“Hard not to. They’re loud.”
They were. The firepit had turned into a damn confession circle. The women were laughing again, interrupting each other, glasses catching light. Sienna leaned forward with her elbows on her knees, wrapped in that blanket, smiling like she didn’t trust how good it felt. I knew that look because I’d worn versions of it before. The face a person made when warmth showed up and they were already calculating the cost.
Maybe that was what bothered me.
Maybe not.
Women like her weren’t my problem. She didn’t need fixing. Didn’t need saving. Had a job waiting, a cat that would probably outlive us all through spite alone, and a mouth sharp enough to cut her way out of most rooms. She’d be gone tomorrow. We’d get her truck looked at, send someone to ride escort, and she’d disappear into Santa Fe like every other stranger passing through.
That should’ve been relief.
Instead, the thought left a bad taste in my mouth.
My phone buzzed again.
Another snap from Tank.
This one was the mechanical bull in motion, Tank holding on with one hand, crown sideways, brothers screaming around him like civilized society had collapsed. The caption read: STILL ALIVE BUT LEGALLY QUESTIONABLE.
I stared at it for half a second, then sent back: Regan finds out, you’re dead.
Tank replied almost instantly with a picture of Bullet wearing the veil and holding a margarita pitcher.
Tell her we were doing wedding research.
I almost laughed. Almost.
Then River texted again.
Ignore the Rylee thing. Come back and drink. You’re too sober for your personality.
I typed back: Guard duty.
His reply came fast.
Regan’s spa hostage weekend?
I didn’t answer.
Another message.
Heard she picked up a stray. Human or animal?
I looked toward the fire.
Both.
I didn’t send it.
Regan had gone back inside, probably to check on food or feelings or whatever else women managed while men stood outside pretending to be useful. Gunner stayed near the porch rail. I walked a few steps farther into the dark, needing distance from the laughter, the photo, the pull in my chest that felt too much like wanting something I had no business wanting.
The desert opened in front of me, black and silver under moonlight. Scrub, sand, low rock, long shadows. Out here, a man could see danger coming if he knew how to look. Tracks in dirt. Dust where there shouldn’t be dust. Silence where animalsshould be making noise. The desert told the truth, but only if you respected it.
People were worse.
People wore smiles.
People wore diamonds.
