Just before I was ready to blow the guy off and get my ass back into the Avalanche’s driver’s seat, Toby pulled up in his white Tacoma 4x4. He climbed out of the truck with a cocky smile on his face, his boot heels crunching through the gravel as he walked up to me.
We faced each other, holding our ground. He was probably protected by a hidden Colt .45 nestled at the back of his denim, but I wasn’t. All my artillery was back at the ranch, right where it belonged.
I eyed him up and down, studying his cowboy attire: tight denims, Jason cowboy hat in midnight black, Rawl boots, and a pewter Buckling Buckle in the shape of a longhorn at his waist. After I’d looked him up and down, I asked, “What’s this about, Toby?”
“Sharing Gray.
I laughed in his face.
“I don’t think it’s very funny, Dixon.”
“Of course it’s funny, Toby. You really think I’m going to share my future husband with you?”