Page 5 of Another Man’s Treasure

We share a laugh. Success on the bucking circuit has brought me a certain level of fame, and with that comes attention. Some of it’s good, some of it’s fun, and some of it’s a pain in the ass.

Willa waggles her dark green brows. “So, where’d you leave it with him if you didn’t smash his nose in for shit-talkin’ you?”

I shrug and sit down in the closest chair. It creaks under my huge weight, and I make a mental note to ask my landlord if they have anything more oversized. Last thing I wanna do is break furniture that ain’t made for a male of my heft.

“I extended an olive branch when I left and let him know the table was open. He just sassed me and threatened to sic his pit hell on me.”

Willa cocks her head to the side. “Pit hell? What on earth is that?”

“Pine Gulch thing,” I explain. “Some human brought in a pit bull from the outside human world, and it mated to a hellhound. Now the place is overrun with pit hells. Some of ‘em have bonded to folks, but mostly, far as I can tell, they run wild. Buncha cuties, though. Wouldn’t mind having one.”

My sister shudders. “Be careful, Wilder. Hellhounds are so dangerous. You’re strong, but you ain’t invincible, as you know.”

I roll my left shoulder, the one I injured on a bull last season. Now it’s a great weather detector because it aches and aches when snow’s rollin’ in.

“How’s home?”

She shakes her head, baring her tusks at me. “Ye olde changing of the subject, Wild?”

I laugh. “Yeah, girl. What’s new with you?”

She smiles softly. “Mama’s on a tear about buying another cuttin’ horse. She’s never gonna find love if she keeps this busy. And I’m just doing my thing. I should say, as your lawyer, that I’m fucking thrilled to be wrapping up this purchase real soon.”

We catch up for a half hour before my shoulder starts twinging. Snow’s coming within a day, I’d wager. I hang up with Willa and return to my stack of paperwork. Now that I’ve got details from the Auction House’s records department, I need to compile a list of questions for the rep handling the sale of the Sandoval estate.

Working through the details I uncovered, I start on my list of questions. My mind keeps circling back to that pretty male at the coffee shop, though. Dusky purple skin and darker purple horns. Bookish-looking glasses he probably doesn’t need, although they served to highlight faint purple freckles on his high, angular cheekbones. He wasn’t big for a gargoyle, but still bigger than most other male monsters. Pretty wings tucked tightly behind his back, and the three-fingered hands I find so attractive.

A gargoyle was my first love, and if I’m honest, they’re the monster I find myself most attracted to.

Too bad the one I met this morning seemed like such a jackass.

Oz

The morning after The Troll Incident, Ginger and I are at BrewHaHa Beans the literal moment they open. The pixie owner, Meggan, shoots us a wry look as she unlocks the door. It’s so cold, my breath makes fog against the front windows, and Ginger huddles at my feet despite the adorable hot pink sweater I bought for her. I skate through the door before Meggan pulls it all the way open, Ginger on my heels. She darts to the back and hops up onto the bench seat of my table, ready to go.

Meggan chuckles. “Guess you don’t want that hot troll snatching up your table today, huh? Now Ginger’s in on the fight?”

I spin and walk backward, careful not to bump into any of the tables. “Listen, Meg, we almost had a standoff yesterday, I can’t let it happen again. It’s my table, and we all know it.”

She rolls her eyes and closes the door, then leans over and begins opening the blinds. Outside, monsters walk briskly along Main Street, huddled against the chill. It’ll be slammed in here within a quarter hour, and I want to be firmly ensconced at my table with a hot cocoa, my dog, and my notebook.

Hours later, I’m shocked but relieved that the big troll hasn’t shown up. Although, a tiny little niggling part of me wants to see the look on his face when he comes in and sees me in the spot he stole yesterday. Ginger’s asleep on the bench beside me, coffee cake crumbs still stuck to her floppy lips. She kicks her legs as she sleeps with her head on my thigh. Rubbing her soft cheeks, I smile down at the notebook where my thoughts are coming into clear focus.

Since I’ll have to build the spa from the ground up, I can literally do anything I want. I’m inspired by my friend Lemon, so I’d like the front of the building to resemble an old saloon but upscale. Very chic. Very expensive-looking. Inside I’m thinking tufted velvet chairs and a bar on one side for folks to get a drink while they await their treatments—hair, makeup, massages. Everything monsters need to feel and look good.

Pine Gulch helped me find myself. It was the place I started taking care of my skin and body and mind again. All of that helped me break out of a shitty cycle with my ex. I want to make other monsters feel as good as I do now.

Around lunchtime, the coffee shop door swings open, and the green male saunters through, cheeks dark from the cold air outside. The odd snowflake drifts through the door after him. He smiles at a woman near the door who looks up at him, then runs both hands through his pale hair as he looks toward the back. Toward me.

I smirk at having the table today, shooting the most pleased-looking smile I can summon. He glares back, saying nothing as he chooses a table near the door and takes a seat. Today he wears thigh-hugging jeans and a leather belt with a giant belt buckle announcing him as a winner of some bicentennial rodeo.

Thankfully, my gargoyle senses are keen, and I barely have to stare to read the tiny writing on the silver surface. Makes for easy people watching without seeming too interested, a useful thing for a gay gargoyle who loves monster watching.

A bull rider, then. That’s unfortunately sexy.

He’s just as brutally handsome as he was yesterday. He moves around the room with confident steps, rolling his shirt sleeves up as he grabs a latte from the pickup counter. Faint scars crisscross over his skin. Probably from getting bucked off too many times. Hmmph.

A cleft dots his chin, making him look like one of those Marlboro men from the human ads in the eighties. I’ve seen a few of them in magazines Bluebell’s father collected during his time growing up outside the haven system.