She’s practically my age. Well, I think three years older? That still only puts her at twenty-five, tops.
“Are we taking your rig?” I point at Sophia’s SUV from the bottom of the porch step.
Her dark ponytail waves as she shakes her head. “I’m almost out of gas and don’t feel like stopping. We can take the flatbed.” As if to emphasize, she holds up the brass keys to the old Dodge.
“Fine. You’re driving.” There’s a spring in the seat that digs into my nuts every time I do.
My twin sister rolls her bright blue eyes and limps to the handle, yanking the creaky door open with a popping sound. “You’re such a baby,” she grumbles, tugging herself behind the wheel.
“Only by three minutes. That doesn’t automatically make you older and wiser. Just snottier.” I wrinkle my nose in imitation of her favorite expression and fold myself into the passenger side.
“You used to be less sullen. Now you just piss and moan all the time.” Her middle finger wags in my direction as she pulls the truck into the parking lot of the bar.
The sheriff is there, almost pinned against his truck with a girl tucked behind him and a very angry looking man in his face.
“What the fuck?” Sophia slams on the brakes making me almost bounce against the dash.
I should have known better than to not buckle up when she’s driving.
Before I can stop her, she’s leaning out of the window and trash talking the guy with a dark beard.
Should I help?
Wade’s a huge guy. I can’t see him losing a fight any time soon.
But I hop out, just in case. “Wade, you need help? We could practically hear you yelling from the road.”
“No, Sawyer, we’re fine here.” Wade holds up his palm, making me pause.
Sophia slams the truck into park and slides from the high seat, her fists landing on her hips.
Oh, she’s pissed.
“Oliver, just because you’re top dog in the chutes doesn’t mean you can be an ass here.” Her voice has the tone of take-no-shit.
“Fuck off, Sophia. You don’t have any room to talk, rodeo primadonna,” Oliver barks without looking at her.
“I think we should all settle down.” Wade’s tone is deep, authoritarian. He almost sounds like Dad when he’s barking orders across the cows.
Oliver’s finger raises. “We ain’t done,sheriff,” he spits, then pivots past me to climb in his own work rig and trailer with an excavator on it.
“That guy is such a jerk,” Sophia mutters. “He thinks he owns every rodeo just because he went to the PBR a couple of times.”
“What was that all about?” I watch Oliver’s Caterpillar disappear down the road.
Wade sighs. “Nothing. I had it handled. You kids shouldn’t be jumping into arguments.”
Sophia snorts. “He deserves all the shit he gets.”
“Thank you.” The dark haired girl calls out from Wade’s broad shoulders. “I don’t think we’ve met yet?”
“Sophia McCullough.” My sister holds out her hand. “That’s my brother, Sawyer.”
“There are Mason’s kids. You know, Black Gulch?” Wade turns to the woman.
Shit, she’s barely my age.
“Nice to meet you, I’m Elena.” Her eyes flick between us nervously.
