Page 31 of Wrangling Wade

"I didn't," Hudson says.

"He didn't," I say at the same time.

Dillon just shrugs like that's not his problem. I swear to God, someone is going to shoot him in the ass one day, and I'm going to post up in his hospital room, just so I can enjoy every minute of his misery.

I turn to face Hudson, a knot of dread sitting like lead in my stomach. "You firing me?"

His brows furrow. "Why the fuck would I do that?"

"You fired the last guy who got arrested."

He stares at me for a second, and then laughs abruptly. "The last guy got arrested for trying to buy heroin from an undercover cop, Wade. Of course I fired him. You aren't the last guy. You aren't a closeted drug addict. And you don't do stupid shit." He pauses, shooting me a disgruntled look. "Usually."

I relax slightly.

"Not telling me that you were arrested for hitting Palmer was stupid. What the fuck is going on?"

"He was running his mouth about my girl," I mutter. "I didn't appreciate it, so I handled it."

Hudson grunts, his eyes narrowing slightly. He's never much cared for Palmer, or for men who disrespect women. Hudson is one of the good ones.

"You forgot to mention the bar fight," Dillon supplies, oh so helpfully.

"Bar fight?" Hudson's right eye twitches.

"How have you not been shot in the ass yet?" I grumble, shooting Dillon a dirty look.

He just grins, shrugging.

"There was a bar fight, too?" Hudson growls.

"Yes." I pinch the bridge of my nose. "Palmer called Harlow a cocktease. I handled it."

"Jesus Christ," Hudson mutters. "What else have you been handling?"

"That's about it."

"Well, that's a damn lie," Dillon mutters. "He's had me running all over creation this week, trying to build a grand larcency case against Palmer."

Hudson mumbles something under his breath that sounds like a prayer for patience. But let's be honest, he's never had very much of that.

"And how is that going?" I ask Dillon. "Considering you won't return a goddamn phone call." I've been trying to reach him all week to check in. My first court date is next week. I'd really like to be able to not go to that.

"I'm here now, aren't I?" Dillon asks, eyeing me levelly. "Palmer was arrested this morning. Once he was in cuffs, we executed a search warrant of his ranch. Found all kinds of interesting shit."

"He's in jail?"

"Yep." Dillon grins at me. "We had a buddy call him up, offer to sell him a stolen tractor. You'd think he'd have had more sense than to jump on it after you threatened to expose him, but you'd be wrong."

"He went for it?

Dillon nods. "Let's just say, he was not thrilled when Linc opened the back of the truck, and Palmer saw Easton and me instead of the tractor he just paid for."

"Jesus," I mutter, a weight falling from my shoulders. The prick is finally in jail, unable to point fingers or lay the blame on anyone else. He won't be a problem for Harlow anymore. I can finally get some fucking sleep.

I can ask her to marry me.

"What about my charges?" I ask.