Sarah rushed toward the two grown men rolling in the dirt and throwing punches. She couldn’t fucking believe that Colton hadn’t lasted one day without causing problems. No, wait. Scratch that. I can totally believe it!
“Mr. Young! What are you doing? Stop fighting!” Sarah held out her arms, looking for a good spot to grab hold and pull them apart, but they tangled together like two rabid dogs.
Colton rolled over the man, straddled him, and pinned him by the neck.
Sarah froze with her arms still stretched out. “No! Oh shit! No, no, no! Don’t hit—”
Colton’s fist pulled back and came down with a loud crack on the other man’s face. “Think you can fuck with me? Huh?” He cocked back his arm and landed another punch.
“Colton! You fucking idiot! Stop.” This was not good. Not good at all. Because Sarah now realized that the tanned muscular man getting his ass beaten by a very well-built and tough-as-nails rock star was Juan. Juan ran Ms. Luci’s ranch along with Juan’s father, Sebastian—an elderly man with a lazy eye and a pet pig named Muffin Top that thought it was a dog. Sarah knew this because she’d met Juan and Sebastian (and the pig-dog) at their gran fiesta last year.
Luci suddenly appeared at Sarah’s side, wielding a giant pitchfork. “Señor Young! Remove yourself from him immediately or I will run you through like a cob of corn.”
Colton looked up and froze, his bare chest heaving, his hazel eyes inflamed with rage, and a trickle of blood running from his nose. “He fucking started it.”
“Really? Really? ‘He started it’? How old are you? Two?” Sarah pulled back her angry hands so she wouldn’t accidentally wrap them around his neck.
“He went through my stuff—I caught him,” Colton replied.
“Get off him,” Luci reeled.
Colton let go, and Juan flipped over, getting onto all fours.
“I only wanted a look,” Juan coughed out his words.
“Then why did I find my notebook in your back pocket?” Colton threw back.
“Is this true, mijo?” Luci raised one silvery brow. “Did you steal from our guest?”
Juan staggered to his feet. “I was going to give it back,” he whined.
“Estúpido!” Luci scowled and looked at Colton. “You may proceed, Señor Young. Knock out a few teeth.”
Colton gave her a curious look.
Luci shrugged. “Stealing is not something we allow here at the Happy Pants Ranch.” She walked away and disappeared into the enormous two-story farmhouse with green shutters and a wraparound porch.
Colton snarled at Juan, and Juan glared back, to which Colton responded by cocking his fist.
“Wait!” Sarah inserted herself between the two raging bulls. “That’s enough. Juan, get your ass inside. Colton, you come with me!” Both men simply stood there glaring, ready to go at it again. “May I remind you both that I am a superior court judge and have the power to make your lives very uncomfortable.”
Both men gave her a skeptical look.
“Now!” she roared.
Juan flinched and headed back toward the house, marching like a flustered five-year-old. Colton stood there seething until Juan was out of sight.
“Are you out of your musician-warped mind?” Sarah said, sizzling with anger and giving Colton a little poke on his shoulder. “You almost blew it!”
“He had it coming.”
“I’m sure he did, but Luci could’ve thrown you out. And then where would you be? I’ll tell you where! In jail for ninety days! Maybe more. Getting ass-raped by a large bald, tattooed man named Ass Rape Joe. That’s where! All because Juan touched your little lyric notebook. Boohoo.”
Speaking of notebook, Colton slid the small spiral pad from his front jeans pocket and began flipping through the pages.
“Ohmygod. Really?” She swiped for the thing, determined to burn it or make him choke on it or something.
Colton spun around, blocking her, while his eyes skimmed a page toward the middle of the booklet.
He shoved it back into his pocket. “Why are you here, Judge Alma?”
What in the…? She simply didn’t know how to respond to his oddball behavior. Add to that the fact he had his shirt off, his abs and pecs glistening with sweat and a bit of dirt. A light dusting of dark hair trailed down his chest and abdomen, disappearing into the low-slung waistband of his jeans.
I am finding it very difficult to concentrate. Sarah pulled her lips into her mouth and bit down, knowing that any words to come from her mouth at that moment would be inappropriate or a complete garble, such as boomchackalackahotmanhotman.
“Stop staring. You’re not my type,” he said with a stern voice.
Her eyes darted away from his happy trail and met his irritated gaze. “What? But I was just—”
“I’m well aware of what you were just doing, and I have work to do.” He gave her the cold shoulder and headed for the barn.
Wow. What a total prick.
“Is there a particular reason you’re such a dick to me, Mr. Young?”
He ignored her and disappeared inside.
“Hey! I’m talking to you.” She marched after him, immediately getting hit with the foul stench of manure. Dear God. She pinched her nose and came up behind Colton, who grabbed a shovel in preparation to work on a heaping pile of shit. Likely horse shit, judging from the three huge creatures in the stalls next to him. “Hey! Don’t walk away from me when I’m speaking to you.” She poked him in the back. A firm, firm back, complete with muscles and more muscles and…did she say muscles?
Shovel in one hand, he slowly turned, looking like he was about to throttle her. “What. Is. It. That you want, Judge Alma?” he growled.
Abs. I want to touch your abs. Was that a ten-pack?
Stop, Sarah!
She lifted her chin to remind herself that she had her pride and that meant she didn’t drool over bad boys with bad attitudes. “For starters, some respect would be nice. I’ve been nothing but professional with you—okay, except for the other night, which was a moment of weakness. But other than that, I’ve been extremely patient despite how you snubbed me—which I still can’t believe you did.”
“Is that what this is about? You wanted me to look at you or ask you to dance or—oh, I know. I bet you wanted me to kiss you at that club, but I ignored you. That’s why you’re getting your staff to bring me down to the garage. That’s why you’re showing up here to come check on me.”
Christ. He really wasn’t making any sense. He doesn’t remember you. Remember?
“I’m here,” she said, “because I need to speak to you about your community service. I made a—”
“I’m a big boy, Your Honor. And while I appreciate the personal attention, I don’t need a babysitter.” He turned and began shoveling.
Wait, so why isn’t he throwing a man-tantrum about doing farmwork or physical labor? Because that was exactly what she’d expect from a pompous rock star worth tens of millions.
“So…you understand that you’ll be here, doing whatever Luci asks, for the next four weeks, excluding weekends?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“And you know that if you mess this up, you’ll go to jail and miss your concert date.”
“Yes.” He sighed with a tiny growl to his voice.
This is shocking. But she’d never felt so pleased to have misjudged a person. “Okay, then. I’ll call next week to check on you.”
“Can’t wait,” he said blandly.
“Ha. Ha. And stay away from Juan.”
He didn’t reply and kept on shoveling, his broad back to her.
The way his muscles worked and flexed—it was so disturbingly hot. Look away. Look. A. Way.
“Alrighty, then. Have a nice day, Mr. Young.” She turned to leave and noticed Colton’s little black notebook on the ground. It must’ve fallen from his pocket. “Hey, you dro…” She was about to give it to him, but had another thought. She bent down, picked it up, and slid it into her pocket. “See you later, Mr. Young.” Ha. Now I’ve got your precious little notebook! Whatcha gonna do about that? Huh?
Later that evening, back at her apartment, Sarah sat at her kitchen bar with her laptop, sorting through her hundred-plus emails. Barb, her clerk, had to reshuffle another day’s worth of hearings and a trial. It would take weeks to get caught up, but that couldn’t be helped, and it was well worth the price now that Colton was on board with his community service. On the other hand, she still felt nervous that he might find some excuse to bail. But what could she do now? Stand next to him and watch him shovel poop? Her presence only angered him.
I wish I knew why. She instantly remembered his little notebook. He seemed to be using it for more than lyrics, because she recalled him reciting that script from his lawyer regarding the drug charges. And, now that she thought about it, he had gone ballistic when Juan had taken it.
Would it be wrong to snoop and see if she could find a clue as to why he behaved so strangely? Yes. Absolutely. On the other hand, she merely wanted to ensure he stayed on track.
She stood from her barstool and went to her small living room—brown couch, shabby-chic-white coffee table made from a reclaimed door, and an old overstuffed chair with faded paisleys—and grabbed her purse from the table. She dug out the little notebook, expecting to see scribbles of words or poetry, but found something altogether different.
Her heart fell through the floor. “Holy shit,” she whispered. “What is this?”