Page 20 of Wrangle Me, Cowboys

“Fuck, I forgot about that,” I said. “She can’t be. She doesn’t act like one.”

“She acts like one to me,” Waylon said.

“I thought she was a party girl in New York,” Holden added. “And she was drunk when she said that. Surely she didn’t mean it…”

I set my cup in the sink and turned back to my brothers. “Only one way to find out for sure.”

12

Amber

November began white as Christmas. Snow fell during the night, piling up on what was left of the last one. I spent my days avoiding the Grimeses and taking care of the horses, and my nights chatting with Haley and ordering decorations for the house.

A few days after the wine debacle, as Holden was clearing the dinner dishes, Sawyer smiled across the table at me. “Feel like a nightcap?”

I didn’t, mostly because I was afraid I’d end up making an ass of myself again, but the mischievous light in his eyes made me hesitate. When he yawned hugely and stretched his arms over his head, I caved. Seriously, those arms would be my undoing.

“Maybe, for a minute,” I said, keenly aware of Waylon’s silent, watchful presence at the head of the table.

“We just want to talk,” Holden said, rinsing a plate and setting it in the dishwasher.

“It didn’t seem like dinner table conversation,” Sawyer said with that mischievous smile.

“What does that mean?” I asked, cocking an eyebrow at him.

Instead of answering, he took a bottle of whiskey from atop the fridge and opened the cabinet to retrieve four whiskey glasses. “Can you handle whiskey?” he asked, a challenge in his voice.

“Oh, I can handle whiskey,” I said. “I’m a Manhattan girl, remember?”

“Apparently not wine, though,” Waylon rumbled from the end of the table. He was frowning at me.

I just fixed him with my sweetest smile. “It’s not the whiskey you should be worried about.”

“It’s not,” he said, his voice low and steady, his eyes fixed on mine. A shiver went through me. I could never tell if he wanted to rip my clothes off or rip my face off.

After my brief slips with the other two, things had gone back to normal. But Waylon had never been the same since the night he saw me naked. It wasn’t like I meant to fall in the cow water when it was thirty degrees outside. I didn’t know why he held that against me. It had been his idea to take all my wet clothes off.

Sawyer stepped between us, breaking the tension crackling in the air. He set the glasses down and neatly poured a bit into each.

“Don’t tell anyone I’m serving alcohol to a minor,” he said with a wink.

“Ha,” I said. “Just because I’m not twenty-one doesn’t mean I’m underage.”

“Uh huh,” Waylon said.

“Trust me, I’ve had a fake ID for a while, and it was not going to waste.”

“That, or Daddy has a liquor cabinet,” he said.

I tried to hide the sting of that, because it was true. I had raided Dad’s liquor cabinet on more than one occasion when I’d started wanting to try things I shouldn’t. But Waylon’s insinuating that I was a liar made my blood boil. Plus, I didn’t like thinking of Dad not being married to Mom, because their dad was. It was too creepy.

“Let’s take this in the other room,” Sawyer said, picking up a glass and heading for the living room. The rest of us followed, silence weighing heavy in the air.

Holden sat on one end of the leather couch. Sawyer steered me towards the couch, his hand on the small of my back. “Have a seat, Princess,” he said.

I took a seat next to Holden, suddenly feeling like I was about to be handed my walking papers. Were they sending me back to New York? Had I crossed a line with Waylon that was okay to cross with the others, but not with him?

I threw back my whiskey like a shot before turning to face Waylon, who had taken the armchair instead of joining us on the couch.