Page 45 of Where They Belong

Mason slid a french fry around in a puddle of ketchup on his plate. “I guess you see a lot of the ugly side of life.”

“Too much, unfortunately,” Colt replied. “But don’t get me wrong. I do see a lot of good too. People have a way of coming together to help each other when times are tough. That’s what keeps me doing what I do. I know I’m helping people, and I know that overall, people are good. It’s just hard sometimes when you see so much of the ugly underbelly.”

“I get that,” Mason said. “I see it too, and I see the results of it in the animals who trusted and depended on those who didn’t give a shit about them.”

Mason fell silent then, gaze laser focused on his meal. He’d taken his cowboy hat off when they’d sat down, and that unruly lock of golden-brown hair hung over his brow and shielded his eyes. Colt’s fingers itched to push the loose strands away, to offer comfort.

Instead, he picked up his burger and focused on his lunch.

A short while later, with their meals finished and Mason insisting on picking up the tab, they stepped outside and stood on the sidewalk in front of the diner. It was a gorgeous summer afternoon. The sun was a hot caress on Colt’s face and the air fragrant with fruit trees and fresh flowers in large planters that lined the streets. Flags and banners hung in storefronts, and a large banner stretched across the street, announcing the town’s Fourth of July Festival. Pedestrians passing them all smiled or tipped a hat in greeting. Many wished Mason a good day by name, including Colt in their salutations, even though, after twenty years, he was a stranger in town. He was reminded how friendly the people of Havenridge were. Most of them, anyway. And for a moment, he imagined he wasn’t here on a job with a limited shelf life but that he lived here again, on the ranch with Mason like they’d once dreamed of as kids.

Was there any possibility that could be a reality?

He shoved the thought away. One thing at a time. Mason’s safety needed to be his full focus.

They walked side by side across the street. Colt noticed the black pickup truck he’d seen the other day, with the Circle B logo on the side, parked a few spots down from his vehicle.

“Mason,” Gus Bristow called out and waved his arm. Two men followed behind. One was the same man Colt had seen with Gus the last time, his son Gentry, and the third man also bore the family resemblance but was younger and ruggedly handsome, whereas Gus and the older son were more of a rough “been in the sun too long” kind of rugged.

Mason turned and sighed. His mouth flattened, and Colt noticed tension sharpen his posture. The change was subtle, and no one who hadn’t been looking—or who knew Mason—would have picked up on it.

Colt dropped into law enforcement mode. He scanned the area and assessed the approaching cowboys while mentally cataloguing potential threats and escape routes. They were directly in front of a bookstore that he could rush Mason into and an old pickup truck that could be used for cover. It wasn’t much, but it would do. He let his hands hang at his side. To an untrained eye, he knew he looked relaxed, but he was poised and ready for anything that might happen.

“What do you want, Gus,” Mason said, irritation ringing loud in his voice.

“My lawyers sent my final offer over for the acreage I want,” Gus said. His patronizing tone made Colt want to knock him down a notch or ten. “I trust you’ve had a chance to review it.”

“Yeah, no.” Mason shook his head and snorted. “I filed it in drawer thirteen.”

Gus stared at Mason for a long minute. His gaze slid to Colt, and he narrowed his eyes before looking back to Mason.

“Which means what, exactly?”

“Which means,” Mason ground out, “I won’t be reviewing any offers. Not this one. None of the previous ones, or any in the future. My land is not for sale and never will be.”

Both of Gus’s sons folded their arms across their chests. Typical intimidation tactic. Colt knew Mason hadn’t handled confrontation well when they were younger and worried he’d buckle under Gus’s aggressive stare and threatening stance.

“That’s the best offer you’re going to get,” Gus said with a hard edge to his voice.

“I don’t care.” Mason suddenly seemed taller as he took a step closer to Gus, surprising Colt. “What part ofnever for saledo you not get?”

Gentry, the older son, moved a step forward, and so did Colt. Mason slid an annoyed glance at him and then turned hard eyes back on Gus—who was grinning like he knew something Mason didn’t. All the bells in Colt’s gut began ringing as the tension escalated.

“Your sister’s husband agrees with me that you should sell,” the pompous bastard said. There was a note of glee in his voice that set Colt’s teeth on edge. “It’s a great deal.”

Surprise flashed over Mason’s features before he schooled his expression, but not fast enough that Gus didn’t catch it. He grinned wider, looking proud of himself.

“He can think whatever he wants,” Mason said flatly. “My name is on the deed. Theonlyname on the deed.”

Gentry sidled up beside Gus and, to Mason, said, “One way or another, that land will be ours.”

Oh hell no. Colt took another step and stood at Mason’s side, close enough for their shoulders to brush.

“Is that a threat?” Colt demanded.

The cowboy took Colt’s measure with a roaming gaze down Colt’s body and back up, disdain in his pinched eyes and his mouth set in a sneer.

“What of it, fa—”

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