I grinned, chuckling. “Who you talkin’ to?”
I assumed the smart-mouthed cowboy was probably talking to both of us. The Caines had laid down roots in Embers Ridge nearly a hundred years ago, and we’d been starting shit for just as many. And our fathers—Cooter and Calvin—were some of the wildest in Caine history.
“Pick one.” Dumb Ass Number One cackled like a fucking girl, peering over at my buddy. “They’re all fucking crazy.”
Lynx glanced over at me. I was tempted to roll my eyes. These boys weren’t in any hurry, obviously. And their stand-up comedy routine was seriously lacking.
“Since my old man ain’t here to defend himself, why don’t you take this up with me?” Lynx taunted. “I’ll rip your ass a new one just as fast as he would, you dumb fuck.”
Everyone in town knew that ol’ Cooter Caine was as crazy as they came. After all, he had barricaded himself up in his compound on the outskirts of town and hadn’t left the place in ten years. Not once since Lynx’s mother died in a car wreck on her way home from work. Sure, Cooter was a little out of touch with reality; however, ask anyone and they’d tell you that Lynx’s old man wouldn’t hurt a damn soul. As for Lynx, that was a different story altogether.
As for my old man … Calvin Caine was probably the sanest in the long line of Caines before me, although that was debatable at times. The man lived in a small apartment above our furniture store, just a few blocks south of downtown Embers Ridge. After my mother passed away two years ago from pneumonia, Calvin took to spending all his time in the store. While Lynx and I were responsible for making the furniture, Calvin had taken it upon himself to sell it. Of course, Lynx and I were often pulling double duty to help out with the heavy lifting.
“Both of ’em are nuts,” Dumb Ass Number Two said.
Yep, this was going nowhere fast.
“Come on,” Lynx growled. “You wanna knuckle up, let’s take this shit outside.”
Lynx took one step toward the door, but the two dumb asses didn’t move.
“We can do this right here,” Dumb Ass Number One noted, obviously opposed to a little fresh air, maybe a broken nose.
“The hell we can,” I grumbled. “You see that girl behind the bar? She’s got a shotgun back there. You throw down in here, that first bullet’ll have your name on it.”
Granted, I knew that Reagan had yet to fire that bad boy up in here. She was a little on the defensive side, but so far, she hadn’t proven to be crazy. However, that could change at any time.
Lynx chuckled, but there was no real humor in it. “I don’t know ’bout you boys, but I’d like to live my life without any bullet holes.”
I leaned toward Lynx. “You’ve already had one.”
Lynx glared back at me, then rolled his eyes. “Without any more bullet holes,” he amended, then lowered his voice. “And that didn’t count. It was squirrel shot.”
“Still hurt, didn’t it?” I mumbled back.
Lynx’s answer was in the form of a one-shoulder shrug.
Regardless, the statement got the two dumb asses glancing behind the bar. I didn’t need to turn around to know that Reagan Trevino—the sweet girl who owned this beer bar—was standing there, one hand on her hip, the other twitching at her side. There was a shotgun behind that bar, and the woman wasn’t scared to use it.
“Reagan,” Lynx called out as he started toward the door. “Corral these fools outside, would ya, doll?”
The sound of a shotgun being racked echoed in the otherwise silent space.
I nodded toward the door. “Let’s go, boys. My beer’s gettin’ warm.”
It was a gamble turning your back on a couple of drunk good ol’ boys, but what the fuck. I didn’t have nothing else to do tonight. Nothing more than relaxing with a beer and chilling with my cousin, anyway.
But this would work, too.
Once we were outside, the balmy July breeze slapped me right in the face.
“This is bullshit,” Lynx groused. “I just wanna drink my beer, chill for a bit. Maybe play some pool.” He shook out his hands. “Shit. My hands still hurt from the last damn fight.”
Seconds later, the two cowboys came barreling out of the bar. Likely having dealt with Reagan calling them a couple of pussies. She’d been known to taunt the fools who wanted to act like idiots.
“Come on, boys,” Lynx goaded. “Let’s get this shit over with.”
“Crazy, I tell you,” Dumb Ass Number Two mumbled, stumbling down the steps to the gravel lot. “Why can’t you Caine boys just?—”
