembled one of those wooden butlers she saw in antique stores. “Of course not, Sheriff. We pride ourselves on being discreet here at the Calico Queen.”
    “Since when?”
    Eager to head off the brewing argument, Rebecca wiggled her fingers. “I promise, it’ll be okay.” She didn’t know if his British sensibilities were scandalized by the thought of her being near a single man, but she didn’t care. She just wanted to get her key and find her room.
    Whitcombe held Tag’s hard gaze for a moment longer then nodded. “Very well, then. One room key.” He gave her a lone metal key with a red tag emblazoned with the Calico Queen in gold script. “The hotel is a bit old-fashioned but we’re working on that. Clean linens are provided every three days unless you request them more often. If you do, there’s a five-dollar laundry charge per day. Same for towels. There is a safe in the closet. You set it with your own password. We don’t have any Internet access and the phone is a party line.” He gave her a tight smile. “Updates in technology are very expensive. We do have color television, though. And cable.”
    No Internet? Impossible! Ridiculous! I’ll never survive. Rebecca reeled at the thought of being Webless. She swallowed and nodded numbly then turned to leave.
    Tag’s big hand wrapped around her elbow and turned her to the left. “Door’s this way, Miss Lyons.”
    She stumbled back into the searing light of the Texas sun then wilted into the car when he opened the door for her. Her skull hit the headrest with a loud plop. She tried to erase the look of shock and horror she figured was all over her face before he got inside. The car swayed as he sat down.
    Tag started the engine. “You okay?”
    She cracked her neck and frowned. “No Internet? Are you freaking kidding me? What about 4G service? Tell me I can get online with my phone at least.”
    He grinned and gunned the car. “Spotty at best. Welcome to Mayberry.”

Chapter Four
     
    “Afternoon, Maljib,” Wade said as he ducked into the Tin Star. “How’s it going?”
    “Very well, Mr. Merritt, thank you. Yourself?”
    Wade grimaced. “How many years is it gonna take for you to call me Wade?”
    The dark-haired man smiled and smoothed a hand over his lapel. “How many has it been?”
    “Seven.”
    “Hm. Perhaps seven more. Sheriff Cain and a lovely young woman are here. Would you care to join them?”
    “Yeah.” Wade followed the restaurateur down the narrow hallway toward the large dining room. “Why so long?”
    “My people believe in formality. I’m merely following tradition.”
    Wade snorted. “Right. This is the same tradition that would have had you married to a seventeen-year-old on your thirty-fifth birthday. Remember?”
    Maljib shuddered. “Please, do not remind me.” His voice held just the barest hint of an accent. Not quite