Page 49 of The Rogue (Four Corners Ranch #11)

that the Kings were so reformed. That Denver was entirely different from his dad. He earned his money gambling. She knew that.

It was a fairly covert thing, but she kept her ear to the ground. Paid attention.

He had made big bucks in the professional poker circuit.

He might not have a bunch of illegal gambling happening on the property, but it was still an indicator that he was part of

that world.

And she knew that she was playing it a little bit dangerous wanting to join up with him to do business. But her options were

limited. There were very few people out there who felt that they owed her. But he was one of them. And that meant she was

going to take advantage of it as and when she could.

She was a thirty-one-year-old empty nester—for all intents and purposes—with her youngest sister off at college and moving

on with her life. Sheena was still tending bar, and she was beginning to feel...

Left behind. Which was dumb, and she didn’t like it. So she’d taken a good look at that poker chip, and she’d decided asking

for Denver’s help was better than languishing in dumb, useless feelings.

She wasn’t asking for a handout—the only money she’d ever taken from him was for her sisters’ benefit, not hers—but using him to get a real business up and running? She’d made a bargain in her soul so she could handle that.

She was tough. Happy to use people as they used her. That was life, and she’d accepted it.

As long as she went in eyes wide open with Denver, she could do it with him, too.

She could admit she’d expected him to just agree. Which was strange because she’d say she didn’t trust Denver or anyone to

do what they said, but he’d always indicated that he felt responsible for what had happened to her father.

She also didn’t want to owe him. But needed him to feel he owed her.

She also didn’t want to rely on him or anyone, but had to.

She could appreciate the tightrope walk she was engaged in.

The red poker chip burned into her palm, and she squeezed her hand around it, before putting it into her pocket.

“All right. You’ve got yourself a deal. What do I have to do? Outthrow you?”

“No. I think I just need to see the appeal. I’m the kind of man who needs to see something to really get a feel for it. To

visualize it. I want to understand what it is you’re offering to people.”

“Well. That’s kind of lame. I was hoping this was some kind of Paul Bunyan thing. As long as I could out-hatchet your man-made

machine, you would let me and my big blue ox have our way with the place.”

“Do you have a big blue ox?”

“The big blue ox is metaphorical. Do you have a place where we can throw an axe?”

“Sure.”

He moved in front of her, and she did her best not to pay too close attention to the fine, masculine figure that he cut. He

was tall. Very tall. And she noticed because she was a pretty tall woman. A lot of men made her feel large and unfeminine,

though she didn’t really mind that, actually. But Denver King made her feel dainty, which was as disorienting as it was unique.

He was at least six inches taller than her. His shoulders were broad, his chest well muscled, his arms massive. Men like that

always thought they would be great at axe throwing. In her experience, they tended to overdo it. Throw it so hard it bounced

right out of the target. And it made them angry. She always enjoyed watching that.

He led her out to a space behind the shed, where a large axe was stuck into a round of wood. “I’ll take you over to where

we shoot,” he said. “There’s a couple of targets that are still set up.”

“All right. Sounds good.”

She did her best to not notice the way that his forearm shifted as he picked up the large axe and slung it over his shoulder.

He was a fine specimen of a man, that much was true. But she didn’t have any use for men like him.

Sheena was in charge of her own life. In charge of her own destiny. And that’s why you’re here asking him for a favor?

Well. That little internal voice could shut its trap.

When it came to relationships, she didn’t do them. When it came to sex, she liked to be in charge.

She got what she wanted, the guy got what he wanted. No harm, no foul.

She preferred men who didn’t have ties to the area. Tending bar in Mapleton had been more convenient from that standpoint.

It made scratching an itch feel a little bit less risky.

Denver King might as well have been wrapped in caution tape.

The first time she’d noticed he was hot, the cops had just loaded her father’s body into a coroner’s van.

To say noticing Denver King’s physical attributes was problematic was putting it lightly.

But also, it meant she was used to it.

He opened up the passenger door of an old blue truck, and she stared at it, and him.

“Get in,” he said.

“I was unaware this was a whole field trip.”

“We don’t shoot near the buildings.”

“Responsible,” she said.

She waited until he moved away from the door, and climbed up inside the truck.

Then he rounded to the driver’s side and got in.

He started up the engine, and she looked out the window. All the better to not look at him.

“How are the girls?”

Abigail, Whitney and Sarah were all off on their own now. Far away from this place. And good thing.

And if Sheena ached with loneliness sometimes, she dismissed it.

She could leave. She could start over somewhere else.

When Whitney had moved out six months ago, she’d fully had that realization.

But the problem was, nobody else owed her a favor.

And then there was a tangle of the fact that she also owed Denver.

And that didn’t sit right with her. He might not feel like she needed to pay them back.

But she wanted her personal ledger to be balanced up. It was important to her.

Because if she couldn’t ultimately be free of that past, then nothing she had done since then mattered. And yes, she was aware

that made it somewhat ironic that she was looking to actually get into business with Denver.

But she had a plan. Eventually, she wouldn’t be here running the bar. She would open a second location elsewhere. Eventually,

she would make her own way. Maybe somewhere closer to her sisters.

But after she got started. If there was one thing she was an expert at, it was surviving. But she wanted to be an expert at

more than just that. She wanted to figure out how to thrive. They didn’t speak while he drove them up to wherever that shooting

range was. Somewhere out at the top of the ridge. It was beautiful.

This whole place was beautiful. But she knew that even with all of the magnificent surroundings, it was all only as serene

as the life that you were growing up in.

The Kings had this place. She didn’t deny it was possible that it might be a nice place that was shit to live in, given what

she knew about their dad.

But she knew without a doubt her own growing-up years were worse.

The house had been small and ramshackle. Instead of kitchen cabinets and counters, they’d had tables lining a room, with a freestanding sink that leaked. She’d done her best to make that place a home after her dad’s death.

Hung fabric from the tables to sort of mimic a cabinet and counter look. Something to make it seem normal. With sisters ranging

in age from four to fourteen, it had been a struggle. And she’d only been eighteen herself. But they’d managed. For thirteen

years, they’d managed.

And now it was her turn. To try and do something more than manage. To start the steps that she needed to build a life...

somewhere else. A life that she had chosen. A life that was more than this.

It wasn’t that it was a bad life. She liked to think that she had taken something really awful and turned it into something

pretty decent for the sake of her sisters. But it had left her... hard. She didn’t know another way to be. She was thankful

for the resilience. She couldn’t resent it. It had kept her safe. But she wanted to find a way to live where she didn’t have

to be this all the time.

An axe-throwing bar was admittedly a little bit of a funny way to go about that. But she knew bar work. This had a slightly

different focus. It wasn’t about getting drunk. It was about having a drink with friends, having a good time. A little bit

of friendly competition.

She had been working the rough dive bars for years. She was ready for a change of scenery.

She had been waitressing early on, when the girls had been really little.

But the money was just much better in bartending.

So when she felt all right to leave them at night—tucked up into bed with the oldest well aware of how to use a shotgun if she needed it, and their trusty guard dog, Hank, on hand to create a ruckus if anyone should approach—she had started taking that night work.

Down in Mapleton, the amount of work she had been able to get, the size of the tips thanks to the size of her. .. Well.

Her mama hadn’t given her much of anything except her figure to hear tell of it. She was happy to make use of it. Consider

it a gift from the woman who hadn’t stuck around to raise her. It was the only one she’d gotten.

There were two ways to handle men. She could put them under her spell using her looks, and she could scare the hell out of

them using her strength. She was familiar with how to do both.

She would like it if she didn’t need to do it quite so often.

And being a business owner would be different than being a server.

Denver stopped the truck at the end of the dirt road. There was a view, spectacular, just behind a raised ridge of gravel

with targets affixed to the front of it.

“Safety first,” he said.

“Sure,” she said. “Though I don’t want to be flinging the axe over the top of the target and losing it down below in the draw.”

“I thought you were an expert.”

“I am. I actually meant I don’t want you to lose your axe.”

“I’m good,” he said.