Coyotes & Curves Read Online Free

subservience by allowing Red to crowd him closer than most, as he rubs against his side – running a long snout throughout his dusty coat. Red can smell the stranger well enough without having to stick his nose up the man’s ass in broad day light –and both men forgo the archaic display.
    “Where do hale from?” Granger asks, as Jake backs away a safe distance, before taking a seat on the porch – his back against a post holding up the slanted roof shading the area from sun. Red watches as the man produce a small carving knife from one pocket of his duster and a little piece of wood from the other, and begins to carve – Testing Red’s patience.
    “Indian Territories.” His answer is firm and true.
    “You native?”
    “Half,” he answers. The stranger senses hatred in the old Coyote’s voice. Jake knows Red Granger, or rather of him. His story isn’t unfamiliar in the world of changelings, but he has seen more than his share of troubles; and made quite a name for himself dealing with his lot.
    A half breed, half breed… like me... Red ponders, staring at the man as the rest of the pack watches anxiously. No, I won’t kill him – not yet, anyway. He might be able to use a man like that. “Come on, let’s get outta this heat,” he commands, removing his hat and slicking back his thick blonde hair - looking in the sky. The silver streaks shine in the sun, showing his age and wisdom.
    Red is older than the other men, but he moves just as agile and with the mode of strength and air of confidence of a man twenty years his junior – that’s in his human form; as a Coyote, he is an Alpha Beast, with none his equal – leaving many in his world wondering why he prefers to use the form of an older attractive male. A leader should be older and distinguished; not some inexperienced looking pup . I bet in the Twilight years to come, we’ll have two thousand year old men gallivanting around as teenage wolves. Red’s outlook on things rarely parallel, those of the general public. You never really know what he’s thinking, or how he’ll react; his quiet anger, keeping all on edge. All, but Kearney – who should be arriving anytime – and Granger better have some results for him.
    “Hurry up and git in here and close the damn door!” Red yells, impatiently.
    The last of his men hurries in, slamming the door quickly behind them, eliciting another disdainful look from Red, who sits shaking his head in disgust; having already made himself comfortable in the new rocking chair – a gift, recently given to him by the buxom Miss Jessica Lily – the Red Star Hotel & Saloon’s, most lovely girl; and someone who’s been on Red’s mind all week. The thought of her making the bulge inside of his pants swell; and the hair on the back of his neck stands up as he pants deeply; all helping to calm him down, and lessening his desire to nip at Bob for being such a simpleton.
    “Jesus, Bob… Just sit down.” He finishes his sentence with a roll of his eyes, and relents from further abuse; watching Bob limp across the room.
    The old man makes his way to a leather sashed pine chair; that creaks heavily under the weight of the potbellied scruff as he drops into place. He’s old and knows his days are numbered. His face winces in pain when he lifts his leg, repositioning it to make it comfortable.
    “What’d you do to your leg?” Red questions, seeing the man’s obvious pain; and crimson coloring streaking down the side of his leather trousers mixed with sweating stains and caked mud.
    “Nothing, that won’t be healed soon enough.
    “Done got himself shot; is what the dern fool went and did, Red,” Danny, the youngest of the men, confesses in an attempt to clear his name by being the first to announce the blundering move. He doesn’t want Red coming down on him for the old turd’s mistake – which was an obvious breaking of one of Red’s cardinal rules.
    A growl exits the Sheriffs body “What do mean?” He