Presley’s cheeks turn red as she reaches for the beers. “Thanks,” she says with a put-on smile, before speed-walking back to the table. Jameson glares at his cousin so hard it makes me wince like I’m the one on the receiving end. Hopefully, he has it handled so I can mind my own business. I have my own situation to get out of; I can’t focus on hers, even if she feels like she might be a kindred spirit.
Presley is relatively new to town—a barrel racer whose home base is Travis’ apartment. He started bringing her around the bar a couple years ago, but she’s still considered new. I can count on one hand how many people live in Cedar Creek that weren’t born here.
Most of the night passes in the same way it always does—old retired mine workers with beer bellies and a lot to say about shit they know nothing about drinking with middle-aged ranchers just trying to relax after a long day. Travis is trying his damndest to catch up with Colt’s drink count, but Colt is doing his best to leave his cousin in the dust.
A whiny huff escapes me when the door opens and Chase Cartwright walks in because I know my night’s about to go frombad to worse. Especially when he decides the pool table closest to the Whittakers is the perfect place to make out with his latest fling.
There’s been bad blood between Chase and the Whittakers since he and Bailey broke up a few years back. On the best nights, the ones without Colt, that just means shoulder checks on the way to the bathroom. On nights like tonight…
“You know what you’re doing there, Brit?” Colt calls out to Chase’s woman from their table, the neck of his beer bottle hanging lightly from his fingers as he takes another swig.
I look to the sky. I don’t believe in God, but surely I could pray to the late Mr. Whittaker—wherever he was—and ask him to send something to cool his son’s jets.
“And what is it she’s doing, Whittaker?” Chase snaps back, pulling away from a girl I know for a fact shouldn’t be in this bar now that I could actually see her face.
“Brittany Robbins, get your ass out of my bar!” I shout over at her. “You’ve got three more years before you’re allowed through those doors.”
I can practically feel the very pointed smirk Maddox sends my way and it makes me want to either punch him or suck his tongue into my mouth. Perhaps both.
We both know I’m being a hypocrite, considering Dale had me working here under the table before I was twenty-one.
As Brit storms toward the doors like a petulant child, I turn up the music pumping through the speakers, hoping to drown out Colt and Chase’s argument and spare us all from the bar fight I am one hundred percent sure is about to happen. Hank Jr. crooning about family traditions only acts as a soundtrack for their bullshit though.
“Settling, that’s for damn sure,” Colt yelled louder. “You haven’t run out of women in this town yet? Not that many of ‘em. Woulda thought they should’ve all learned what a piece of shit you are by now.”
Apparently not.
But also, pot… kettle.
Chase laughs in that way boys do right before they say the stupidest shit they’ve ever said in their lives. He wipes at his lip with his thumb and looks down like he’s trying to decide if it’s worth getting hit over. He apparently decides it is.
“What makes you think I’m sleeping around, Whittaker? Your sister keeping tabs on all the women I’m fucking and reporting back to you on the road?”
I groan when Colt stands. “Guys! I’m not in the mood for this tonight!” I call over to them, passing another Old Fashion to Pat. Maddox puts one hand up to let me know he’s handling it, his other pulling Colt back down into his chair. He says something in his brother’s ear that makes him jerk out of his hold but nod.
Chase isn’t ready for his fun to be over, however. “Tell you what, why don’t you let Bailey know she’s more than welcome back in my bed any time she wants to stop the flow.”
Colt’s out of his chair so swiftly, you’d think he was sober. He hauls himself over to Chase until they’re chest to chest. Chase’s grin hasn’t left his face, even though he must know he’s about to walk away with a split lip at best.
In the eight seconds Colt usually spends on the back of a very angry bull, the rest of the Whittakers and Theo have joined him while Chase’s cronies make their way over from across the bar.
Colt’s brothers are doing their best to push him back, but Travis is on another level tonight and something he says results in Chase’s fist flying, but I can’t hear it over Pat bellyaching about his drink again.
From there, an all-out brawl starts. Travis has Chase on the ground, a feat I’m surprised the bean-pole of a man was able to accomplish. Maddox grabs the back of his cousin’s shirt to pull him off, but I lose sight of the details when I reach for the soda guns behind the bar.
Presley starts screaming her goddamn head off for some reason and I look up just in time to see Jameson’s arm banding around her waist, hauling her away from Travis. She smacks herhands against his arm urgently, fear in her eyes as they stay locked on the brawl. “You don’t understand! He’s gonna kill him!”
Jameson carries her out the door, which is great because it means I don’t have to worry about her trying to get in between a group of drunken cowboys throwing their fists around anymore.
On the other hand, it’s also pretty shit luck considering that only leaves Maddox and Theo to wrangle Colt and Travis—a feat which usually requires at least two men… each.
I aim the soda guns towards the group of men and press the buttons for the water, spraying them all like a group of horny dogs and hoping for the best.
THREE
MADDOX
I walkinto my sister’s room with one hand over my eyes.
