Chapter 2

Our town was small—a couple blinks of the eye and you’d miss it while driving by. Nicholas was by the book, and solid. He also had the most piercing brown eyes I’d ever seen, and was built like Paul Bunyan. Our sheriff didn’t hide the fact that he liked tight, male asses as opposed to women’s curvy bits.

He had a small horse ranch which he’d taken over from his parents when they’d moved south to Arizona. Nicholas also employed an efficient foreman—Bo Clack—to run things. Bo was my age, tough as nails and as flamboyant as a peacock. No one had ever dared to get in his face about it, what with him being six-foot-six and solid muscle.

Bo had a devilish grin, light gray eyes and dirty blond hair—a total knockout. He didn’t do plaid—not enough style, he’d told me once. Bright colors were his thing. If you needed to find him in town, just look for the brightest shirt out there.