I stay on the porch anyway, because going inside means admitting the night’s over, and I’m not ready for that level of commitment to my choices yet.
Besides, someone needs to make sure Rita doesn’t escape and commit more crimes.
Rita snores, and I pretend that’s the only reason I’m still out here, watching stars I’ve seen a thousand times before.
14
Wyatt
The Cedar RidgeAnnual Charity Trail Ride is supposed to bring the community together. Twenty-five dollars gets you a horse ride, a barbecue lunch, and the chance to pretend we all get along for one afternoon. The money goes to the volunteer fire department, so everyone shows up, even families who’d rather set each other on fire than share oxygen. Or water rights.
I’m adjusting my horse’s girth, making sure she’s comfortable, when I spot Callie across the staging area. She’s on that paint mare she loves, the one with the attitude problem that rivals Rita’s. She’s wearing jeans that make her ass look incredible and a blue shirt that’s definitely not accidental. She knows we’re here. She knows we’re looking. This is psychological warfare disguised as a day in the country.
Jesse sees her too. “There she is.”
“Leave it,” I tell him.
“I’m just saying she looks good.”
“And I’m saying leave it. She’s been dodging us, asking for some time. Take the hint.”
“Since when do we take hints?” Boone mutters from his horse. “We’re McCoys. We’re incapable of reading the room.”
He’s not wrong, but pushing Callie is not going to work. She’s got that specific Thompson stubbornness that treats pressure the same way Rita treats rules. As suggestions for other people.
Jesse’s waving her over, because Jesse thinks his dick is magic and can solve any problem. For a second, I think she might head our way. She starts to turn her horse in our direction, and there’s something in her expression that might be interest.
Then Mr. Thompson materializes with two ranch hands who look ready to tackle anyone who gets within spitting distance of his daughter. They position themselves on either side of Callie, bodyguards in cowboy hats who probably got hazard pay for this assignment.
“Subtle,” Boone observes. “Really playing it cool there, Mr. Thompson.”
“Trade ya!” Jesse calls out to Callie’s dad, loud enough for half the county to hear. “One of yours for one of ours. We’ll throw in Boone’s horse as a bonus.”
The crowd loves it. People stop pretending to check their saddles to watch openly. Phones appear because this is the content Cedar Ridge lives for. Yup, Thompson-McCoy drama with a side of sexual tension.
Mr. Thompson’s face turns the color of raw beef. “Over my dead body!”
“That can be arranged,” Jesse shoots back, still grinning but with an edge that suggests he’s only half joking.
“Jesse,” I warn, but he’s on a roll.
“What? I’m being friendly. Neighborly even. Just trying to make a deal.”
“The only deal you’ll get is my boot up your—” Hank starts.
“Dad!” Callie cuts him off, her voice carrying that sharp edge I’ve heard her use on Rita. “Stop. Just... stop.”
The crowd’s eating this up. Someone’s definitely livestreaming. I can already see the Facebook posts. “McCoy-Thompson Showdown at Charity Ride!” Complete with poorly spelled commentary and too many emojis.
Callie says something else to her father I can’t hear, but her expression says everything. She’s pissed. Embarrassed. Done with all of us.
She kicks her horse into motion before the official start, leaving her father and his guard dogs scrambling to catch up. The message is clear.Fuck all of you and your drama.
“Nice job,” I tell Jesse.
“I was trying to help.”
“You were trying to mark territory.”
