Iron Flats Justice: Shifter Realms
Iron Flats Justice
Shifter Realms
Elle Thorne
Contents
Iron Flats Justice
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Afterword
Shifter Realms
The Shifters Forever Worlds
Thank You So Much!
About Elle
Elle’s Newsletter
Copyright © 2020 by Elle Thorne
All rights reserved.
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Iron Flats Justice
Maisie Malone’s got a problem. It started out at 22 and inches, 8 pounds, 12 ounces. It’s grown to 30 inches and 21 pounds. She doesn’t consider it much of a problem at all. More like a blessing. But she’s not the only one who wants this bouncing baby boy in her life. He’s got a grandfather with a hell of a mean streak and enough money to buy practically anyone. And said grandfather wants no loose ends.
To make matters worse? The bouncing baby boy has fur and growls.
Semi-retired bodyguard turned bounty hunter, Judd Walker would just as much rather be left alone in his cabin on the outskirts of Crooked Arrow Ranch as he would keep company with anyone. But hey, even a solitary wolf shifter needs to bring some money in once in a while. So when Paul MacIntosh offers him an ungodly amount to find his missing grandson and bring him home to Bitter Hollow, Judd has no problem accepting the job. How hard can it be to bring a one-year-old little boy home?
Judd didn’t count on the tenacity and protectiveness of a mother. Even a human mother. He also didn’t count on Paul MacIntosh having a hidden agenda, one which did not include Maisie Malone breathing.
Chapter One
A little over a year ago…
“Sounds like it’s your problem,” Bruiser—Beau MacIntosh—bouncer at Ace of Clubs, said. “You should have used some kind of protection.”
Maisie Malone had come to the bar to talk to him before it opened up for business. The late afternoon sun was behind her, casting him in its golden sunlight, highlighting his tan skin and mesmerizing eyes.
She stared at him. Did he actually just say that her being pregnant was all on her and all her problem? She shouldn’t be surprised. It wasn’t like he ever lasted long enough to make sure she got hers when they had sex. Selfish bastard. That was only one of the reasons she’d dumped his ass. Not that it was a big deal to Bruiser. He had already been doing at least two of the other waitresses at Ace of Clubs.
Maisie didn’t know how many of the waitresses he was doing these days. She left Ace of Clubs for another job at another bar right after she’d left his ass.
That had been six months ago, but now, thanks to her not noticing she was late for her period—six times?—how did time get past her like that?—she had a baby bump.
A baby bump! She was preggers. Jeez. And family? She had none. It was just her. And pretty soon, it would be just her and a baby. She scowled at Bruiser.
Bruiser, all six foot four, brown eyes with a flash of silver, musclebound, wider than a door, taller than any of the guys that came into Ace of Clubs, crossed his arms over that massive chest of his. “At least your tits are a nice size.”
And then, to her amazement, he reached out and cupped her breasts, hefting their weight.
If she hadn’t been so damned stunned, she’d have punched him, slapped him, something. Instead, she stood there, frozen. But that didn’t last long. Indignation finally overrode her surprise, and she shoved him. Not that it did anything. He remained in place, like a mountain.
He laughed. Laughed!
“How about one for old times’ sake?” He grabbed her hips and pulled her to him. “I’ll take you from behind, so I can’t tell your pregnant.”
That did it. She cocked her arm and slapped him with all her might. “You’re an asshole.”
“I always have been.”
Chapter Two
A few months ago…
Maisie tickled Cash. “You’re momma’s little shitter, ain’t you.” She’d better quit using that kind of language around him. He was nine months and would probably start repeating things soon. Or so the internet said. The internet was the substitute for the parents she didn’t have to turn to for advice. A poor substitute, but a girl had to do what a girl had to do.
She pulled another diaper out of the bag. Next to last. The kid was going to put her in the poorhouse at the rate he went through diapers. And formula? Good grief!
Cash—named after one of her favorites, Johnny Cash—giggled and wriggled on the diaper changing station at the local dollar store.
“Try to make this diaper last more than half an hour, big fella,” she told her baby.
That was what they were here for. Diapers and formula. She still breastfed when she could but going to work made it a little difficult when he was at the sitter’s.
Fifteen minutes later, lugging a baby and two bags of baby stuff plus a couple of meals for her, she walked toward her car. She deliberately kept her eyes off the opposite corner of the strip mall, the side away from the dollar store because Ace of Clubs was there, and she’d rather not think about that part of her life. The part that included Bruiser. And a job that paid better than the job she had right now.
Maybe she should consider going back to Ace’s. It was better money, and she could pretend Bruiser didn’t exist, couldn’t she? It wasn’t like he didn’t already pretend it. He’d never called to see if she had the baby. What sex the baby was. If she needed anything. Nope. Nada from Bruiser. He stayed true to who he was, that was for damned sure.
Cash started to coo, and she lowered her head to plant a kiss on his furry head. The kid had more hair on his head than she did already.
“Oomph.” She’d run into a wall of muscle. “Sorry.” She looked up.
Bruiser.
“Hey.” He studied Cash’s head.
“Hi.” She swallowed hard.
Moment of truth. She started to have visions of Bruiser wanting to be a part of Cash’s life. Of him helping her. Of not having to live day to day. Some people were lucky enough to live paycheck to paycheck, but for Maisie, it was definitely day to day.
It was hard not to notice the shiny gold necklace around his neck and wonder how much formula it would pay for. Or diapers. Or both.
“So, you kept it?” He didn’t even look at Cash again.
She grimaced. As for the it part, no one could mistake Cash’s gender—he was in blue, for fuck’s sake.
Blue. Boy.
Blue, for boy.
Baby boy.
“Really, Br
uiser? I was six months along.” She shifted Cash to her other hip and readjusted her grip on the grocery bag. The baby gurgled, oblivious to all the shit she was feeling at the moment.
Evidently, the baby wasn’t the only oblivious one. “I hope you don’t plan on saying, on wanting, on—” He rubbed the back of his neck then ran his hand over his shaved dome all the way to his forehead then over his eyes. “You know.” He shrugged. “Don’t even know it’s mine.”
“It’s a he, for your information.” Asshole. “And yeah, he’s yours. Because I wasn’t the one sleeping around. But if you doubt it. Look at his eyes.” She moved so he could see Cash full-on in the face. “See? Just like your eyes. Might be my color, but these are definitely your silver patterns. Plus, he’s got the same jawline.”
“Pfft.” His eyes narrowed. “For all I know, I wasn’t the only wolf—one you were sleeping with.”
Wolf…What the hell he was trying to say? Probably, wolf’s in sheep’s clothing. Yeah, except he wasn’t in sheep’s clothing, now was he? He was a musclebound, tank-top-wearing, filled-out-jean hunk. Too bad he wasn’t as good as he looked.
“A paternity test would answer that, Bruiser.” Plus, it would help get some money. She wasn’t a gold digger, but by damn, she couldn’t make ends meet.
He stepped closer. His eyes turned to pure molten silver. “You damned well best not think about a DNA test. Not on me, and not on that critter right there.” He gestured at Cash.
“Fuck you, Bruiser. He’s not a goddamned critter. He’s your son.”
“He’s your problem.”
Chapter Three
As it turned out, little Cash Malone was her problem, and hers alone. And he was her blessing, too. And she’d juggled rearing and feeding him just fine, thank you very much. Okay, maybe not fine, maybe Cash’s clothing came from Goodwill, second and third hand. And maybe all his toys were previously used and scuffed-up, but her little baby was the happiest little baby ever.
Every night she left him with Angie Roberts, his sitter, while she went to the second most popular bar in Reno and slung drinks. She had no patience or time for men. There was only one man in her life, and he reached about knee high at a year old.
Maisie kissed Cash, hugged Angie, and took her piece of rusted metal to work, thankful it had four tires and a steering wheel, even if it didn’t have air conditioning.
She made it to Spokes Bar in time to clock in and freshen up because no air conditioning meant windows down, which spelled messy hair and sweat. Hence the hairbrush and deodorant, which were regulars in her purse.
No sooner had she clocked in and picked up her beverage tray than Jill, one of the newer waitresses, ran into her.
“Jeez. Sorry, Maisie, I didn’t see you there.”
Probably had something to do with the flowing tears, smearing mascara down her cheeks. Maisie wasn’t particularly close to Jill—hell, she wasn’t close to anyone at Spokes. She just went there, did her job, and went home to Cash. Rinse, repeat, day in, day out. That was her life. She wasn’t complaining. She was merely resigned to it and enjoying every moment away from work with Cash, who was becoming a handful.
“Are you okay?” She awkwardly went to put an arm around Jill, maybe even hugging her, but ended up patting her back. “It’ll be okay. It will.” No clue what would be okay, but she couldn’t think of anything else to say to the crying girl.
Jill drove her face into Maisie’s chest, her body heaving with each sob. “It won’t be okay. He’s dead. He’s d-d-ead!” She moaned a long crescendo. “Bruiser’s gone.”
Wait. What? Did she hear— No, she couldn’t have. No. No way. “What? Who’s dead?” Seemed rude, asking like that. What a way to ruin someone’s attempt to mourn. But she was sure she couldn’t have heard her correctly. Bruiser’s image from three months ago when he’d threatened her if she sought a DNA test came to mind. Vibrant, full of life, complete asshole Bruiser couldn’t be dead.
“Bruiser. From the Ace of Clubs. He’s dee-aaa-aaadd.” Jill turned the word into something like four syllables, but Maisie wasn’t counting.
Nah, Maisie was too stunned to move. Sure, she couldn’t stand Bruiser, and he’d done her wrong. And he’d done Cash wrong, too, but she’d been hoping one day he’d turn it around and acknowledge Cash was his and he’d be the father her little boy needed.
“Are you sure?” she heard her own voice ask, almost as though it was someone else whispering the words.
Jill glanced up at her, snot mingling with tears, incredulity and irritation on her face. “What the fuck?” She shoved Maisie away. “What do you care?” Then, just as swiftly, her face turned cunning. “I know. You used to date him, didn’t you? I think I heard that.” She sneered. “Go celebrate somewhere else, you bitch. He’s dead, and he was the love of my life.”
Yours and everyone else’s. Anyone who’d spread their legs for him. She couldn’t say that. And she wouldn’t say that. They go low, I go high, she told herself.
Go high.
I’m going high.
But still, a measure of sadness colored her waitressing shift that night as it sank in that Cash wouldn’t have a daddy. Then again, he’d never had one, to begin with.
Neither had she.
Neither. Had. She.
Chapter Four
“I can’t come in, Joey,” Maisie spoke into her cell phone—a cell with limited minutes. And she’d wasted thirteen of them being on hold waiting for Joey to come to the phone so she could tell him that her piece-of-junk-metal-trap car had decided it needed the night off. She hoped it didn’t mean it needed the rest of its life off. She couldn’t afford a new one.
She paced around her single-wide, from one end down to the other along the corridor running on the back of the trailer, while Cash piled blocks in his playpen. Every now and then, she’d stop to kiss the top of his head and inhale the baby scent. When did that smell become such an epicenter for her?
Oh, about a year ago.
She sighed. She’d been in a funk for the last week since she’d learned Bruiser was dead. No details. Just that he was dead. The internet didn’t have any details either. She’d checked when she’d taken Cash to Angie’s the day after she found out he’d died. And now the car had died. Fan-freaking-tastic.
“This is the second time this month, Maiz.”
“I know. I know. I— Well, it’s my car.”
“We’re short as it is. This is your last chance.”
“I’m going to see if I can get a ride from a neighbor as soon as he gets home from work. Better late than never, right?”
He grunted and ended the connection.
She picked up Cash and went down the street. It was a short walk from her trailer to Angie’s, but with the current heatwave, it was purgatory.
Angie opened the door, took one look at her, one at Cash, then glanced at the driveway. “Your car again? You’re both overheating. Let’s get you a cool cloth for your head. Cash’s, too.”
“Thanks. Just for Cash. I’m fine.”
“No, you ain’t fine ‘t’all. You’re red as a Colorado beet.” She shoved two threadbare washcloths dipped in cool-ish water. Best the tap could do these days, which, by the end of the day, would be closer to lukewarm-ish.
Maisie had no clue how a Colorado beet was different from any other but figured it was a regional thing. Or maybe it was a farmer’s daughter thing because Angie had mentioned countless times she was from a farming family.
“Think Dink can give me a ride when he gets home?” She hoped Angie’s husband would be off work in the next hour.
“I bet he can. Want him to check out the jalopy while you’re at work?”
“Yeah, if that’s cool with you.”
“Don’t say cool in this heat. Nothing’s cool.” She laughed at her own joke then stared at her with expectation on her face. She waved her arms upward in a bring it type motion. “Nothing? Joke fell flat?”
Maisie tossed her a grimaced smile. “Sorry. Just
one of those days. Sucks.”
“You know Bruiser wasn’t ever going to do right by you or Cashie-baby. I don’t know why you’d mourn him.” She poured two glasses of sweet sun tea and set one in front of Maisie, taking Cash and placing him in a bouncer.
“I’m not exactly mourning him.” Maisie took a long, hard swig then wiped the tea off her upper lip with the side of her index finger. “I’m wishing Cash had a father. I’m wishing he had family. That he had better than I did.” Her confession started the waterworks.
“I’m sorry. God, I’m sorry.” Angie hugged her and reached across the table for some Taco Bell napkins—with sauce on them—and swiped at the tears. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“It’s—” She sniffled. Where did all that emotion come from? “It’s fine.”
“No, it’s not. I’m a bitch. I— Let me help you. How about—” Angie paced around her kitchen, which really wasn’t much room. It limited her to a tight three-by-two space. “How about—” She paused to stir the pasta boiling away on the stovetop. “What say you we find Bruiser’s family? Surely, they’d want to help their son’s baby out? Maybe help you?”
Maisie shrugged, pursing her lips. “I don’t know…”
“It’s a great idea!” She pulled Maisie to her feet. “Stir this spaghetti.” And shoved a pasta fork into her hand. She grabbed an ancient laptop from the table, which doubled as a desk, and opened it. The old laptop was more like a brick; that was how old it was. It hummed to life, and Angie opened a browser window. “What’s his full name? I mean, Bruiser can’t be his name, right? Because who would name their kid Bruiser, right?”