Page 6 of Love, Lies, and Whiskey

Longing sank into Juliette’s bones. Tiny and Wynnie used to say that anyone who stayed at the ranch became family, and that’s how they had always treated her that summer. She hadn’t only fallen for Seeley. She’d fallen for all of them.

Wynnie must have sensed her staring, because she looked over, sending Juliette’s heart racing. After the way her father had treated the Whiskeys and the horrible threats he’d made, she didn’t know what Seeley’s family thought of her. Wynnie’s brows knitted, and she took a step in their direction.

Juliette couldn’t deal with another confrontation. Especially in front of Lucas. She put on her sunglasses and turned away. Drawing upon all the courage and calmness she could muster, she draped an arm around Lucas, placing her hand on his shoulder, because at five seven to his five ten, putting her arm over his shoulder was no longer an option, and started walking toward their car.

“No, I don’t think he’s dangerous,” she said, hoping she didn’t sound as rattled as she felt. The weight of Wynnie’s stare drilled into her like a laser. “It’s been quite a day. Know what we need?”

“A few shots of tequila?” he suggested hopefully.

“After the day we’ve had, that’s tempting.”

“That’s what I’m talking about.” He rubbed his hands together. “My first tequila shots.”

She gave him a wry smile. “I said tempting. It’s not going to happen.”

“Come on, Mom. I’ve had a tough day, too,” he urged with the cheeky grin he used whenever he tried to rile her up. “I lost my competition, and hit my head, and I had to witness that douchebag being mean to you.”

“Can you please stop calling him names?” She unlocked the doors to her truck.

“But he was a douche.”

She sighed. “Lucas, please? Let’s just go get burgers and fries and forget this ever happened. I’ll even let you drive.” He’d gotten his learner’s permit a few weeks ago.

“Fine, but if I ever see him again, I’m going to give him a piece of my mind.”

“You’ll have to get in line behind me.”

Chapter Three

WIND WHIPPED AGAINST Doc’s skin as he sped down the dark road on his motorcycle. He’d been riding full throttle for hours, trying to outrun the pain that had been clawing its way up from the dredges of his soul since he’d left the hospital. But for the second time in his life, wind therapy wasn’t doing a damn thing to take the edge off his shitty mood. According to his family, it had taken him months to get out from under his anger and pain after that fateful summer, but he knew the truth. It had taken a hell of a lot longer than that. He’d just learned to hide it better.

Why the fuck was Juliette back in Hope Valley?

He chewed on that as he drove toward the ranch. With any luck, his family would still be at the rally. He’d hauled ass away from the hospital before Birdie had a chance to spout off to everyone about what had gone down. He hated that his little sister had witnessed that shit. Not because she would tell everyone, although he knew she would, but because if anyone ever treated her that way, he’d fucking knock their teeth out.

As he turned into the ranch, the tightness in his chest didn’t ease like it usually did when he drove beneath the wooden beam with an iron RR on top—the first R, backward.

The ranch spanned a few hundred acres and had been in his family for decades. Doc had grown up there and had never wanted to work or live anywhere else. They’d saved too many horses to count and helped hundreds of people of all ages who were previously incarcerated, in recovery, or just having a rough time finding their footing, giving them support and a sense of family they so desperately needed. But after what happened with Juliette, every fucking inch of that property reminded Doc of her. It was that family—found and biological—and his passion for the ranch’s mission, that kept him there.

He drove past the rehabilitation and well-animal barns, the riding arenas and pastures, and the road that led to the therapeutic offices and turned off the main road, navigating the narrow lanes that led to his house. Doc liked his privacy and lived in a three-bedroom log home off the beaten path, away from the cabins that housed live-in clients and staff and out of sight from his family’s homes.

As he drove down his driveway, his brothers’ and father’s motorcycles came into view. He parked beside them, his muscles tensing as he climbed off his bike. His three dogs barreled off the porch—Pickles, a husky/shepherd mix, Mighty, a black Lab, and Sadie, an Irish setter—followed by his father, Cowboy, and Dare.

Seeley was not in the mood for an inquisition.

He pulled off his helmet and loved up his dogs, eyeing the others. “Did someone die?”

“You tell us,” his father said gruffly.

Doc gritted his teeth. His father was one of the toughest men he knew. Like each of his sons, if the situation called for it, he’d morph from the loyalest, fairest man in the room to the deadliest. He managed the family the same way he managed the ranch, with high expectations, strict rules, and enough rope to let them hang themselves. But he was always there to cut them down before it turned fatal, because beneath that gruff exterior was a warm, loving heart.

The dogs vied for more of his attention, their tails wagging, their noses pushing into Doc’s hands. Doc snapped his fingers, commanding, “Enough.” Sadie plunked down her butt, while Mighty and Pickles bounded off to play.

“Birdie told us what went down with Juliette. Are you okay?” Dare asked. He was always trying to get them to talk shit out.

Fuck no. “I’m fine.” He turned on his father, who made it his business to know every single fucking thing that went on in and around their town that could possibly affect their family, the residents of Hope Valley, or the club. “Did you know she was in town?”

“Hal mentioned it a few weeks ago,” his father said. Hal Braden was one of his father’s oldest friends. He owned a ranch two towns away in Weston, Colorado.