A cowboy came to see me. He pulled into the rocky clearing bordering my quiet property in the mountains of Kingman, Arizona, parking his car next to mine. The blood—red of his convertible shone like a stain alongside my pitch—black Shelby. I snorted as I watched his dramatic entry with engine thundering. I hugged the box in my arms close to my chest as he hopped out of the driver’s side without opening the door. I scanned the body of his vehicle as he settled, recognizing the car’s lines and details, and checked out the cowboy as well, as he pulled out an acoustic guitar from the backseat. There was a pause as he strummed, the strings twanging out a country tune. He waited for me to approve or disapprove.

I broke my attention on him to glance over my shoulder at my quint and sensible single-story ranch-style home, skimming my gaze over its neat little gardens both in front and back. I turned back to him, my lids narrowing as we surveyed each other from a distance.

“So?” His voice echoed as he called across the rocky expanse. The brilliant gold—red of the desert’s setting sun washed over us, glinting off off the trim of our vehicles. A slight southern drawl, Louisiana—style, tilted his words. “See my car, little lady? Catch the flashy colors and my guitar. It’s my mating jig. Can I approach?”

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

“All right,” I said. “Approach.”

He shut off his engine and rested the guitar back inside, placing his hands on his hips to roll out a few awkward dance maneuvers like a bird pecking for food, flapping his elbows for extra effect. I waited until he reached me before turning away, resuming my walk to my front door.

“Real nice, D.” I mimicked his steps with the box balanced in my grip and flapped my own elbows, pecking my nose at the air. “Sexy.”

“It’s my strut. Drives the chickens wild. You should see how they roost after that step.'”

“I bet. It's effective. Working on me.”

“That was the plan.”

I advanced a few more paces before the cowboy swooped in front of me, beckoning for the box with a smile. There was a straw clenched between his teeth.

“Give me that, darlin’.”

“Oh. Sugar." I stretched speech to match his accent. “Is my steely-nerved fella’ gonna carry this big ol’ box for me?”

“Yeah.” He pulled the box into his grip as I loosened my hold. “The toughest, the meanest, right here for you.”

“Aw, shucks.”

His head lowered as he peered inside the box. Shadows fell over his face from the curved brim cowboy hat perched on his golden brown curls. His genteel smile soured when he peered at what was inside.

“More of these damn things. How many can ya need?"

I folded my arms. “Does it matter?”

“Don’t ya think you’re, ah…obsessed?”

“Do you?”

“Yes.”

“Whatever.”

"Whatever. Gotcha."

"Hm."

I resumed my walk and he powered ahead of me with long strides, reaching the small set of wooden steps that led to my front porch. He lay the box on the ground, and I watched him move past the swing seat installed on my porch, giving it a light push. He reached into the pocket of his jeans, and I smiled as he pulled out an item between his fingers. Amused, I watched him try the key in the lock, and the cowboy hat bobbed in satisfaction when he found access still granted. He turned back to me and, with the same speed with which he'd left, he returned, grinning as he scooped me off the ground.

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

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

“You, maybe,” I said.

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

He walked toward the house, and I wrapped my arms around his neck, continuing our slow contact as he passed by the box he’d rested on the ground. Instead of entering through the open door, he moved over to the swing and rested me on the cushions, taking a seat himself beside me. I raised myself up on my elbows as he leaned over me. His hands rested on my hips as his mouth trailed down my throat.

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

“Told ya.” Humor curled on his sun-tanned face. “Don’t take shortcuts. Ever. Don’t care how comfortable it feels in the middle of nowhere—or that I’m the only incident you’ve encountered. If I can get at ya—“

I cut him off.

“How long did you wait, exactly?”

He shrugged. “Couple hours."

“No." I wagged a finger. "You marked the trail yesterday at oh-three thirty-eight after watching me come home. Once your surveillance bug alerted you I’d left my coordinate at seventeen—seventeen, you sped over to verify I didn’t double-cross your mark. You sat in your cover spot at seventeen-forty-seven and it’s, ah—“ I checked the hour on the COM band on my wrist. “Nineteen-twelve. That’s less than a couple hours. Don’t give yourself extra credit, tiger, though I appreciate the serial killer attention.”

“Did that turn ya on?” He laced his fingers through the loops of my jeans.

“I’m fucking wet.”

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

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

"Mhm."

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

“By the way, hide your steps a little better next time," I chided him. "You stayed at Cactus Side Inn before coming here, returning to that shitty little short-stay we’ve personally fucked around in. Don’t know why you thought old Rosie the Relapser wouldn’t remember 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 tailin’ me right back.”

“You saw 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 rocking swing. “The shadow was Shelby, and the shadow was you. What a gal.”

“I’m glad you’re here.” I paused our fumbling to stroke his cheek. “It’s been a while, lover. I like the car. Great pick. You must be doing well if collecting again.”

“Ah … I pick up things here and there, and liked the look of that one. The 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 you've had enough—but maybe I'm not done yet. That'll make us square. How’s that?”

“Deal. We can start any time, by the way. But  I’ll say—" He turned serious, though gentle. “Don’t take shortcuts. Ever. Watch yourself, keeping yourself alone out here. We’re the best of the best, but there’s always somethin’ 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 this to you?”

“Yeah.” I glanced down at the delicate rope. “Me to myself.”

“Not laying heartache on ya." He grunted. "Just wanted to know.“

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

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

“I keep to myself, like always. 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 him—“

Duncan, the cowboy, kissed me fast and kissed me hard before he had to hear any more of my answer. I relaxed right away, since I preferred all disagreements to be settled in a physical way with violence or a different passion. Anything except explaining, explaining, rehashing, arguing without sense or end—

His mouth moved down my throat to my chest. I sighed at his touch, feeling his fingers loosen my top. My own hands worked to unfasten the rest of his clothes.

“You didn’t park in the garage.” The warm air of the darkening Arizona night struck my flesh as 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 glanced down as he kissed my breasts. My lids closed lightly as I felt his tongue slide over my skin, his fingers cupping their shape. I arched my back as I felt a thrill. "After this little surprise detour, I planned to go patrol.”

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

“A little freestyle maneuver, maybe.” I ran my fingers through his curls and hummed with satisfaction when he tore his shirt off to bare his muscled torso. I grazed my touch over his lines, feeling the smooth and taut movement of his strong chest and arms. “I’ll only get a mini rate for heading out off—season, and I'll probably pull no heads. That’s fine. I like staying active.”

A grunt escaped him as 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 down the waistband of my jeans. His fingers caught onto my panties, a thin strip of near—nothing meant for the moment – and meant for him. Yes, I’d been waiting for him since he had the nerve to mark the road leading to my property.

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

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

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

“I’ll do fine.”

“I know, sugar. I like to watch.”

I tasted him again, drawing his mouth to mine, and though he succeeded in removing my jeans on the shaking swing, he gave up on steadying the seat with his heel and lifted both himself and me up in a quick sweep of motion. Our clothes remained in a pile as we stayed engaged while he approached the front door to my house another time, the door still ajar. With a swift kick, he burst the door open and navigated through the dark interior. He moved with the expert ease of a hunter who’d been there many times.