“Does he not know she’s pregnant, or not know you’re the one who did it?” Colt asks.
“I thought there was an unspoken rule not to touch Cassidy Bowman so we could happily maintain our watering hole?” Denny shouts, trotting to catch up to us. “You took that rule and swung way too hard in the opposite direction.”
I shrug, packing my chewing tobacco with a few flicks of my wrist. “Never met a rule I didn’t love breaking.”
Especiallythat one. I’d face any consequences a million times over, with a shit-eating grin, for breaking the rule not to touch Cass. I can’t begin to count the number of times I’ve thought about all the things I would do to her, given the chance and more privacy than we had that night.
“And, Colt, he knows she’s pregnant, but he thinks the baby is her ex-boyfriend’s,” I clarify.
“Smart. Let him keep thinking that so he doesn’t hunt you down and string you up.” Colt shoots finger guns in my direction.
Up ahead, Rob clears his throat to hide a laugh. He’s a bitter, ugly, middle-aged ranch hand who’s decent enough at cowboying and poker, but dog shit at everything else.
“What’s that, Rob?” I challenge him.
“Why not let everybody keep thinking it’s not yours, and you can be off the hook entirely? Seems like a win for everyone that way.”
If I wasn’t currently on a horse, I would hit him. Actually—fuck it—I ride up next to him and punch him in the upper arm.Hard.Enough that he sharply inhales through his teeth. “Because I’m not a fucking deadbeat.”
“Clearly she doesn’t want anybody to know it’s yours. What’s the reason for that, jackass? Think maybe she’s embarrassed? Can’t say I blame her,” he snarks.
I rip the reins from his hands, veering his mare into mine, my fist landing squarely on his jaw. I wish he wasn’t such a good rider. It would make my fucking day to see him fall off the back of his horse and be left to walk home.Asshole.
“Jesus, Red. Chill.” Denny rides up the other side of me and wrestles the reins out of my grasp, then chucks them back over to Rob. “He was trying to rile you up.”
“Well, it fucking worked.” I shake Denny’s hand away from my shoulder. Even Heathen sidepasses to get away from him.
“Clearly.” He shakes his head. “Come have dinner at the big house tonight, get away from the assholes in the bunks. I don’t think the girls will want to clean up a bloodbath there tomorrow.”
The ride back is silent, save for hooves on the compact trail and birdsong. We untack and turn the horses out without anybody saying a word, going through the motions surrounded solely by the occasional braying and clanging of the tack room door. It’s not until Denny and I are halfway down the dark, gravel path to the big house that somebody talks.
“Rob was talking out of his ass earlier. I don’t think Cass is trying to make it seem like the baby is Derek’s,” Denny says without taking his eyes off of the farmhouse up ahead.
I don’t know if she wishes it was Derek’s. But I do know, for sure, that she wishes it wasn’t mine.
“Nah, I don’t think he was wrong. Still pisses me off to hear him say it, though.”
“She must think you’re a hot piece of ass or she wouldn’t have banged you to begin with.” Denny laughs, and I smack him in the chest, which does nothing but make him laugh harder. “Just sayin’. She’s a real fuckin’ idiot for pretending the baby’s his instead of yours.”
“Den, I love you like a brother. That’s the only reason I’m not knocking you out. Watch what you say about the mother of my child.”
“Holy.Already got the protective dad thing going on, eh?” Denny smiles, shaking his head. “You guys will figure it out, I’m sure. She’s going to realize you’re not half as much of a piece of shit as Derek. Love ya, bro.”
He wraps an arm around my shoulder as we walk up the front porch stairs, and I don’t even bother shrugging it off. Through the front door to the big house—the sprawling white farmhouse where Jackson and Kate live with their five-year-old, Odessa, and one-year-old, Rhett. It’s also always been the one place on the ranch where everybody hangs out; the big house’s kitchen is always open.
Odessa comes out of nowhere, barrelling into my legs with a hug, then proceeds to chase Denny down the hall. She giggles as he runs just fast enough that her fingertips graze his back but can’t quite grab hold of his shirt, untamed brown hair flying behind her. If my kid is anywhere half as cool as her, I think I’ll manage fine. Maybe they’ll give me some grey hair, but I work best with people who are a bit wild. Back in April, Odessa passed the country-kid rite of passage by falling off a calf she decided to ride bareback, breaking her tiny wrist. Instead of being scared away, she hopped back on three days later and had to go get her cast replaced because it was caked in cow crap.
“Hey, didn’t know you were coming,” Kate calls over from the table where she’s breastfeeding Rhett. “Grab a plate and dish up.”
I’ve had my own permanent spot at the Wells kitchen table since I was a kid. My dad was a cowboy with a bad temper and a drinking problem, and Mom was too tired to care about anything except cigarettes andDays Of Our Lives. Back then, Wells Ranch employed half as many cowboys as they do now, so my family had one of the four-bedroom bunkhouses. By the time I was eight, I preferred the safety of joining the Wells family for dinner over spending any time with my own parents and siblings. That’s when Grandpa Charlie Wells pulled up a chair right between Denny and Jackson and declared it my spot. I don’t usually intrude on their family dinners anymore, but the seat’s still mine anytime I want it.
“You see there’s a snowfall warning for tomorrow night?” Jackson scoops a heaping pile of mashed potatoes onto his plate.
“Mhm, shouldn’t be too bad,” Austin replies. If there’s one thing ranchers love to talk about, it’s the weather. It even gets the normally silent of the three brothers to talk. “Still gets pretty warm during the day. Even if things freeze up, they’ll thaw by mid-morning.”
Denny swallows a bite and adds, “Should fix that broken water heater in the back pen before it gets much colder, though. If it freezes, we’ll be hauling water multiple times a day.”
Tuning out their conversation, I watch Kate place baby Rhett into his highchair. His chubby hands immediately dig into the mashed potatoes,bringing a fistful to his mouth. The majority of it squishes between his tiny fingers and lands with a splatter on his tray, which I can’t help but smile at. A quiet laugh slips from my lips as his dirty hand moves to smear food through the fine blond hair on top of his head.
