Several insisted I cut all my hair to match the huge, looming open area, but I refused. I simply popped some gauze over the spot and put on a hat. The hair will grow back.
“Gray, whatcha’ doin’ here?” one of the other usual ranch hands calls out to me.
“Working.” The answer grunted as if it was some huge inconvenience to answer in the first place.
I’m just pissed at Tate and that’s going to get taken out on everyone else but him.
I haven’t heard from him or seen him since I left the hospital, though I know he’s been calling River. Another thing that makes me vibrate with anger. Where he got off thinking he could freely talk to my woman about me doesn’t make me happy.
Outside of the night we walked into the bar to grab our women together, it’s been crickets. And that had been a coincidence that we pulled in at the exact same time.
“Aren’t ya supposed to be on bed rest or something?”
If looks could kill, the scowl I shoot his way might be the one. His hands immediately shoot up as if I’m pointing an actual pistol his way. Quick retreating steps, putting him out of range, should I strike.
“Why don’t you handle your own business, hmm?”
“Yeah, ‘course. Have a good one.” He scampers off, chancing a look behind him several times as if he thought I’d follow.
I don’t have the energy or the time. River took every bit of that this morning when she rode my dick and then my face. The second I had to talk her into. The woman was more concerned about the metal in my head than letting me make her come and scream my name.
Making my way to the cattle barn, Tate is there with another of the ranch hands. The moment he spots me, he races toward me. The spin on my heel not nearly fast enough to get away.
Sure, I’ve been doing everything I shouldn’t. All the things River listed nights ago, but my head is pounding too damn hard at the moment to run from him.
“Gray, wait!”
“Busy,” I call behind me.
“Stop!” Tate shouts. Spinning to face him, our chests nearly collide. “You should be home… resting.”
“Playing Dad again,” I growl.
“Come on, Gray. We’re all breaking our backs to make sure your recovery goes well, and you want to throw childish retorts my way?”
“Bending over backward? I don’t recall you helping do a damn thing since I’ve been home.”
“Then think again. Who do you think fixed your fence? Who do you think has been doing all the things you normally do around here while you were laid up? Who do you think has been checking to make sure River was okay because I know what an asshole you can be?” His scowl dark and menacing as he stares down that single inch at me.
“Fuck you, Tate. It doesn’t change that you’re a liar.” The words are spewed with such venom, he recoils.
“Fine. Yeah.” He runs his hand over the back of his head. “I lied to you. It was a confidential business contract I couldn’t talk about until everything was signed. I didn’t know they were going to announce it that way. We’d just gotten everything finalized that morning.”
Something inside me softens. Just a fraction. My mouth presses into a straight line as I take a few steps back. “Well, congrats on the place. If you’ll excuse me, I have livestock to tend to.”
“It’s already done,” Tate all but whispers.
My steps only falter for a moment. “Well, thanks for looking out for me. Seems it didn’t take you long to figure it out without me.”
Then I’m stomping back to my truck. I need a drink. I don’t care if I’m not supposed to have one.
The Thirsty Pony is nearly empty when I enter. It should be. It’s not even eleven in the morning.
Slipping onto one of the stools, my arms fold over the bar top. I hate that I let Tate ruin my mood with every interaction. I’d been so happy this morning. Getting River on a bull was the ultimate win. I’m honestly surprised she caved as quickly as she did. I thought there would be a bigger argument where she’d continue to tell me what an idiot I am about my health. Then she made my heart melt with the way she trusted me enough to get on the back of that massive bull.
“Fester,” I snort to myself. A horrible name, but all the names she’s picked for the cows are equally bad. Still, they make her happy, so they make me happy.
“Must have had a run in with that brother of yours,” Betty leans her elbows on the counter in front of me, dangling a beer bottle by the neck.
