“You, Ginger wolf,” Calico snapped. “Make me some coffee.”
I suppressed a growl as I got up from the table. I didn’t mind being called Ginger wolf, the other guys usually called me that. But the way Calico uses it, it makes it sound derogatory and gross. I poured him a cup of coffee and added the sugar and cream. I could feel his eyes on me; probably making sure I don’t spit in it.
“Here,” I said and handed it to him. He took a sip and made a face.
“This tastes like piss,” he snapped. “Go into town and get me something worth the heartburn. And a couple scones too.”
“I’m not going to town to get you coffee,” I snapped. “I’ve got my own work to do.”
“Your job is to do as your told,” he growled. “I’m sure the boss already told you that.”
“I don’t work for you,” I replied. “You’re lucky
