20. Cash
CHAPTER 20
Cash
HELL IS A DANCE FLOOR
Driving past the New House, I hit the brakes when I see an unfamiliar truck parked out front.
Taking in the pristine chrome wheels and king cab, my stomach dips. “Who does the pavement princess belong to?”
In the passenger seat, Ryder shrugs. “No clue. Just seeing it now too. Maybe Mollie has a visitor? Fancy truck. Looks like someone from Dallas.”
“Why did no one tell me we had a visitor? I’m supposed to know these things.”
“Because we were out all day with you, jackass.”
I’m gripped by a sense of unease. The truck is a Denali. Current model, like Mollie’s Range Rover. And like the Rover, this is a six-figure vehicle.
One that’s clearly never seen a day’s work outside. I’d bet my life savings that the guy who owns it either parks it in his deck at work or at his country club in the suburbs.
Maybe I was wrong. Maybe Mollie does have a boyfriend.
Maybe he’s the kind of douche who spends his money on a truck he absolutely doesn’t need.
Why would he come now, though, long after Mollie left Dallas? She were my girl, I doubt I’d be able to go a single night without her in my bed. Nothing could keep me away from her.
Nothing.
What excuse does this asshat have? And why did Mollie buy it? I fucking hate the guy already.
“We should get goin’.” Duke yawns in the back seat. “Band starts soon, and I ain’t got much gas left in the tank.”
It’s Friday night. End of another long, hot week. Clouds rolled in earlier this morning, giving the boys and me a much-needed break from the sun. Still waiting on the rain, though.
The herd kept us busy well past lunch today. I’m beat.
But here I am, driving my brothers and me the fifteen minutes into town for some cold beers and live music.
I tell myself I got a second wind because the weather’s turning and fall is my favorite season on the ranch. It has nothing to do with the fact that Mollie might be out tonight, which means I might get to dance with her again.
Absolutely nothing. I couldn’t care less where she is. Hell, I don’t even have her number. Not like I could text her, ask her if she’s coming. If her boyfriend’s here, she probably wants to hang out with him at the house anyway.
I don’t realize I’m holding the wheel in a death grip until Ryder clears his throat. “Don’t break it, man.”
“It’s probably just a friend of Mollie’s,” Wyatt says from beside Duke in the back. “She’s been away from home for a bit.”
“Yeah.” Duke glances at Wyatt. “Girls can drive pickups too. Maybe she, like, borrowed it from her parents or something? You know, for the drive to the country.”
Wyatt nods. “Exactly.”
I meet his eyes in the rearview mirror. They gleam, kindness and understanding written all over his expression.
But there’s nothing to understand , I want to yell. I’m fine. So what if it’s her boyfriend? I don’t care.
I don’t want to fucking care. Because caring? —
That’s how you get your heart ripped out.
That’s how you get hurt. And I’ve had enough hurt to last a lifetime.
Wouldn’t Mollie tell me if she had a boyfriend? But why would she? We’ve had intimate conversations about dreams and family and grief, but we’ve never talked about our romantic lives. Seems strange now that I think about it.
And not strange at all, because she’s my boss. Garrett’s daughter. I need to show them both the respect they deserve.
I also need my brothers to stop looking at me like I have two heads.
Hitting the gas, I turn up the radio. The breeze blowing through the windows is refreshingly cool. “Just wanna make sure it ain’t her lawyers or some shit. Or a buyer.”
Because that’s what Mollie said she would eventually do—sell Lucky Ranch to the highest bidder. She could be starting that process already.
Although there’s a tug in my gut that tells me that’s not it. Mollie’s been with me all week, and not once has she mentioned a potential buyer. When would she have the time to find one? She’s as tuckered out as the rest of us at the end of the day.
“Maybe.” Ryder hangs his arm out the window.
“If it’s not a buyer,” Wyatt says slowly, “and if she’s out tonight with this friend of hers, you’re gonna be all right at The Rattler, right, Cash? I just rode into town today to collect my winnings. Best week I’ve ever had. I’d hate to lose that income if there’s, er, trouble and Tallulah decides her feelings on us Rivers are lukewarm at best.”
I yank my baseball cap off my head and put it on backward. “Why wouldn’t I be all right?”
Duke chuckles. “No reason.”
“You got somethin’ you wanna say, brother?”
“Not at all, brother . Just haven’t seen you this keyed up about a girl in a while. ”
“It ain’t about a girl.”
Wyatt’s turn to snicker. “Sure it isn’t.”
“Y’all want me to turn around? Because I will.”
Ryder holds up his hands. “Let’s just go get some drinks, all right? Nothing is gonna happen.”
“Thank you,” I reply, even as I have the very distinct feeling that something is, in fact, going to happen tonight.
Or maybe I just want it to happen, because I’m sick of feeling so…tight. Wound up. Hopeful.
I hold my breath every time I turn a corner now, hoping I’ll run into Mollie. I can hardly sleep because I want to know what witty, pervy things she’ll say to me over coffee the next morning. And at night, after supper, I think about her in the tub. The one in the New House has a Jacuzzi setting. She turn it on, get herself off?
She think about me while she does it? Or she think about the prick who drives the Denali instead?
I’m vibrating by the time we roll up to The Rattler. I stalk inside and look around. Mollie is nowhere in sight.
I tell myself I’m relieved as I belly up to the bar. Tallulah pops the top off a Shiner Bock and slides it across the counter.
“Thank you,” I say. “Can I get a shot of tequila too?”
Tallulah raises a brow. “Bad day?”
“No.” I tip back the longneck. “Yes. Kind of.”
She wordlessly pours me a shot of Casamigos A?ejo, which I swallow in a single gulp.
The burn feels good.
The band starts. A Johnny Cash cover, which has the already-crowded bar hollering and stomping their feet. Everyone is smiling. Everyone is dancing, having a good time.
Except me.
“Wanna talk about it?”
I glance to my right and see Wyatt standing at the bar. “Talk about what? ”
“Dude, don’t play dumb with me. You like Mollie.”
I could deny it. I should deny it.
Instead, I sip my beer. Most people are on the dance floor anyway. No one’s paying us any mind.
“Something happen between y’all when you took her to your cabin earlier this week?”
I run a hand over the back of my neck. “How do you know about that?”
“Duke can’t keep a secret to save his life.”
“I didn’t sleep with her.”
“That’s good.”
“Trust me, no one knows better than I do how bad me sleeping with Mollie would be.”
“But something did happen.”
“We talked.”
“About?”
I tilt back my head, the tequila making my skin feel buzzy and warm. “Nothing. Everything. Garrett, mostly. Mom and Dad.”
His eyebrows pop up. “You talked about Mom and Dad with Mollie?”
“What? She asked, so I told her.”
“ You opened up to her . The girl you hated so much, you could barely stand to look at her.”
I glance toward the door. “I did, yeah.”
Wyatt leans his elbows on the bar. “I take back what I said. I kinda like this for you. You’ve been in an awful good mood lately, and now I know why.”
Shaking my head, I hold up my hand for another beer. “Doesn’t matter. She’s Garrett’s daughter. Our boss.”
“Bet she wants you to boss her around, don’t she?”
I slam my beer down on the bar. “Wyatt.”
“Fine, fine.” He holds up his hands. “But now that I’m thinkin’ about it, would it be so bad if y’all joined forces? If things worked out between the two of you, that could be good for us, brother.”
“Or it could mean losing everything we’ve worked so hard for.”
Wyatt tilts his head. “I think you need to give yourself more credit. You’re not young anymore?—”
“Shut up.”
“You know what I mean. You’re not stupid. Or reckless. I don’t know.” He shrugs, drinking his beer. “Maybe it’s your time.”
“My time?”
“To settle down. Find your person. Be happy, for Christ’s sake.”
The idea sends a burst of something…not unpleasant through my bloodstream.
What if Wyatt’s right? It’s crazy, yeah. But crazier shit’s happened.
“Didn’t Tim McGraw and Faith Hill first meet because they were working together?” he continues. “Now look at ’em. They’ve built a goddamn empire together. Could be you and Mollie.”
I smile, unable to help myself. “But I’m better-looking than Tim, right?”
“Dude, no one’s better-looking than Tim. Have you seen him lately? The man is a fuckin’ ripped, music-making machine. My point is, maybe…well, who knows what the future holds? But it’d be a cool thing if you and Mollie got together and made some?—”
“ Wyatt .”
“Good business decisions.” He flashes me a wolfish smile. “That’s what I was gonna say.”
“Sure you were.” I glance toward the door again. My heart dips when it opens.
My heart full-on falls a hundred stories when Mollie walks in, followed by a guy with slicked-back hair. He’s wearing dark jeans and a button-up shirt.
Fucker is way overdressed for The Rattler. He sticks out like a sore thumb. But Mollie?—
Christ, Mollie looks hot as all get-out. She’s wearing a sequined shirt and the tiniest denim skirt I think I’ve ever seen, along with a pair of cowboy boots. She has her hair in a ponytail, and she’s wearing big-ass earrings that are ridiculous but somehow work on her.
My blood pumps overtime when her eyes catch on mine. She immediately smiles. “Cash! Hey!”
The band’s bassline vibrates inside my chest as she and Slick approach. I notice he doesn’t touch her. No hand on her waist, her back. Her nape.
She were mine, I’d have my hands all over her. Everyone would know she was taken. And she’d know just how much I wanted her.
Fuck.
Fuck me , I don’t just have a crush on Mollie. I don’t just want to sleep with her.
I want all of her. And I can’t deny anymore that I want to be that guy for her. The one she dances with. Who protects her from scumbags like Roddy and Slick here.
The one who shows her what a true partner could and should be.
I can be that man, Mollie, if you’d let me.
I can’t shake the feeling that she and this guy are more than friends. Maybe it’s the way his beady little eyes lock on me and narrow.
Pushing off the bar, I grab my beer and paste on a smile. “Hey, Mollie.”
“I was hoping y’all would be here. Cash, Wyatt, meet Palmer. Cash is the cowboy I was telling you about—our foreman. Wyatt’s his brother.” She gestures to Slick. “Palmer is visiting from Dallas. ”
Wyatt cuts me a glance before he holds out his hand. “Welcome to Hartsville, Palmer.”
“Happy to be here.” Palmer takes my brother’s hand. “Quite the operation y’all got over at the ranch. Mollie gave me a little tour this afternoon.”
That all she give you?
I don’t realize I’m holding my beer in a death grip until Palmer is holding his hand out to me. I let an awkward beat of silence pass before I finally take it.
“You here for the weekend?” I ask. I don’t wanna engage this douche in conversation, but my curiosity gets the better of me. I suddenly need to know who Palmer is to Mollie, exactly, and how long he plans to stay.
Palmer glances at Mollie. “For a day or two, yeah.”
A day or two? And is that disappointment I see flicker across Mollie’s face?
I fucking hate this guy.
Wyatt was wrong. I can still be stupid. I’m being stupid right now, hating someone I don’t even know.
But when I try to rein in that hatred, all I feel is, well, more hatred. So I let it ride.
“Y’all are friends,” I say slowly.
Mollie smiles at Tallulah as she takes two longnecks out of the bartender’s hands. “Thank you, Tallulah. And, yeah, Palmer and I met back in college. Then we ran into each other a few years later in Dallas and…reconnected.”
I flick my eyes over his clothes. “What do you do there?”
“I’m a trader.” He sips his beer and looks over at the dance floor, apparently oblivious to my seething hatred and Mollie’s presence. “Commodities.”
“So you bet on the shit we grow out here in the country to go down in price.”
Palmer shrugs. “Sometimes, sure.”
Mollie looks at me. I look back. Him, really ?
In reply, she loops her arm through his, sending a spasm of rage—jealousy, more like it—through my middle.
“Palmer, let’s go check out the band. They’re awesome. The drummer is our cook, and the backup singer is our vet.”
“Cute,” Palmer says. “Let’s do it.”
I pretend to busy myself with my beer, but I can’t stop sneaking glances at the two of them on the dance floor. He’s got his hands on her now, Mollie swaying in time to a Chris Stapleton cover. She turns to Palmer, and he spins her around. She smiles.
An ache takes root in the pit of my stomach.
This time last week, I was the guy twirling her around the dance floor.
I was the guy she was smiling at.
I do not like seeing her smile at someone else. Not one fucking bit.
They dance, and I drink.
Then Slick bumps into the girls dancing behind them. Instead of continuing to dance with Mollie, he turns around and starts talking to them. They’re the Hager girls, a pair of award-winning barrel racers.
They’re pretty—a fact Palmer seems to take note of.
The ache in my center builds as I watch Mollie politely engage them in conversation alongside Palmer. The band is between songs, so I can just barely hear them talking.
A new song starts, and Mollie tries to pull Palmer away.
He doesn’t budge. He’s smiling at the Hagers, babbling on like he isn’t making the most beautiful woman on earth wait. A shadow moves across Mollie’s eyes.
I’ve never wanted to burn anything down. But I’d burn down this whole town if it meant never seeing that look in her eyes again.
Are she and Slick together? Maybe it’s a friends-with-benefits situation. Maybe their relationship is new, and they haven’t put a label on it yet .
Doesn’t fucking matter . He’s talking to other girls, and it’s upsetting her, and he doesn’t seem to give a shit. Tells me everything I need to know.
“Maybe we should go,” Wyatt says. “I’m…tired.”
“You’re fine.”
“Cash, she’s allowed?—”
“I don’t care.”
“Then why do you look like you want to punch him?”
I don’t have an answer for that, so I don’t give one. I just sit and glower, watching as Slick finally turns back to Mollie. He doesn’t dance, though. He leans down to say something in her ear, and then he’s heading back toward us.
Mollie stays on the dance floor, looking annoyed. A little disappointed, even.
I bite the inside of my cheek and taste blood.
Wyatt repeats, “We should go.”
He’s right. But my boots don’t budge. Slick saunters over, hands in the pockets of his jeans, and scans the wall behind the bar. Almost like he’s looking for a menu.
I laugh.
“What?” He eyes me.
“Nothing. Just?—”
“Tallulah will make you anything you want,” Wyatt interrupts. “She knows her shit backward and forward.”
“Bet you don’t have Willett bourbon back there, do you?” Palmer asks Tallulah.
The bartender gives him a tight smile as she wipes her hands on a towel. “You lookin’ for the Family Estate Rye or the Johnny Drum?”
Palmer blinks. “Y’all have Johnny Drum?”
“We do.”
“I’ll take that, then. Ice, splash of ginger.”
This guy deserves to be punched.
“No ginger,” I grunt. “Or ice.”
Palmer’s eyebrows snap together. “Excuse me? ”
“Whiskey that good, you don’t add anything to it.”
“I’ll drink it how I damn well please.” He takes a step closer. “You got a problem, son?”
It’s the son that gets me.
And the slicked-back hair.
And the drink order and the way he flirted with other women in front of Mollie and that dumb fucking Denali truck.
I got several inches on the guy. He doesn’t flinch, though, when I step closer too. “I do have a problem, actually. You calling me son for starters. You hurtin’ Mollie’s feelings, though—that’s what really bothers me.”
“Cash.” The warning is clear in Wyatt’s voice. “Cool it.”
Holding up my hands, I keep my eyes locked on Slick’s. “I was raised better’n than to throw the first punch. Were you, son ?”
His gaze flashes. “What’s your deal?”
“My deal is, you treat your date with respect.”
“Mollie’s just a friend.”
I laugh again. “You’re an idiot, then.”
It happens quick. One second, I’m staring down Slick. The next, his fist rams into my jaw.
Pain blooms inside my face. I taste blood. My heart beats loudly inside my ears. Wyatt shouts. But before he can grab me to hold me back, I’m coiling my right arm and hitting Slick in the mouth.
He falls back with a howl. Suddenly, the entire bar’s on its feet, the music going dead just in time for me to hear Mollie scream my name.
“Cash! Palmer! What the hell, y’all? Stop !”
She’s making a mad dash toward us from the dance floor.
Palmer regroups, the hand holding his mouth falling away.
It’s covered in blood. A white-hot sense of satisfaction shoots through my veins .
Wyatt is finally able to grab me by the arms and pull me back. Ryder and Duke appear at my side, Ryder standing between Slick and me.
“Easy.” He glowers at Slick. “You’re outnumbered, so whatever you’re thinkin’ about doing, don’t.”
Tallulah throws her towel over her shoulder. “No fights in the bar. Y’all wanna go at it, head outside.”
Mollie is here now, breathless. Her eyes are—well, I can’t tell what she’s feeling, but it sure as hell ain’t disappointment or hurt anymore.
Ryder has the good sense to move closer to Mollie, standing between her and Palmer. I taught him well.
I try to yank my arms free, but Wyatt doesn’t let me go.
Slick eyes me. “What the fuck is your problem?”
“Already told you. You upset Mollie.”
“What?” Mollie’s eyes bulge, a divot appearing on her forehead. “How did you—he didn’t?—”
“I can’t believe that’s why you’re being such a dick,” Palmer says.
I glare at him. “That not a good enough reason?”
“You’re crazy, bro. All y’all”—he glances around our little half circle of Rivers—“are crazy.”
I give my arms a vicious yank, finally pulling out of Wyatt’s grasp. I jab my finger into Palmer’s chest, my mouth an inch from his face. “Good. Then you won’t ever come back to Hartsville, you hear me? I so much as see that pussy-ass truck again, you’ll be in for a world of hurt. Got me?”
He narrows his eyes. “Who the hell do you think you are?”
“Cash”—I push him—“Rivers.”
“Fuck you,” he says, and then he charges.
I’m bigger than him, and I have my brothers. It ain’t a fair fight. That don’t stop me from locking my arm around his head in a half nelson. I hold him there while he tries to jab me in the side .
I squeeze his neck. “Stop.”
“Fuck you.”
“I’m telling you, stop before you hurt yourself.”
Wyatt’s pulling me back again, saying, “Let him go, Cash. He ain’t worth it.”
“Let him go, my God,” Mollie repeats. “Right now. Please.”
I meet her eyes. They’re alive, gleaming in the neon light of a Pabst Blue Ribbon sign. I see anger there, sure. A little fear.
And a flame that ignites a fire inside my skin.
I release my hold on Palmer. He straightens, spits on the floor.
“Get gone.” I put my hands on my hips, breathing hard. “Don’t ever— ever —come back. While you’re at it, stop toyin’ with women, yeah?”
I half expect him to lunge for me again. If he leaves now, he’s running with his tail between his legs. But like the coward he is, he looks at me. Looks toward the door.
Doesn’t even look at Mollie before making a beeline for the exit.
A beat later, the roar of tires on gravel fills the silence inside the bar.
“That escalated quickly.” Ryder passes me a bar napkin. I use it to wipe my hands. “Care to explain what happened?”
Mollie stays rooted to the spot. She’s staring at me.
“What?” I crumple the napkin and toss it into the trash can behind the counter. “Guy was showin’ his ass. I gave him the attitude adjustment he needed.”
“An attitude adjustment?” Mollie stares at me. “Cash, you punched him in the face.”
“Only after he punched me.”
“It—I—seriously, it doesn’t matter. There’s never a good reason to punch someone.”
“I beg to differ. ”
Her eyes toggle between mine. Searching. For what?
She looks as mixed up as I feel.
Why are you messing around with clowns like that?
Why does that fact make me lose my ever-loving mind?
“What is wrong with you?” she asks.
Wish I knew . “I was sticking up for you.”
She squares those shoulders. “You know what? I’m—I should—” She throws up her hands. “I need a minute.”
“Mollie—”
“Don’t.” She moves past me. I resist the urge to grab her. “Nothing you can say right now will make this better.”
“Let me explain what happened.”
“Violence is never the answer!” she hollers over her shoulder, then disappears into the hallway that leads to the bathrooms.
It’s only then do I realize the entire bar is staring at us.
Well, everyone’s staring at me now that Mollie is gone, their gazes bright with curiosity.
“Aw, your first lovers’ quarrel,” Duke says.
I grit my teeth. “You best mind your mouth before I punch you too.”
He gives me a shit-eating grin. “Meant no harm. Just…not like you to, you know, be that guy.”
“What guy?”
“The one punching other guys over a girl.”
It ain’t like me.
Also ain’t like me to chase what I can’t have.
But that’s exactly what I do as I make a beeline for the bathrooms, ignoring the stares that follow me.
My heart’s going apeshit inside my chest. I don’t know what I’m gonna say or how I’m gonna make this right.
All I know is, Mollie’s been disappointed for the last time.
She’s been hurt by some idiot dickhead for the last fucking time.