CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Rhys
A horse snuffled as it pulled up next to mine. Teller was astride a mare, the brim of his beige cowboy hat pulled down low. We probably looked like we were having awho wore it bestcompetition with our jeans and flannel shirts. Tate was wearing something similar, but Tenor had on a gray long-sleeved shirt. The Foster guys wore the same, but only one of them had a vest. The guys teased Cruz for all the snacks he kept in his pockets.
I had loaded my quarter horse, Butterball, into my trailer this morning and met everyone at Mae’s place. No way was I riding with June and fueling speculation. I was a dad with no kids for a couple of weeks and I had time to help out. That was all.
“I was surprised to see you pull up with an empty truck,” Teller said.
Empty? I had the trailer with Butterball. “Oh, the girls? June told me they were invited, but it’s their time with their grandma. And Kirstin’s staying with them too.”
He gave me a sidelong look. The horses walked next to each other, their tails swishing. We were meeting Jonah with the horse trailer by the gate. He’d already taken June and Autumn back to their mom’s. Summer had stayed behind since she was pregnant and Wynter had joined her so she could help with the kids and the meal. The cattle were all in their respective pasture, and when we returned, Mae had promised us a feast.
“You and June seem to be getting along well,” Tate said from my other side.
“We’ve made amends,” I agreed.
His dark gaze glittered. “She didn’t have anything to make amends for.”
Instead of getting upset, I laughed. Ever since I’d met her, June’s brothers had tried to intimidate me when it came to their sister. “True. I was an ass at the funeral.”
Tate grunted.
Ahead of us, Tenor was flanked by the three Foster brothers. Had Myles faced the same cold reception when he’d returned to Bourbon Canyon? His brothers had been welcomed in like family. Theywerefamily now.
I was the outsider. I wasn’t a surrogate Bailey, and I wasn’t married to a Kerrigan. June wasn’t mine.
“Nice to have you moving cattle with us again,” Teller said.
“I don’t remember it being such a strategic process.” The Baileys had a lot of land, but several stretches of fence had been added. Tate had been precise about which cattle went to which pasture, where salt blocks were set in specific locations, and he’d stopped to take pictures of the grasses and shrubbery.
“Dad tried to do right by the land,” Teller said, his hands resting on his saddle horn with his reins loose in his grip. “But Tate’s leveled it up. Put the stick in his ass to good use.”
Tate aimed a glare across me. “I use best grazing practices. We’ve separated the pastures as best we can when it comes to water and vegetation. I’m anal about salt blocks”—another hard look from Tate to Teller—“because it gets the cattle to move around, spreading the grazing over the pasture—and their manure.”
“We’ve cut back on our hay needs,” Teller added. “The pastures have time to regenerate, and in drought years we don’t have to supplement as much as before. But anyway, back to you and June.”
I bristled. “What about us?”
“I can’t ask around her or she’d kill me, but what’s going on? I’ve seen your pickup at her cabin all week.”
I gaped at him. “How?”
He smirked and traded a gotcha grin with Tate.
“There was the time I was there,” Teller answered. “You just confirmed the rest.”
Shit. “She’s needed help with . . .”
Tate barked out a laugh that sent Butterball’s ears swiveling. “Is that what they’re calling it these days?”
“Her songs?—”
“We didn’t believe your bullshit stories then,” Teller cut in. “And we’re not buying them now.”
I glowered at the back of the riders in front of us, thankfully too far ahead to hear our conversation. “It’s just until she leaves. I’m not looking for anything serious and neither is she.”
“June’s always looking for something serious,” Tategrumbled. “It’s why she picks those shit sticks for boyfriends.”
