Tate (Mountain Men 3)

Am I objectifying him?

“Is that new ink?" I ask him. "I've never seen it before." As soon as I ask him, I wonder if I should have. Does that let him know that I've looked at his ink before? Is that… wrong? Maybe only people in the mob know what the ink means.

He glances down at his arm as if just remembering he has a tattoo there. He frowns and doesn't reply at first. I actually give up hope that he's going to reply when he finally shrugs and shakes his head. “It’s new, aye.” But he doesn't say anything else.

He answers some questions readily and others with reluctance. There's a mystery about Tate Cowen. And I make it my mission to find out what.

Chapter 5

Tate

She sits as far away from me as she can, but she’s still so close I can reach out and touch her if I wanted to.

I chose this car on purpose, and not because it drives fast or accommodates my large frame easily. I like the fact that there's hardly any distance between the two of us. She's sexy as fuck, and if I'm her guardian for the day, I’m going to enjoy this.

She's too free. Whereas other people are intimidated by us, Fran will have none of it. Her crassness borders on rude at times. I have to admit, I like it.

Up until a few years ago, she was always my sisters’ wee mate. I didn't pay any mind to her. But now… now she's a woman.

Now she's single.

She’s still obviously in pain, the way she touches her head from time to time. I don't know why she won’t admit it, won't tell me the truth. I have to assume that for whatever reason she doesn't want me to know.

I’ve experienced brutal pain before, and I know what it's like. I know how it feels.

“So what's your job in the bookstore?"

She freezes for a fraction of a second, so briefly I almost miss it, then she shrugs. “It’s a small business, and places like that employ people that can do a variety of tasks. I do everything from stocking the shelves, to making the coffee in the coffee shop, to ordering specialty things for various people that come in. I set up book signings with authors, and I make sure that we've got paper towels and toilet paper in the restroom." She gives me a grim smile.

“Sounds very glamorous," I say dryly.

"Oh, you know. The life of the rich and famous."

She looks out the window, quiet for a few minutes.

She gasps as we turn around the bend that takes us to the descent into the city. Orangey pink light touches everything we can see with the golden fingertips of sunrise. It's bloody gorgeous. Without a word, I pull to the side of the road, by a little stopping place for people to park to take in the scenic views. There are a few on the way down the mountain, but I very rarely take the time to actually look.

She doesn't speak. Neither do I. We just watch as the seconds unfold with the sun illuminating everything it touches, before turning from orange and pink to a bright golden yellow.

“You ought to kiss the ground you come home to every day, Tate Cowen, just saying.”

I pull back onto the road silently, and she yawns. She's as tired as I am.

"And what are your job details?" she asks with a teasing glint in her eyes. She knows very well that I'm a part of the Cowen Clan. But my family dabbles in organized crime.

She's cheeky as fuck if she thinks I'm going to give her details. But maybe two can play at this game.

She wants me to give her the truth. I can embellish the truth with the best of them.

I shrug and give her a wry smile. “It’s a small business. We do many tasks.”

She moves very slowly closer to me, like I’m about to give her the trade secrets, and if she moves too quickly, I’ll stop confiding in her.

“Like what?” she asks with feigned nonchalance.

“No need to pretend you don’t know who we are, right”? I don't wait for her to respond but plow right on. "We have rules to enforce. I'm the one that punishes people that don't obey the rules."

Her jaw unhinges, and she stares at me unblinking as the car goes deeper into the city.

“What do you mean?" she asks. "What sort of… punishments do you… enforce?”

“Probably exactly the type you’re thinking of.” I keep my answer vague, my voice aloof.

"I suppose you… do things like…” She's looking for words and doesn't quite know how to say what she wants to. "Rough people up? Is that an actual job description?"

“Och, aye, lassie, no need to beat around the bush, now, is there?”