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Chapter One
One of the easiest things about moving to the ranch was that I was used to getting up early.
When I’d worked construction with my uncle Lorenzo back in Brooklyn, we were up at the crack of dawn to be at whatever worksite by seven sharp. So coming awake to the cock’s crow—although he crowed all night—was nothing new. Generally, I’d be up about the same time as Baker and his man, but I’d slink out to the goat barn to avoid them making out as they waited for the coffee to perk. Not that I had anything against kissing or my half-brother being happy. Hell, if anyone deserved some happiness, it was Baker. He’d kept this ranch afloat all by himself for years. It wasn’t even jealousy I felt watching Baker—and Dodge as well—being in love. It was more of a lonesome feeling in my gut. Wanting. It was wanting. I wanted what they had. Okay, maybe it was envy of a sort, but not an ugly one. Just a wish for someone to hold me through the night when the dreams got bad.
They’d let up slightly, the dreams, but not enough. Maybe never enough.
Shaking away the darkness of the past, I rolled out of bed to dress. Jeans, tee, sweatshirt, and thick socks to keep my toes warm. Fall had arrived with a thick coating of ice on the pumpkins yet to be carved. There was so much to do in the autumn. Things I’d never thought about. Of course, coming from Bensonhurst, I’d not thought of anything cow-related other than when I’d open a carton of milk for my cocoa nuggets cereal in the morning. But work on a ranch never ends. In the fall: weaning calves, repairing fences—a never-ending job—and winterizing equipment. Hauling hay, cleaning barns, and checking on the watering systems to stay ahead of any possible freezing problems come winter. Tack had to be checked, as well as the line cabins, which were ready and being rented out.
In the goat barn, we placed the buck in with the does a week ago. He’d been happier than a pig in slop, as Granny liked to say. He’d been in goat heaven, but I hoped heaven didn’t smell like a buck goat in rut. Man, did he stink. Peeing on your beard will do that to a man.
Today, we were riding out to start rounding up the cattle so we could bring them into the fall ranges to separate the calves from the cows. I’d been warned this was a job that required all four of us so the others would be waking up soon. Sneaking into the kitchen, I made some coffee then made my way into the laundry room to pick up my boots, coat, and hat. A cowboy hat. Which felt like the biggest lie in history, as I was no more a cowboy than Bella was a pro wrestler. Leaning against the dryer as the coffee burbled, the floor creaked. I looked up to see Baker, alone, looking rumpled and bleary. No Hanley at his side.
“Morning,” he said in a voice rough as asphalt.
“Hey,” I replied as I shoved my left foot into my work boot. “Coffee’s on,” I added, even though I was sure he saw, smelled, and heard it.
“Yep.” That was Studebaker Bastian speak for “saw it, thanks, mighty good of you,” which I’d learned over the past several months. “Plain right? None of that fancy vanilla shit Bella keeps trying to—”
A shotgun blast exploded outside. Caught unaware, even though I shouldn’t have been, I leaped a foot while reaching behind my back for…something which had been ditched at the bus station at 3rd Avenue and 38th Street.
“Fuck,” I growled after swallowing my thumping heart back down.
Baker stood in the doorway, intent on me. “You okay?” His question was a dumb one. Hell no, I wasn’t okay.
“Might need to change my shorts before we go,” I tossed out to be funny. Hahaha. My eldest brother said nothing, but his sharp brown gaze lingered far too long. “When does she plan to stop shooting at cans at the asscrack of dawn?”
“When she hits one,” he replied, moving past me to grab his chore coat from the line of beat-to-shit coats hanging off pegs. “You good?”
“Yep.”
That was Ford Bastian speak for “not going to get into that over-reaction thanks” and I stomped my foot down to wedge it into my boot.
“Okay then.”
The back door opened with a massive gust of cold air and our grandmother—both being blown into the house.
“Morning, boys,” Granny said upon spying us in the laundry room. “Thought I hit one of them birch beer cans you and Ollie emptied last night, but it was only the wind.” She pulled off her coat to give us both a once-over. “You good?”
“Yep,” Baker and I said in unison.
“Good. Glad to see it. I’ll get food around in a minute. Got to lock up old Close Enough here, then I’ll start the eggs and bacon.”
“I’ll go wake the others,” Baker said just as the one squeaky step from the second floor creaked.
“That’ll be Bella,” Granny said and padded off, windblown and still in her chore boots, a winter coat pulled over her flannel nightgown.
“Pretty soon it will be too dark to shoot in the morning,” I commented on the sly to Baker.
“She’ll just turn on the porch light,” he replied, giving me one final glance before heading off to shout at Linc and Dodge to rise and shine. Once he was out of sight, I turned to face the wall then let my brow drop to the thick fleece lining of Linc’s coat. Holy fucking shit. That had rattled me. Fuck.
Bella’s soft voice broke through the lingering fear. I drew in a breath and released it, stepping out into the kitchen to see my best friend stirring some flavored creamer into her coffee. Blond hair poking out around the edges of a cute little turban that matched her flannel pajamas, she gazed at me with sleepy green eyes.
“Morning,” she said and took a sip, which was followed by a sigh. “I wish I knew why Baker was so against flavored coffees. They’re just a delight first thing.”
“He’s stubborn,” I replied and got a tiny snort of amusement from her. Her gaze lifted from her coffee to me, and her head tilted just a little. “What?”
