Free Wicked Need (The Wicked Horse Series Book 3) by Sawyer Bennett Page A

truck and while we’re
technically outside of the Teton National Forest, they’ll
respond to dangerous wildlife calls. And I see immediately as I creep
by what the hubbub is about. About two hundred yards into a pasture
covered with sagebrush and dried grass, a grizzly bear is lying on
top of what is probably an antelope carcass. He’s massive and
appears to be gnawing on the neck of his kill. It’s the park
ranger’s duty to keep the tourists at a safe distance because
there’s always one moron in the group who wants to sidle closer
for a better picture opportunity. Once I make my way past the minor
traffic jam, I fight the temptation to speed to make up the lost
time. It’s not worth the cost of a ticket or the extra time
that would be lost if I’m stopped.
    When I pull up to
the Double J office, I park in between Bridger’s
red Corvette and Woolf’s black Range Rover. Grabbing my phone
off the seat beside me, I get out of my truck without locking it up.
Nothing of value in there to steal and no one would anyway. That’s
not the way we do things in Wyoming.
    I trot up the steps
and push open the door to the ranch office, which is actually an old
homestead on the ranch. I think it might have even belonged to
Woolf’s
grandpa or something.
    The sounds of
Bridger and Woolf’s
voices pull me down the hall, and I find them both in Woolf’s
office. Woolf is sitting in his chair behind his desk, booted feet
propped up on the scarred, wooden top. Bridger sits in a large chair
done in cowhide on the opposite side and sips on a container of
coffee.
    “Morning,
sunshine,” Woolf says with a big grin on his face.
    “Good to see
you, man,” I say with a laugh as I take an identical chair next
to Bridger. He tips his chin up at me and grumbles, “What’s
so important you needed to see me first thing this morning?”
    I know Bridger and
Woolf’s
time is valuable—far more than mine is, as all I have to do
today is run a tattoo shop—so I don’t beat around the
bush. “Cat’s in trouble and I need some advice. Maybe
some direction.”
    “Who the fuck
is Cat?” Bridger says with his eyebrows furrowing in.
    “Sorry,”
I say quickly. “Catherine.”
    “Vaughn?”
Bridger asks for clarification.
    “Lyons,”
I say automatically, and his eyebrows draw inward again.
    “Who?”
    Shaking my head, I
hold up a hand for him to let me speak and start again. “She
goes by Cat, her maiden name is Lyons, and she prefers to be known as
that. I found her sleeping in her car in the parking lot of The
Wicked Horse two nights ago and found out she’s homeless.”
    “What the
fu—?”
    I cut him off
because again…
time valuable and all. “Local attorney showed up at the house
in Jackson and told her she had to vacate. That the will left her
nothing and his son was demanding she leave. She was allowed to leave
with nothing but her clothes, jewelry, and a little cash. All credit
cards shut down.”
    “You’re
fucking kidding me?” Bridger growls as he sits up straight in
his chair. I quickly see he’s taken as much offense to this
notion as I have. While Cat is but a member of The Silo, Bridger
takes care of his own. I also know he has a soft spot for her and
worries about her at times.
    “She went and
got a copy of the will, but here’s the kicker… it’s
not signed. The attorney insists the signed copy is in Vegas. Cat’s
thinking about calling one of the sons and asking for a copy with the
supposed signatures, but she’ll probably get the run around.”
    “Who’s
the attorney?” Woolf asks.
    “Harlan
Grables,” I tell him. “Know him?”
    “Yeah,”
Woolf says. “Small-town lawyer, does a variety of stuff. Mostly
speeding tickets and stuff. Kind of sleazy actually.”
    “Which means
there’s no way in hell he drafted the legitimate will of a
billionaire hotelier from Vegas,” Bridger concludes.
    “You think the
attorney’s lying?” I ask incredulously. “But why?”
    “Could be the
son paid him