I sigh, already knowing the rest of her clothes are probably scattered across my porch. She didn’t even wait to get inside—climbed into my lap the second the truck was in park. Round one happened with her back against the front door.
I nudge open the closet, grab a Stetson Stormers tee, and toss it her way.
“Here,” I say. “Take this.”
She drops the sheets around her, teasing me. Slipping the shirt over her head and dragging it down slowly, her tits bounce slightly, nipples hard and pink, almost begging for my mouth. A sight that could easily tempt a man into forgetting his own code, but I clench my jaw, remindin’ myself who I am—the lines I’ve drawn for a reason.
She stands up and yanks her shorts on real fast, like now she’s in a hurry to go. “You really are trouble, aren’t you?”
“That’s what they tell me.” I lean against the doorframe, trying for a grin.
She snorts, not quite smiling. “Yeah, well, you sure live up to the hype.”
“In that case,” I say, stepping closer, “I’ll be a gentleman and walk you out, sugar.”
The front door creaks open, and a rooster screams like some damn alarm I can’t snooze. I glance toward mama's farmhouse. “Shit,” I mutter. “Ranch is about to wake up.”
Her brows lift, just slightly. “Right. Wouldn’t want to ruin your reputation.”
“Come on, it’s not like that?—”
She cuts me off with a soft kiss, like she doesn’t want to argue. But when she pulls back, her voice is cooler. “Call me.”
I watch her go, but the mood’s shifted. She bends down to snag her black lace bra from the grass and shoves it into her purse without looking back.
"Sure thing," is all I manage, but it's enough. I don't have her number, and I won’t ask for it. I wave as she slips inside the car and it pulls away. This is the way of things here. I might party all night and enjoy myself, but when the sun rises, reality sets in, and the work has to get done… But maybe I’ll start about twenty minutes late today.
I collapse onto the couch, the cushions swallowing my weight as I let out a long sigh. My eyes flutter closed for a moment. Then, a sharp, insistent bark cuts through my moment of silence. My eyes snap open, the brief haze of near-sleep shattered.
His head cocks to one side, those judgy eyes fixing me with a stare making it clear he's not impressed. Benson Bone, my mom’s Australian Shepherd, is seated on my porch, staring at me through the screen door like he's here to serve me papers.
"Aw hell, Benson, what're you doin' givin’ me the judgy eyes?" I tease him, opening up the screen door. He responds with a soft, throaty bark.
"Did Mama send you?" I ask, narrowin’ my eyes at the dog, who barks louder this time. It's his way of sayin'get your damn boots on, Trouble. If you haven’t picked up on it yet, that’s me—Tristan Stetson, also known as Trouble, according to the ranch and everyone who's ever dared to step into the arena with me.
I chuckle, flicking a toothpick between my lips from one corner of my mouth to the other. I slip on some clothes and put on my boots, then whistle at Benson, who leaps down the steps following behind me.
“Let’s not keep the queen waitin’, shall we?” Benson and I hop in the side-by-side, and we cut across Stetson Ranch.
It’s our kingdom here, a place where Mama raised four wild boys—now five, counting my nephew. Her hands might be rough, and she might yell at us more than anything, but there’s always been that twinkle in her eye that tells us she loves every moment of it.
We drive past my older brother's place—everyone calls him Danger. He lives there with his son, Fisher. My other two brothers, who go by Rogue and Charming, are probably out patrolling the fences on the far side near their properties. My three brothers and I each have our lodges on the ranch, spread out in different corners, with Mama’s farmhouse right in the middle—the heart of it all. Every morning, we gather there for breakfast. Her door’s always open—not just for us, but for the ranch hands in the bunkhouses, the staff we have, and the riders on our Stetson Stormers team.
We’ve got a big crew, but around here, loyalty runs deep. Everyone’s family.
As we close in on Mama’s house, Benson Bone seems to sense my thoughts, his ears perking up like he knows he’s about to watch somethin’ entertaining go down, like usual.
“What she got up her sleeve today, boy?” He doesn’t answer, simply pants in response.
Mama's farmhouse has been here for generations, but we updated it for her. She has the biggest wrap-around porch in town with rocking chairs lined up across it. Her only requirements were an oversized kitchen and a dining table that could fit allof us.
"Trouble," Mama drawls, stepping onto her porch. "Do you know what Benson brought me this mornin’?" Her hands rest unevenly on her hips.
"Can't say I do, Mama."
I don’t even need the details—I’m already smilin’. I already know I’m busted. Been here too many times, and never could keep a straight face through it.
She thrusts a delicate, accusatory finger towards me. "A pair of them skank-tied underwear." Her southern twang makes even the raunchiest items sound like a church choir gone wrong.
