Page 24 of Colt

I know the arrow hits its mark because she looks away and is quiet for a full beat. Her throat works on a swallow. I notice the way she tucks errant waves behind her ears, revealing lobes that are pierced to within an inch of their life.

What else does she have pierced?

My dick twitches. I look away.

It was a shithead thing to imply that her work doesn’t matter. But here, it really doesn’t. Maybe it’s a big deal in big fancy places like Fort Worth and Dallas and Austin. There, people want attention.

Here, we just want to survive another season.

Granted, thanks to Dad’s efforts, we’re cushioned somewhat from disaster. But all it takes is one bad harvest, one bad flood, one bad year in the commodities market, and we could very well be back to square one.

I absolutely hate that we’re focusing on this right now, branding and websites, when we should be focusing on the fact that we saw historic flooding last year. We need levees. Plans to build future structures on higher ground.

Don’t get me started on unstable beef prices. Despite the fact that our herd is somewhat small at one thousand head of cattle, the pain we feel during big price fluctuations is real. Lower beef prices equal decreased demand for cows, and that equals decreased demand for the horses that ranchers use to herd said cows.

Those horses are our livelihood.

“Surviving isn’t enough,” Lainey says at last. “Maybe if you aimed a little higher in life, you wouldn’t be so threatened by my talent. Because I am talented. You say you break your back? So do I. I’ve generated millions of dollars in revenue for my clients. Hell, I started my own damn company when I was nineteen. Hired a lawyer to file the LLC paperwork and everything. What were you doing at nineteen?”

I lift the fingers I have on the wheel, like her résumé don’t impress the hell out of me. “Building a legacy.”

“Slash jerking off in the bunkhouse.”

“Hey! Jerking off in the bunkhouse is a rite of passage in these parts.”

Did I just cross a line? Joking around is one thing. Flirting is another.

Her lips twitch. Something catches inside my chest. I ignore it.

“You’re mean,” she says.

“I ain’t got time to beat around the bush. Would you rather I bullshit you, then shoot you in the back on your way to church?”

Lainey puts a hand on her forehead and smooths back her hair. “You’ve baked a lot of literary devices into that sentence, so I can’t really figure out what you’re getting at. But I appreciate honesty, always. You don’t have to be such an ass about it, though.”

“You think I’m an ass?” I hang a quick left and park in front of one of the newer buildings on our property. “Just wait ’til you meet the guys who actually do jerk off in the bunkhouse.”

Lainey groans, tucking the bottle of Woodford back into the glove box. “I’m sorry I ever mentioned that.”

“You know what?” I kill the ignition. “Maybe I will teach you a few things today about being a rancher. Rule number one: Don’t apologize unless you mean it.”

She pushes open her door. “Definitely not apologizing for the handcuff moment, then.”

I have to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing.

She’s quick.

She’s funny.

She’s a big fucking problem.

CHAPTER 6

Cowboy Kit and Caboodle

LAINEY

The enormous barn goes silent the second I step through the door that Colton holds open for me.