The faux cowboy threw open the door. A bell rang overhead, and a mustachioed older man at the counter gave Peyton a quizzical look. The corners of his mouth turned up.
Why is he looking at me like that?
Peyton grabbed the brim of his hat and offered the man a polite nod before making a show of wandering around the small shop and taking in some of the items on the walls and shelves. His plan involved him not coming off as too eager. He didn’t need to be an expert negotiator to know that.
“Looking for something in particular, boy?” the owner drawled from the front counter.
Peyton walked toward the counter with a smile on his face. “Howdy, sir.”
The man smirked. “Look at you, hat-wearing boy. Enjoying the look?”
“I can assure you that I dress like this all the time.” Peyton experimented with a painful Texan accent for the first part of the sentence but had already given up by the end of it.
“Sure, boy. Whatever you say.”
Okay, so I’m not the best actor in the world.
Peyton took a deep breath. This wasn’t a demonic chicken or sinister catacomb. This was a simple artifact recovery from a shop that had no idea they even had a magical artifact. According to the client, it looked like a simple onyx brooch.
I can do this. Don’t have to fight anyone or worry about crazy competing tomb raiders. Simple. Just need to find it and walk out of here with it.
The client said that the brooch had some limited light and fire powers, but it only worked for magical beings. It was effectively just a magical flashlight and lighter, which was why it had passed through several humans’ hands in Texas without anyone noticing it was magical. It also conveniently sat in the glass case below the counter.
Peyton pointed at the brooch. “That looks pretty.”
The man arched a brow. “Yeah, you could say that. Just got this in the other day. Five thousand dollars.”
Peyton managed not to bug his eyes out. The client was only offering two thousand dollars. Shay would mock him for the next twenty years if he took such a high-percentage loss even if the absolute amount was pocket change to her.
“Five thousand dollars? Do I look like some sort of Hollywood actor? I’m a rancher.”
The owner chuckled. “Nope. You don’t look like an actor, boy, but the only kind of rancher you are is all hat and no cattle.”
Peyton blinked, not sure how to respond to that. Maybe he should have kept trying with the accent.
How would Shay handle this? Oh, probably with flying fists and guns, or by breaking in during the middle of the night to steal it. I can do this. Just need a little Peyton elegance.
He cleared his throat. “Because I’m aching for a nice gift, and I just sold one of my prize-winning heifers, I’m willing to give you five hundred for it.”
The owner laughed and slapped his hand against the counter. “Boy, you loco or something?”
“That isn’t worth five thousand dollars. I know that much, even if I am loco.”
“I’ll give you that, boy. How about twenty-five hundred?”
Peyton shook his head. “Because I like your face, I can do seven hundred and fifty.”
The owner grinned. “I find you funny, so I’m willing to drop to fifteen hundred.”
“I can’t do more than one thousand.”
The other man sighed and scratched his eyelid. “That’s me taking a bath, boy.”
Peyton shrugged and turned to walk away. “If I’m going to pay much more than that, I might as well grab something that isn’t in a pawn shop. She’ll just really like that one.”
“She, huh? Who? Your mother?”
“Uh, yeah, guess you could say that. Kinda.”
The owner pulled a keycard from his pocket and passed it over a reader on the side of the counter. The lock to the glass case clicked, and he slid the door open. “Guess it’s your lucky day, boy. I like a man who respects his mother.”
Peyton tapped the brim of his hat and nodded. “Much obliged.”
The other man pulled out the brooch, chuckling.
Peyton resisted letting out a yell of triumph. Sure, he hadn’t paraglided into the middle of the desert or had a shootout with a bunch of Russian mobsters, but he’d pulled off a solid, if low-level, artifact recovery.
Maybe it’d be a stretch to call it a tomb raid, but he was satisfied for the moment being Peyton the Pawn-Shop Raider.
James’ F-350 was parked right outside Shay’s brownstone when she pulled up in her Fiat. A little antiseptic spray and a bandage had taken care of her beak wounds, but her shoulder was still sore. Her bounty-hunter boyfriend stepped out of his truck and headed toward the garage with a capacious brown paper bag in hand.
Barbeque, I bet. You’d think he would have shown up with pizza, but it’s the thought that counts.
Shay snickered and pulled her car into her garage. James ducked inside under the closing door
“Welcome back,” James offered as Shay stepped out of the car.
“Surprised you wanted to see me tonight right after a job.”
James shrugged. “I know you’ve been busy, so I haven’t bothered you, and you’re always staying at my place. I figured we could mix it up. I’ve read that’s a good thing to do in relationships.” He lifted the bag. “Brought some barbeque. Thought about going to Vegas and getting some Jessie Rae’s, but wasn’t sure how good it’d be by the time you got back. Still, this is from a good local place.”
Shay laughed. “James, you’re the only person I’d know who’d drive hours and hours just for barbeque.”
He grunted. “Maybe the only one you know, but not the only one like me in the world.”
“I don’t think the world could handle two James Brownstones, and I can barely handle one.” Shay smiled. “Let’s go eat before the food gets cold.”
The barbeque wasn’t thin-crust pizza, but it did hit the spot. A couple
