Two hours later a bright red Ford pickup truck pulled up in front of his house, the name of Bowie’s bull farm plastered tastefully on the side. A pretty penny had gone into the design, but Asher had to admit it not only looked nice, but it also managed to bring in extra business. He had often entertained the thought of having something similar done to his truck to help advertise the ranch; however, time always got away from him and he never saw to it.
Bowie gave the horn a toot which sent Asher’s dogs into a barking frenzy. He barely managed to get out the front door without being followed. Snow crunched under his boots as he jogged to the truck’s side, pulling open the door and hoisting himself inside. Instantly he was enveloped by heat and country music. Bowie was cruising back down the
