He smirked, but didn’t press. “Good. Because if those Waco boys get rowdy, I’m not bailing your ass out of jail. Not this time.”
“They wouldn’t dare,” I said, but I kept one eye on the edge of the barn, where the Waco crew was clustered. They watched me, but it was more curiosity than threat. We’d kicked enough teeth in enough times to keep them nervous, at least for now.
We loaded out the remaining calves, Arsenal doing most of the heavy work while I handled the paperwork and smiled at buyers who wanted to shake my hand. I hated the politeness of it, the way men pretended to care about you when it was really just about the next transaction. But I played the game, because that’s what you did.
By two, we were done. I signed off the last bill of sale and let Arsenal lead the way to the trucks.
Our hands joined us, respectively, and the ride was quiet. The road back to Dairyville was long and mostly empty, fields stretching out on both sides, every fence post and cow skull glowing in the late sun.
I watched the road, letting my mind drift.
The memory of Brie came back stronger now. The way she’d looked at me that morning, chin up but eyes wide, like she wanted to run and stay at the same time. The way she’d said my name, just once, soft as a confession. I could smell her on my skin, even through the sweat and dust of the auction barn.
Somewhere near Amarillo, my phone buzzed. I checked it without thinking. It was a photo from Brie: her hand, paint-smudged, holding a coffee cup with a smiley face in Sharpie on the side. Underneath, she’d written: “Try not to start a fight. I want to see you with both eyebrows intact.”
I smiled, despite myself. I thought about replying but didn’t want to seem too eager. But I knew I was already doomed.
The sun dipped low, turning every ditch and fence into a silhouette. We made Dairyville by dusk, the town so still you’d think nothing ever happened here.
But I knew better. Trouble never left for long.
As we pulled up to the Iron Valor clubhouse, I saw the lights were on. Bronc was waiting. I squared my shoulders, forcing my mind to focus.
Tonight, I’d eat, catch up on my sleep. I’d wait until tomorrow to see Brie. I’d force myself to send her one quick text:
Made it home safe. Gonna shower and hit the hay. We’ll talk tomorrow. Night Maverick.
Saw three dots. Then nothing. I’m sure she was pissed. I really didn’t want to piss her off. I was exhausted. Maybe this could be lesson one in little Brie not getting her way.
I got out of the shower to a terse message waiting. Oh yeah. She didn’t like the fact that I hadn’t made time for her. She didn’t even consider how long I’d been on the road or how little sleep I’d gotten the night before. She didn’t say something like,glad you’re home safe. Or,I can’t wait to see you tomorrow.Nope. Not my little brat. This is the message I got:
“Fine.”
Which, when a woman says,fine, that generally means it’s anything but.
Pearl ran the kitchen like it were the bridge of a warship, and every man who crossed her threshold was either a soldier, a stowaway, or on KP duty until further notice. The main table in the Iron Valor clubhouse was packed: Bronc at the head, his Alpha presence undeniable even in a t-shirt and tattered jeans, Arsenal at his right, Wrecker left, and Big Papa squeezed next to Arsenal with a gravity that pulled all conversation his way. Doc sat in his usual seat next to Wrecker, and I took the last seat on the other side of Papa.
The food was classic Texas: biscuits dripping butter, sausage gravy laced with red pepper, scrambled eggs fluffy as whipped clouds, and baconthick enough that you could use them as treads on a sled. Pearl set each plate down herself, dishing them up with a smile that dared you to criticize the seasoning.
“Eat up, boys,” she said. “You look like you’ve been living on caffeine and regret.”
Papa snorted. “Ain’t that the Iron Valor food pyramid?”
Arsenal, already halfway through his second helping, just nodded and kept eating.
I’d barely made it to my seat before Bronc’s gaze zeroed in on me. “Report.”
It wasn’t a question. The room went quiet, except for the scrape of forks on plates.
I gave him the numbers first, because that’s what he wanted. “Cleared just under twenty thousand net, and there’s already talk about booking next year’s calves in advance. Buyers came from as far as Galveston and Oklahoma City. I heard two say our stock is better than half the legacy lines in the state.”
Arsenal backed me up. “He’s not exaggerating. Men were taking pictures of our steers for their social media. It’s getting to be a brand.”
Bronc’s mouth twitched up at the corners, a rare public display of pride. “Good work. Both of you.”
Pearl topped off Bronc’s mug, then circled around to Papa. “Anything to add, sweetheart?”
Papa shook his head. “Not unless you want to hear about the time Gunner tried to break a longhorn with a piece of licorice and a strip of duct tape.”
