Page 27 of Colt

A voice thunders from behind me. “But I’m the one with the magic hands, right?”

Glancing over my shoulder, I see another cowboy approaching. He’s also dressed in a hat, gloves, and chaps—the whole cowboy kit and caboodle.

My stomach dips at the familiar handsomeness of his face. He looks startlingly like Colton, with thick, dark hair, heavy scruff, and a sharp jawline. Only difference is this cowboy’s eyes are hazel, more brown than green.

Is there such a thing as too many hot cowboys on one ranch?

I feel like I’m on an episode of some weird dating show where the contestants are all cowboys and they’re all wildly, unbelievably attractive.

He smiles when he sees me.

“I’m here to rescue you from my brother.” He takes off a glove and holds out his hand. Like Colton, he’s a head taller than me and twice as broad. “Beck Wallace, Colt’s better-looking younger brother.”

My smile is involuntary. Beck’s energy couldn’t be more different from Colton’s. He’s warm. Genuine.

Well, I guess Colton is genuine too. A genuine dickhead with an ego the size of this state and not one but two disgusting tobacco habits.

I take his hand and shake it. “Lainey Brown. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Beck. You’re the restaurateur, right?”

Another tidbit Dale shared with me on our introductory call: Beck was part of the investment group that recently opened Hartsville’s very first farm-to-table restaurant, the Homestead Hen.

Colton must be the black sheep of the family. Did something happen with his wife? What about his kid? I wonder if that has anything to do with the fact that he’s a walking, talking rain cloud.

Beck’s smiling ear to ear now as he pats his stomach. “I like to eat, yeah. I see Dad’s been bending your ear.”

“He just loves bragging about y’all. It’s super cute.”

We drop hands, and Beck shoves his back into his glove. “When Billie told me Dad sent you off with that one”—he nods at Colton—“I knew a rescue mission was in order. I’m happy to show you around today if you’d like.”

“Dude, stop.” Colton is hauling more hay, his shirt stretching taut over his shoulder blades as he lifts another bale. “You work in the stables every damn day.”

“Just because I was going to be here already doesn’t mean I can’t also help out a damsel in distress.” Beck’s eyes twinkle as he looks at me.

Colton scoffs. “She’s no damsel.”

“And the only distress I experienced was after inhaling all that terrible cigar smoke on the ride over here,” I add.

Beck laughs. “It’s awful, ain’t it?”

“You.” Colton points at his brother as he walks back down the aisle after he did whatever he needed to do with all that hay. I notice he’s getting a little sweaty, his shirt sticking to his chest and stomach. “Mucking duty. Now.”

“Aw, man⁠—”

“You keep complainin’, and you’ll be shoveling shit for the rest of the day.”

But Beck only smiles. He tilts his head toward the stalls that are emptying out as the ranch hands lead the horses outside. “Here, I’ll show you how things work around here. Dad said you wanted to do some hands-on research?”

“Beck.” Colton sounds like his father now—certain, slightly aggrieved. “I don’t need to tell you to keep your hands to yourself, right?”

His brother chuckles and meets my eyes. “Someone’s a little territorial today.”

“Dude.” Colton stares down his brother, hands on his hips. “Quit while you’re ahead, yeah?”

Waving him away, Beck starts walking down the aisle. “Lainey, just ignore him. His mood usually improves after lunch. Usually. Well, sometimes. Not often. But sometimes.”

The last thing I see is Colton’s head falling back and his throat bobbing on a swallow before I scurry after Beck.

A scent assaults my nostrils. It’s earthy, but not in a good way.