A cowboy came to see me. He pulled into the rocky clearing that faced my quiet property in the mountains of Kingman, Arizona, and parked his car next to mine, the blood-red of his convertible a stain alongside my pitch-black polished Shelby. I snorted to myself and watched his dramatic entry, his engine thundering as I hugged the box in my arms close to my chest. He hopped out of the driver’s side without opening the door, and I scanned the body of his vehicle as he settled, recognizing the lines and details of his car. I checked the cowboy out as he pulled an acoustic guitar from his backseat, the strings twanging a country tune as he strummed, waiting for me to approve.

I broke my attention on him to glance over my shoulder at my sensible single-story home. Ranch-style, it was bordered with neat little gardens, both in front and in the back. I turned to him, my lids narrowing as we surveyed each other from a distance.

“So?” he called, voice echoing across the rocky expanse and layering over his music. The brilliant gold-red of the desert’s setting sun washed over us and the stones, glinting off our vehicles. A slight southern drawl, Louisiana-style, tilted his words with an affable charm. “See my car, little lady? Catch my flashy colors and my guitar? That’s my mating jig. Tell me now—can I approach?”

I looked over his vehicle another time – a ‘64 Buick Wildcat in Claret Mist – and thought it over for a second. I nodded after a short wait.

“All right,” I called back. “It’ll do. Go ahead. Approach.”

He shut off his engine, resting the guitar back inside. Hands on his hips, he rolled out awkward dance moves, like a bird pecking for food, flapping his elbows for extra effect. I waited until he reached me before turning away, resuming my walk toward my front door.

“Real nice, D,” I said, mimicking a few of his steps, the box balanced in my grip as I flapped my elbows. I pecked my nose at the air. “Sexy.”

“It’s my strut,” he said proudly. “Drives all the chickens wild. You should see ‘em roost after that step.’”

“I bet they do. It’s effective. Working on me.”

“That’s the plan, sugar.”

I advanced a few more paces before the cowboy swooped in front of me, beckoning for the box, smile flashing bright. He held a straw clenched between his teeth.

“Give me that, darlin’,” he said.

“Oh, sugar.” I stretched my speech to match his accent. “You my steely-nerved fella’? Gonna carry this big ol’ box for little ol’ me?”

“That’s right.” He pulled the box into his grip. I loosened my hold. “The toughest, the meanest, right here for ya.”

“Aw, shucks.”

His head lowered as he peered inside the box, shadows falling over his face from the curved-brim cowboy hat perched over his golden-brown curls. The genteel smile soured when he looked at what was inside.

“More of these damn things, huh,” he muttered. “So many. How many can ya need?”

I folded my arms. “So?”

“Don’t ya think you’re a little … obsessed?”

“Do you?”

“Yes.”

“Whatever.”

“Whatever, whatever.”

“Hm.”

I resumed my walk, and he powered ahead of me with long strides, reaching the wooden stairs that led up to my front porch. He lay the box on the ground, and I watched him move past the swing seat I’d installed on my porch, giving it a light push before reaching into the pocket of his jeans. I smiled as he pulled out an item between his fingers and, amused, watched him try the key in the lock, the cowboy hat bobbing in satisfaction when he found his access still granted. He turned back to me, grinning as he scooped me off of the ground and into his arms.

“What’s up, L?” he said, his voice low as his face neared mine.

I chuckled and nicked the straw from his teeth, bringing his mouth to mine. His lips parted and I tasted him, a quick pass of my tongue over his, and heard a low growl from him when we separated.

“You, maybe,” I replied.

“Mm.” He dotted his lips to mine again. “Good call.”

His mouth returned as he walked toward the house. I wrapped my arms around his neck, continuing the slow contact, and he reached the small set of stairs, passing by the box he’d rested on the ground. Instead of entering through the open door, he moved over to the swing, resting me on the cushions and sitting beside me. I raised myself on my elbows as he leaned over me, his hands resting on my hips as his mouth trailed down my throat.

“So,” I said, meeting his bright gaze when he looked up at me. “You waited. Stalked me in the valleys and hid there for … too fucking long.”

“Told ya,” he said, humor curling his sun-tanned face. “Don’t take shortcuts. Ever. Don’t care how comfortable it feels out here in the middle of nowhere – or that I’m the only incident you’ve ever encountered. If I can get ya – “

I cut him off.

“ – How long did you wait, exactly?”

He shrugged. “Couple hours.”

“No.” I wagged my finger. “You marked the trail yesterday at oh-three thirty-eight after watching me come home. Once your digital surveillance bug alerted you that I’d left my coordinate at seventeen-seventeen, you sped over to verify your marks weren’t double-crossed. You were stationed in your cover spot at seventeen-four-seven. It’s, ah – “ I checked the hour on the COM band strapped to my wrist. “Nineteen-twelve. You waited less than a couple of hours. Don’t give yourself extra credit, tiger, even though I love serial killer attention.”

“That turn ya on?” he murmured, lacing his fingers through the loops of my jeans.

“I’m fucking wet.”

“Ha. Well. I’m seeing something I’d like to murder.”

“Great.” I tugged at the silver buttons of his shirt. “Show me, cowboy.”

“Mhm.”

He examined the dainty gold chain around my throat. I pushed his first button loose.

“By the way, hide your steps a little better next time,” I chided. “You stayed at Cactus Side Inn, that shitty little short stay we’ve personally fucked around in. Don’t know why you thought old Rosie the Relapser wouldn’t recognize a strapping young lad like yourself. Not many of your caliber speeding around Kingman, even undercover.”

His gaze moved aside as he thought to himself.

“Thought I saw a shadow in the valley. Someone tailing me.”

“What you saw was Shelby,” I said.

“Shelby. Shelby.” His scent, a husky cologne, enveloped me as his body moved over mine, the heel of his boot on the porch steadying the swing’s rocking. “The shadow was Shelby. The shadow was you. What a gal.”

“I’m glad you came,” I said, pausing our fumbling to stroke his cheek. “It’s been a while, lover. I like the car. Nice pick. You must be doing well, collecting again.”

“Ah … here and there. Liked the look of that one. Sound of it too—that V8 ticker. Don’t want to stay angry with ya, lover. Don’t like the feeling.”

“Here’s what we do—next time you piss me off you get a freebie. The best hate-fuck of your life, the kind where you’re begging that you’ve had enough—but maybe I’m not through yet. That’ll make us square. Don’t you think?”

“Deal. We can start that any time, by the way. But, I’ll say—” He turned serious, though gentle. “Don’t take shortcuts. Ever. Watch out for yourself, keeping yourself alone out here all the time. We’re the best of the best, but there’s always somethin’ or someone waiting to catch us off the clock.”

“Duncan,” I said firmly. “I know that. We’re always in danger, and I’m always watching.”

He tapped on the chain. “Someone give you this?”

“Yeah,” I said, glancing down at the delicate rope. “Me to myself.”

“Not laying heartache on ya.” He grunted. “Just want to know.“

“D. I’m not fucking anyone new. I’m only fucking you, and not even that often anymore. Yeah, I’m making a complaint. It’s ridiculous at this point, the crazy parameters we keep setting and then not setting. We’re not dating, but never really date anyone else. Sort of. Really. Want me to beg for it—beg for you? I’ve done that for ya before, stud. You had no complaints.”

“Hm. Not new. I’d care less if it was someone new. It wouldn’t be so fucking personal. I wouldn’t be so fucking angry about it.”

“I keep to myself, like always. I don’t need the aggravation. Relations bring way more trouble than I’m interested in. You’re bad enough for me as it is. And if you’re aiming at someone specific, no, I haven’t spoken to – “

Duncan, the cowboy, kissed me fast. He kissed me hard before he heard me calling us ‘bad’ another time. He hated when I did that, no matter how true it was. Hated hearing the other issues between us. I relaxed right away, since I preferred disagreements to be settled in a physical way, violently or in a different passion. Anything except explaining, and explaining, rehashing, and arguing with no sense or end –

His mouth moved lower, down my throat to my chest. I sighed at his touch, feeling his fingers loosen my top as I unfastened the rest of his clothes.

“You didn’t park in the garage,” he said, the warm air of the darkening Arizona night striking my flesh when he pulled my blouse over my head, leaving me bare-chested. “Left Shelby out here, like you’re heading out again. Got plans?”

“Well,” I shrugged, glancing down as he kissed my breasts. My lids closed lightly as I felt his tongue slide over my skin, his fingers cupping their weight. “After this little surprise detour,” I murmured, arching my back as I felt a thrill. “I planned to go out on patrol.”

“Patrol?” Duncan raised his head, hat askew. I pulled it off of his head and tossed it aside, revealing his mussed hair. “It’s quiet out here this quarter. Didn’t catch your tag logged for any recon either.”

“A little freestyle, maybe.” I ran my fingers through his curls and hummed with satisfaction when he jerked his shirt up, tearing it off his muscled torso. I grazed my touch over his lines, feeling the taut movement of his chest and arms. “I’d only get mini rate off-season, and probably pull in no heads, but I like staying active.”

A grunt escaped him when I shoved him back so I could climb over him myself. I tossed my hair as his hands trailed up my stomach, finding my breasts again. He caught the ground with his dangled heel again and steadied the swing, unbuttoning and pulling the waistband of my jeans down. His fingers caught onto my panties, a thin wire of near-nothing meant for the moment – meant for him. Yes, I’d been waiting for Duncan since he marked the road.

“I’ll go with ya,” he said, eyes scanning me as my face lowered close to his. “Independent support—that’s what you code me as. Don’t have to pay me a thing, and any bloodsuckers I catch’ll be credited to you.”

“You want to work for me?” I chuckled, warm air now striking my bare hips. “For free? Sweet, but no thanks. Don’t want you inflating my kill counts with asterisks of special notes. My record’s phenomenal without your charity.”

“Maybe I’ll just observe, watch your sexy ass in action. Bait the fuckers to bring ya more excitement. I won’t lift a finger if ya get outnumbered. You can clean house yourself, hunter.”

“I’ll do fine.”

“I know, sugar. I like to watch.”

I tasted him again, drawing his mouth to mine. Though he succeeded in removing my jeans on the shaking swing in a precarious display of balance, he gave up on steadying the number with his heel and lifted both himself and me in a quick sweep of motion. Our clothes remained in a pile, and we stayed engaged as he approached the door to my house, the opening still ajar from his earlier testing. He burst the door open with a swift kick and navigated into the dark interior. He moved with the expert ease of a hunter who’d been there many times.