Chapter 142

“Just for the record, Fargo, you’re single, right?”

Fargo held the receipt for the two saddles in his left hand. His mouth hung open with surprise because of Chip’s question. Then he stammered, “Ye…ah,” sounding like the village idiot.

“Good. I’ll keep that in mind,” Chip said, removed the paper receipt from Fargo’s shaking hand, and started his exit from the store. Over his right shoulder, he called out, “Call me when you get the saddles in. I’ll stop by and pick them up.”

“Sounds good, Chip. Thanks for coming in.”

Chip waved goodbye and was gone.

Fargo watched the cowboy leave, studying the man’s tight ass in its snug denim, attracted to its bulbous orbs and Chip’s muscular thighs. Chip Cutter’s ass was pretty hot, he deemed, and sexy as hell. Truth was Fargo wouldn’t have minded patting it with one of his hands, or maybe peeling the denim away from its concave structure.