He’s one of those friends that I don’t have to see or talk to daily to know he’s loyal. It will be good to see him if he actually shows. Speaking of, I pull my phone from my jeans and hope to god I’ll find a message from Cove on the screen.
Nope.But no surprise, there’s a message from Clay,reminding me he’ll have three boxes full of the latestForbesMagazineto hand out like candy this week. I’d bet a full zero in my bank account he’ll have my feature tabbed and ready to market.
Not that this is the time or place, but Clay never turns down a business opportunity. Truthfully, I’m surprised the photos they took of me for the article aren’t plastered around the ranch by now.
Looking out into the night, I’m comforted by chatter from family and friends, Mustard making his rounds, getting scratches and food scraps wherever he can find them. I know without worry my animals are safe and taken care of. Creek, Granger, and Tuna are all-hands-on-deck this weekend, my sister insisting I not have to lift a finger.
Not sure I can remember a day I didn’t work. There’s always work to be done. But I can’t say I won’t try to enjoy it.
Caterers amble around us as I make my own rounds, thanking everyone for coming out. The man behind the acoustic guitar and mic asks for any special requests, and Prater shouts above the crowd, “Let’s hear some good ole ‘Strawberry Wine!’”
“The Deana Carter song?” Josh questions, unable to fight back his grin.
“Remember karaoke nights at Billy Bob’s? We had the whole bar singing along,” Prater replies, his voice already catching a bit of a tune.
How could I forget? Those were the best times of my life.
Not a care in the world about what tomorrow was to bring. I just lived in the moment. Feels like a rarity these days.
Unless I count these past few months…
“Speak of the devil.” My ears perk at Josh’s words,wondering who he means. It’s when Abigail makes a beeline toward the blacked-out Range Rover coasting up the gravel pathway to the main house that I note who it is.
Nate.
I look at Kyle and catch him smiling. That right there is why he’s the perfect match for my sister. Not a jealous bone in his body.
The Rover pulls to a stop, and Nate’s driver that I remember from years ago, Bryan, steps out. The crowd around me watches as Bryan closes his door, only to retreat to the passenger seat behind him and open it.
And there’s Nate, late and fashionably tailored to big money perfection. He buttons the lapels of his suit, stoic face taking in the exterior of the ranch around him. I’ve made some changes since he was last here, and he’s likely noting what they are. Observant fuck.
Before Nate can right himself, Abbi appears full force and stampedes into him, wrapping her arms around his neck. “Shake n’ bake, Nate!” Seems she’s willing to bury the hatchet. They have always had this kinship I never understood.
Not to my surprise, Nate wraps one single arm around her lower back and returns the hug. I can’t hear what he says from here, but it’s probably something along the lines of, “Nice to see you, Abigail.”
Nate picks and chooses who he lets in, and although Abbi has always been on that list, she’s mistaken if she thinks he’ll entertain it in public.
“I hear Misty and Emma are in Greece for the week,” Kyle notes, walking up beside me. Kyle is good friends with one of Nate’s right-hand mechanics, so it makes sense he would know where his wife and daughter are.
I’ve been a bitpreoccupiedlately.
One step forward to greet my friend has my stepshalting in a millisecond. Not because of Nate, but because of the opposite rear door Bryan opens. A tall man with blond hair I’ve never seen before exits, his mannerisms strangely resembling those of Nate’s.
Except there’s a feminine silver clutch in his hands. One that reminds me a lot of the same one?—
I’m unable to finish the thought because I’m no longer breathing, a sickness in the pit of my stomach making me feel both hurt and rage. My throat closes up. I hear nothing but static.
If my subconscious had a voice, it would be roaring.
Because next to step out of the car is a woman. And not just any woman. A woman with tan skin like silk to the touch, an hourglass figure, long black hair that just two weeks ago was tangled between my fingertips as I drove my cock deep inside of her. And a heart I’ve craved to know more of.
Cove stands tall. Poised. Confident. Ethereal in beauty. She reaches for the clutch I instantly recognized, the other hand making my insides burn in fury as her hand conjoins with the unfamiliar man’s, the two of them standing beside each other as a couple.
Arriving as acouple.
Cove is here. On my ranch. And on the arm of another man.
A man who is most definitely not me.
