Wrangling Wade – Silver Spoon Cowboys Read Online Nichole Rose

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Insta-Love Tags Authors: Nichole Rose Advertisement

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I'm on him before he even finishes the insult, my fist slamming into his face. He reels backward, falling into the side of the building before landing on his ass.

"Wade!" Harlow cries behind me.

But her warning is already too late.

Sirens cut through the air, a police cruiser coming to a dead stop on the street just a few yards away.

Fuck my life.

Danny spots it at the same time I do, and throws his head back, laughing even as blood pours from his nose. "Looks like one of us is going to jail," he says. "And it isn't me, motherfucker."

Goddammit.

Chapter Eight

Wade

"Jessup."

I glance up from contemplating the stain in the middle of the cement floor to see Dillon Armstrong standing outside my cell, his hands on his hips, a scowl on his face. He looks mad as hell.

Fuck.

I haul myself off the stone bench lining the back wall. "Hey, Dillon."

"You want to tell me why the fuck you're in my holding tank?"

"Broke Danny Palmer's nose again." I yank my hat from my head, running a hand through my hair. "He decided to be a little bitch about it and press charges."

"You broke his nose, Jessup. Did you expect a thank you?"

"I expected him to keep his mouth shut about my girl," I mutter. "He refused."

Dillon sighs so hard, I'm surprised he doesn't stroke out. "Of course this is about a woman. Harlow Spencer, right?"

I narrow my eyes on him. "What about her?"

"She must like your dumbass because she bailed you out."

"She what?" I blink, not sure I heard him correctly.

"She bailed your dumbass out," he said. "Frankly, I'd have left you in here. But that's just me."

Jesus Christ. She bailed me out? I want to kiss and spank her at the same damn time. That isn't her responsibility, especially when she's already struggling.

Dillon leans against the bars of the cell, clearly in no rush to let me go. "He's been causing problems at the Spur?"

"He's jealous that she wouldn't give him the time of day."

He eyes me for a long, silent moment, and then shakes his head, chuckling. "You've always been a stubborn son of a bitch, Jessup. But how about you do us both a favor and cut the bullshit this time? I can't help you if you don't help me. We both know damn well that you and Palmer had issues long before your girl entered the picture. So, talk."

I hesitate and then mutter a curse. "I worked at his ranch for a while a few years back. The prick sent me to buy a tractor off a guy, and failed to mention that the fucker was stolen," I say. "When I found out and confronted him about it, he casually reminded me that I'm the one who bought it, not him, and that I'd do well to keep my mouth shut. He then told everyone on the goddamn ranch that I set up the deal."

"Jesus Christ," Dillon mutters.

"I hit him and then quit on the spot. Been at the Carringtons' place since."

"Why the fuck didn't you come to me?"

"Because there was a ranch full of other motherfuckers for him to blame," I say. "And the only proof I had was a cowboy with a record who heard him setting up the deal in the first place. Figured it was better to keep my mouth shut than for him to point the finger at any of them. You've been sheriff long enough to know that money talks, Dillon. Guys like Palmer walk away from the shit they do, and the guys who work for guys like him take the fall."

Dillon sighs and then nods, unable to deny it. He's a good sheriff, but that doesn't change the way the world works. When you have enough money, it's easy to convince a jury of your peers that you're the good guy, being fucked over by someone you generously employed. Pricks like Danny do it all the time.

"If you search his property, you're going to find stolen property," I say, tiredly. "VIN and serial numbers will probably have been filed off most of it, but a good quarter of his equipment is likely stolen. He'll blame everyone but himself, but he's the one who buys it. He's been doing it for years to save a few bucks."

"I'll take care of it," Dillon mutters, reaching into his pocket to grab a set of keys. He shoves one into the lock on my cell, letting me out. "If we find anything, I'll see what I can do about getting the charges against you dropped."

"Appreciate that," I murmur. "I've got shit to do."

"So long as that shit isn't hitting Palmer in the face again." He arches a brow at me. "You two were already in a bar fight last week. And now this."

"How do you…" I trail off, shaking my head. Of course he knows about the bar fight. Dillon is a nosy bastard. He probably knew about the fight five minutes after it happened.


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