“That’s not what my dad said. But he tends to exaggerate. And I always thought my mom might have omitted some details. Important details from what happened.”
Shit. “He’s like family to me,” I said. “I’m…let’s just say his daughter and I are very close.”
“How close?”
“If something happened to him like what your father is planning, it would kill her. And I need to make sure that doesn’t happen. I’ll do anything to protect her.”
Her eyes brightened. “So you really need my father to let this go.”
“Understatement.”
She pursed her lips and went silent.
I raised my eyebrows. “Where y’all from?”
“Manhattan.”
I grinned. “What in the hell are y’all doing in Big Bend?”
She giggled. “Daddy’s originally from Texas. He’s an oilman. We’re taking a little vacation after he had some meetings throughout the state.”
Now that makes sense.
She whispered then, so softly I could barely hear her, “That problem I need to get out of? I think you and I can help each other.”
I quirked an eyebrow. “How so?”
She leaned even closer to me and started whispering again. And as I listened, I thought—
Hell, this may actually work.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Macey
“Here’s where you stand,” I instruct Gigi as she lines up next to me at the outdoor range of The Cowherd.
I point at the pyramid of beers I’ve set up. “And there’s where you aim.”
Dye sits calmly inside with Rusty at the closest table to the open door while George stands anxiously next to them.
I ignore George’s look. “Oh, have faith in her. They’re not real bullets. She’ll be fine.”
Gigi does look terrified. Those big eyes and that pouty mouth—no wonder Logan fell for her. I could practically fall in love with her, and I can’t stand her.
“Oh, Macey. I thought I wanted to do this, but guns scare me so much. Logan’s father was talking about the deer he killed last night over dinner, and I just couldn’t believe people still hunt in this modern era!”
I’m stuck on the first part of what she said. “You ate dinner with Logan’s parents? How did that go?”
“Great,” Gigi says immediately. “Why wouldn’t it?”
I shrug. “No reason.”
Until he finally quit alcohol for good, Mr. Wild got drunk at the dinner table and fought with his brother, Blake’s dad. Every single night. Usually, it was about money. Sometimes, it was about business decisions. Sometimes, it was just over the cattle themselves. But they were always fighting. And Mr. Wild wasn’t a sloppy, self-destructive, but otherwise harmless drunk like my daddy.
He was a mean drunk. A violent one, mainly with his sons.
Mrs. Wild coped by sipping from a constantly-replenished jug of wine she kept secretly stashed behind the boxes of macaroni and cheese in the pantry. But until they were old enough and could excuse themselves, Logan and his three brothers had to sit in the middle of the crossfire every single dinner. All ignored by their daddy unless someone dared to speak up or do something, like breathe, the wrong way. Then, they were sworn at. Or hit.
