“Be careful. Whatever you’re doing, whoever you’re doing it with... be careful.”
The warning in his voice makes it clear he suspects something, even if he doesn’t know what.
I get Rita into her pen, double-checking the latch, then stand there for a moment in the darkness, my fingers touching my just-kissed lips.
What have I gotten myself into?
Three McCoy brothers. Three kisses. Three different types of fire, all burning through me at once.
This is definitely going to end badly.
But as I head inside, all I can think about is Jesse’s whispered “tomorrow” and the promise in it.
Tomorrow can’t come fast enough.
And that’s a problem.
6
Boone
“I’m telling you,we should have climbed out the back window,” I say, taking a long pull from my beer. “Would’ve saved us from crouching behind hay bales like adolescent idiots.”
“There was no back window, Boone. I’ve been trying to tell you that,” Wyatt points out, his voice flat in that way that means he’s still wound tight from our close call with Mr. Thompson.
“There could have been a back window if someone had thought ahead.”
“Someone did think ahead,” Jesse says, grinning over his beer. “That someone brought tools and lumber and actually fixed Callie Thompson’s fence instead of letting her nail rotten wood together with a hammer.”
“Yeah, well, someone also nearly got us all shot byHank Thompson when he decided to find why his daughter’s goat was raising hell so late at night,” I counter.
“We didn’t get shot, Boone,” Wyatt says.
“We didn’t get caught, Boone,” Jesse adds.
“We got lucky,” I finish.
We’re sitting in our usual booth at Baggy’s, the only decent bar within thirty miles that doesn’t water down their whiskey. The Friday night crowd is in full swing—cowboys, ranchers, and townspeople all mixing together in a haze of cigarette smoke and cold beer.
It’s been three days since the barn incident, and we still haven’t figured out what the hell we’re doing about Callie Thompson. We’ve managed to limit our contact with her, but the tension’s been killing us.
“So what’s the plan?” I ask, because someone needs to address the elephant in the room.
“What plan?” Wyatt asks.
“The plan for dealing with the fact that we’re all losing our minds over the same woman.”
“There’s no plan,” Jesse says. “Plans are for people who know what they’re doing.”
“Plans are for people who have their shit together,” Wyatt corrects.
“Too late for that,” I point out.
“We’re in uncharted territory,” Jesse says.
“Uncharted territory is just another problem that hasn’t happened yet.”
That’swhen I see her.
