Howler, page 1
part #2 of Jackson Investivative Services Series
Howler
AJ Storm
Contents
Untitled
Also by AJ Storm
Author Note
Synopsis
Prologue
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
Epilogue
About AJ Storm
Playlist for Howler
Copyright © 2019 by AJ Storm
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.
No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of the publisher or author, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser. You do not have resell or distribution rights without the prior written permission of both the publisher and copyright owner of this book. This book cannot be copied in any format, sold, or otherwise transferred from your computer to another through upload, or for a fee.
Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000. Disclaimer: This book may contain explicit sexual content, graphic, adult language, and situations that some readers may find objectionable which might include: erotic elements. This e-book is for sale to adults ONLY, as defined by the laws of the country in which you made your purchase.
Authors Note: This is a work of fiction. All characters, places, businesses, and incidents are from the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual places, people, or events is purely coincidental. Final edits rest with the author.
Publisher’s Note: Any trademarks mentioned herein are not authorized by the trademark owners and do not in any way mean the work is sponsored by or associated with the trademark owners. Any trademarks used are specifically in descriptive capacity and recognized by the author as not being owned by said author. This is a work of fiction. All characters, places, businesses, and incidents are from the author’s imagination.
Also by AJ Storm
Emily’s Passion
Right of Passion
Dark Strangers
Alexander’s Story
The Power of Two
Fortune’s Eyes
The Blood Rose
Fortune’s Daughter
Danny’s Heat
Child’s Play
Willow’s Chaos
A NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR
Thank you to Sandy at Personal Touch Editing. You are wonderful to work with and I love your ideas. Patience…you have tremendous patience.
Thank you to Moonstruck Cover Design and Photography for the amazing job you did on the new cover. The cover expressed everything I wanted it to say about the story.
To my faithful beta readers, Sara and Jody, you make my job easier and fun to do. My typos usually end up making me laugh and you always find them. DeAnne, you are now no longer a new addition to the beta mix and I’m grateful you took on the task of reading my Howler.
My PA, Sara, is an extraordinary person and hard worker. You are a true angel. I consider myself blessed to work with you and appreciate you for all you do.
To my friend and mentor, Suz, you’re always close to my heart. I say it all the time, but it’s the truth. You took a bone-headed writer and turned me into an author. Thank you so much.
My husband and best friend is my encourager and sound board. You always support me in my book endeavors, especially when I need it. He travels with me to my book signings and shares with others the fun he has. I love you so much.
Finally, the readers. Readers are the most important aspect of being an author. Without you and your input, we are simply words on paper. When you enmesh yourself into our stories, you make them come to life. Authors wouldn’t be who we are without the readers—we need you. Thank you for all that you do.
Howler
His name is Howler for a reason. A self-confident man of forty-three, he controls everything and everyone around him. Women trip over themselves to get the first smile from his lips.
A founder/owner of an investigative service that helps people in trouble, he finds himself in the heart of the Choctaw Nation of Oklahoma. The owner of the very successful Painted Horse Ranch is being vandalized with fires, broken fences, graffiti covered signs, and attempted horse theft.
When Howler’s boots hit the gravel road in front of the owner’s house, he knows he’ll lose his heart. Sadie is slightly older, a curvy, beautiful Choctaw who is as big a control freak as him.
Will she play, or will she fight until she runs him off?
Prologue
SADIE
The air was still filled with a burnt smell even after a month. After the investigators finished, they called the fire arson. Close to eight hundred acres of pastureland was burned. Luckily, it stopped within a few feet of the old bunkhouse. Not many of the hands stayed in it, but a few did.
Rocking in her chair, she tried hard to keep her mind from drifting through the bad memories that surfaced. The fire had almost stomped her to the ground, especially after what happened the year before.
Sadie wasn’t always given to bouts of depression but like the song said, ‘if it weren’t for bad luck, there’d be no luck at all.’ That was exactly how she felt as she sat in her chair reminiscing.
She stood, walked from one end of the long porch to the other and back before she sat again. Remembering her father’s death still hurt like hell. The only thing that kept her going was finding the one who did it. Her gut told her it was murder, but the sheriff told her it was a terrible accident. Her father was never that careless, and neither was Prince, his Paint.
Last year, on May eighteenth, her father took Prince out to run the fence line, searching for needed repairs. Just like today, she’d stood in the same spot, watching him ride off. No one could tell Sadie how it happened, but she was told his horse probably stumbled, throwing Sam down a steep embankment, breaking his neck.
No—no way. First, Prince never stumbled. He was surefooted, the best horse to run the rocky and overgrown terrain. Now, he only ran in the pasture and was used as a stud. Sadie couldn’t bring herself to ride him yet even though it wasn’t good for the horse’s health. He needed someone riding him.
Sadie had her own horse. Her eyes watched as he cut up in the pen, asking for her attention. He wanted to run, and he wanted her to get up. It was on her fortieth birthday, her father had presented her with one of his best foals to raise, and Whiskey became her buddy. No one else could ride him, or they’d be thrown on the ground. The horse belonged to her, just as she belonged to her father.
Tears hit her cheeks as the memories hit her hard. Saying goodbye to Sam was the toughest thing she’d done. Even the solace of her brothers did nothing to console her. The months after his funeral, she’d spent hours each day going through his papers, not sure what she was looking for but knew it would jump out at her when she saw it. Everything in his desk, on his desk, and under his desk revealed nothing.
Ready to give up, she had felt defeated but remembered seeing a box in his closet. When she’d asked him about it, he told her it was nothing. A few days later, the box was moved. That day, she remembered tearing his closet apart and still found nothing.
“Where in the hell did you put it, Dad?”
What were you hiding?
Her mind went back to the closet and standing in the doorway, staring at her father’s bed when she’d realized she overlooked one piece of furniture in his room.
At the end of the bed sat her mother’s old hope chest where she’d kept her special blankets and items she wanted to keep and pass down. Sadie couldn’t imagine her father hiding something in there, but anything was possible.
Opening the lid, she removed stacks of handmade quilts and baby clothes from the boys. Hers weren’t in there because her father would never think to keep her old clothes and baby blankets. Under all the items sat the box. Her hands shook when she reached inside the chest to lift it out. It was heavy, so she closed the lid to the chest and sat the box on top.
She lifted the lid to the box and discovered stacks of official and unofficial letters. When she quickly thumbed from top to bottom, she discovered the first one was dated a month after her mother had died. Every one of them was from the Flying Horse ranch. Their property line ran up to Sam’s and on for several acres.
Burt Wilhelm owned and ran the ranch which dealt mostly with thoroughbreds. Burt and Sam had been good friends when they both started out, but over the years, their friendship had dwindled.
The official papers were sent to her father on Burt’s corporate letterhead, making a decent offer for the land with all rights, buildings, and horses on her father’s ranch. Sadie knew the Paints they raised were valued by most horse enthusiasts. Over the years, the letters seemed to take on a cryptic and impatient tone. Burt had his heart set on owning the Duke ranch, and her father was just as determined not to
She remembered her father telling her he owned the water rights on the property, and there were several creeks which ran across the land. The mineral rights weren’t that big a deal unless you were into oil, but her father’s interest was the horses.
Within the last two years, the letters became threatening but never written on the official letterhead. It was during that time, fencing would get mysteriously knocked down or cut, names would be painted over on the sign announcing the name of the ranch—basic vandalism. Until her father fell off his horse and died.
Then last month the fire was set, and her property burned. Fortunately, none of the horses were involved. They’d been moved to a different location for a little free-range time.
Today was Sadie Dukes’ birthday. She felt older than dirt, so she wasn’t celebrating.
Forty-six years ago, on June twenty-fifth, Sadie Dukes was delivered to Samuel Billie Dukes and Holly Elaine Dukes. The couple finally had their baby girl. Her mother probably would’ve kept trying if she’d been another boy. She chuckled remembering her brothers always teasing her about being the favorite.
Her father, Sam, owned and operated a twelve-thousand-acre horse ranch in a lower valley at the edge of Latimer County in Oklahoma. The county was part of the Choctaw Nation. Since her father was full-blood Choctaw and a descendant of a tribal chief, the land, mineral rights, and water rights had been passed down through generations of his family. Her mother was half Choctaw and helped her husband establish and grow the ranch in the early days.
When Sadie thought of her father, she remembered him sitting on his Paint—exhibiting strength and wisdom. That was the breed of horse he loved and raised. The ranch was very successful. People came from far away to either purchase or breed one of their horses.
Sam had always told her if her mother had had her way, Sadie would have dressed in ruffles with curls hanging down her back. But Holly had died giving birth to Sadie, leaving her father to raise her three brothers and her by himself.
Activity in tribal life meant you were never alone, Sam had help whenever he needed it. There were always women to help with her and the boys. His dream was to have his sons take over and run the ranch so he could retire. The boys all had other ideas—she remembered the arguments Sam had with them.
Thanks to the influence of her brothers, she was the biggest tomboy around and had no intention of being left out of their adventures. They called her cougar because she would stalk them, then pounce if the game was one she wanted to play. She loved following them around.
All the boys did well in school, receiving full scholarships to college. She thought about the day the oldest left to study to become a doctor. Her father was proud, but she could also see his sadness.
A year later, when the second one left to become a lawyer, her father accepted it better with the hope of the third son stepping up to learn how to ranch. Her heart broke for her dad when his youngest son announced his plans to become a carpenter and move to Texas. He designed and built fancy furniture for the rich. All three boys were highly successful with no plans to move home. Her father never could begrudge them their dreams.
So, because Sadie was his daughter and enough like him to scare those around her, he took her under his wing. He taught her all there was to know to run his ranch—from breeding his horses to mending fences and buying and selling the Paints.
Sadie could ride and rope as well as any ranch hand. She also held the respect of all those working for her father. When they were shoveling shit out of the stalls, she was right beside them. Her eyes focused on the tips of her boots as she sat on the porch, smiling and remembering what her father would call ‘the good old days.’ The ranch was solid—always in the black. Enough to make other ranchers take notice—some more so than others.
Shifting in her chair, she let her eyes peruse the low mountains surrounding the ranch. That’s when her eyes focused on the pickup truck stopped at the entrance to the ranch. She didn’t recognize it—probably someone lost or looking at the burned acres left from the fire. She wasn’t in the proper mood to greet anyone, let alone a lost stranger.
So, here she sat, on her forty-sixth birthday—alone, angry, bitter, and watching some dumb shit drive up her road to ask where the hell he was.
Yay, me.
HOWLER
Griffin Jackson was the kind of man who did what he wanted, when he wanted. His persona drew people to him, especially the ladies. His body wasn’t bad either.
If you asked people about Griffin, they had no idea who you were referring to—he went by Howler. He was given the nickname in grade school for various reasons. Even in his special forces unit, he was called Howler.
Two months ago, he didn’t have any intention of being in Oklahoma, but here he was, traveling down Indian Nation Turnpike. Driving straight through from Tyler, Texas, he was ready for food, beer, and a leg stretch. Antlers was five miles ahead. The town was close to the turnoff he was looking for, so he’d stop and check off the three items on his current list.
He pulled his 2016 Ford F-250 Heavy Duty pickup into the parking lot of a small café surrounded by at least fifteen cars—must have good food—and parked his truck near the back of the lot.
Once he stepped through the door, every head in the place turned to inspect him. People stopped their conversations and let their eyes do the talking. Women sat up straight, smoothing their hair or adjusting their clothing. Men just pushed their hats back, glaring at him. He had that effect on everyone he met.
Finding a booth in the corner, he sat down and looked at the menu already on the table behind the napkin box. Two girls were in a race to get to his table, but the older one beat the younger to it.
“Hi, my name is Jackie, and I’ll be your waitress. What can I get for you, mister?”
“First of all, you can call me Howler, hon.” She blushed and threw her chest out further.
“Well, Howler, what would you like to eat today?” Pun intended, he thought.
“Jackie, I’ll have a cheeseburger, medium well and a cold beer. Do you have Corona?” He knew they did because he’d checked the beer list on the menu.
“Yes, we do. I’ll go put the order in and bring your beer.” When she brought his beer and set the bottle in front of him, she asked, “How did you come by the name Howler?”
He smiled and gave his usual sexy chuckle. “I howl when I get excited. I’ve had the name since grade school.”
“What excites you, Howler?” she asked, leaning her chest over in his face.
“Life, Jackie. Life excites me.” Don’t think you’re ready for the real reason, hon.
Her countenance fell which told him she’d been hoping for an invitation. He was too old for just out of ‘jailbait’ age.
“Order up, Jackie,” someone yelled from the back. The girl moseyed to pick up the food, shaking her head.
He watched the other waitress giving her the third degree. She blew the girl off, picked up his order, and grabbed another beer for him.
“I forgot to tell you it comes with fries,” she offered.
“Thanks, darling. It’s all good. Have you lived in this area long?”
Her face perked up. “All my life.”
“Do many farmers or ranchers come in here during the week?”
“Oh, all the time. Why?” she asked with a puzzled look.
“Do you know if any of them are looking for workers? I’m looking to find a job.”
“Not that I know of but let me ask in the back. Our cook owns the place, and he knows all the latest news around here.”
