Chapter 27 Stetson
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
stetson
A little higher, and he’s a dead man.
“Ready for your Forbes debut, my good buddy ole pal?”
I bite my cheek, eyes zeroed in on Austin’s hand, currently rubbing up and down the side of Cove’s back—mere inches away from the bottom of her breasts.
I’ll kill him.
“No,” I tell Clay, not bothering to look at him. He’s probably flashing me the same grin he likes to sport when he’s giddy about something I don’t give a shit about. And my interview with Forbes Magazine is one of those.
They can burn every miserable copy, for all I care. Didn’t care about it then, don’t care about it now.
“But you look so nice,” he teases. “Speaking of nice. Are you wearing a tie?” He inspects my fit for the night.
“I am. Didn’t want to face the wrath of Abigail for dressing under par.”
Clay rolls his eyes. “Not sure I’ve ever seen Abbi angry. Might be kinda hot.” I flick the straw of his drink, and my eyes drift back to Cove.
I wish I were the one holding her right now. Showing her off and introducing her to my close friends and family. I’ve never done that before.
“Anything new on Waylon? I see he settled his cattle in nicely. Just as long as they don’t interfere with my herding, we’ll get along just fine,” I ask Clay.
“Waylon is doing well. Cattle are secured, and he’s got a crew of ranch hands scheduled to maintain the pasture once a day. Shouldn’t be much more than that. Easy money.”
“Good. Let’s keep him happy and have Granger, Creek, and Tuna keep those ranch hands in line. I want to make sure they’re bringing their own tools and equipment. He needs to use Coleson’s; it’ll come with a fee.”
“Noted,” Clay responds. “Speaking of Creek, he’s in pasture three checking on Nellie and baby Millie right now. She’s nursing well, and the baby is making gains. Dr. Gilmore says she’s confident that at the ninth month post-birth, Millie will be ready to wean.”
“That’s good news.” It’s nice to know I don’t have to stress too much about every aspect of the ranch. Clay operates hand in hand with the staff, which has been my saving grace lately. I’ve been a bit…distracted.
But fuck, I deserve it for once.
“And the wildflowers?” I ask Clay, hushed in volume.
I’ve worked hard to keep this project a secret that only Clay knows about.
There’s a gardener based out of Union, Texas, who specializes in wildflower health and production.
I’d love to get the field back in full bloom, even with it being the beginning of summer.
The color that bursts from the blossoms is extraordinary, and a picture I know Cove would be in awe over.
We’re expecting a downpour of rainfall next week, so hopefully, after everything Edith, the gardener, has done to preserve and nourish the blooms, we’ll see a fruitful payoff.
“Last Edith communicated was that buds are swelling, and she can already detect color coming from the pre-sprouts. I’d say after the rain next week, we can expect a full bloom.”
Then I can shower Cove in wildflowers galore.
“Good work, Clay. What would I do without you?” I clasp his shoulder.
Clay chuckles. “Well, for one, you’d scare away all your employees. Not to mention, be broke as fuck.”
Can’t say he’s wron—
“Where’s the media?” My skin turns cold at the sound of Nate’s voice.
Convenient he decides to show face and come out of his meeting hole—my guest room—only to be bothered that the media is nowhere to be found.
I wonder how happy he’d be to know I paid them a very generous amount of money to get lost and never return days ago.
I spotted one of the Texas news outlet rats staked out near an oak tree on my property the day we shot bows in the back.
Especially now that I know the intent behind them being here. I’m not a goddamn idiot. Nate called them ahead of time. They told me so. Well, I should say, they told me Harrison Hartwell paid them, which is a clear indicator of Nate’s hand in it, too.
Bastard. I should kill him along with the city boy.
I ignore Nate’s question, knowing that if I respond, I’ll snap.
I need to pace myself tonight. It’s my main birthday celebration, and Abigail has been working all week to make this perfect.
Family members who were absent earlier in the week have arrived, along with friends and old coworkers I haven’t seen in ages.
So, I’ll save the blowout for the grand finale.
“Clay,” I mumble before turning back to face him, ignoring Nate altogether. “Hand me one of those magazines.”
He holds one in front of me, a stack of them at his feet that I hadn’t noticed. “Jesus,” I grumble before taking it and flipping through the pages to land on my interview. “How many of them did you bring?”
“Two hundred, of course,” Clay says with a wide-as-fuck smile on his face. I couldn’t muster a smile if I tried right now. My gaze lifts to Cove over the magazine, and the slightest grin curves at her lips. The firm beating in my chest dissipates to normal just thinking about last night.
Our words.
The pleasure we exchanged.
The affirmation of love and how we’re both undoubtedly on the same page.
She may be pretending with him, but her heart is tied to me. And I know what needs to be done for her to be a permanent fixture of happiness in my life.
“Have them all delivered to Ms. Davenport’s room,” I tell Clay, the idea occurring to me just now.
“What? Why would I do that?” I should have expected Clay wouldn’t let that one go. Not when he went through all this hassle to have two hundred sent to the ranch.
“Because I said so. Unless you had a better plan for them here?”
Clay looks puzzled. “No. I just figured I’d hand them out. Brag on you a little.”
“Cove’s room?” Nate contributes. “What does my daughter need with your magazines?”
My blood seethes just hearing him call her his daughter. Phony piece of shit.
“Your daughter has extra space in her room for me to store them,” I inform. “And since one of these is enough for Clay to share with the partygoers, I’d appreciate it if they were out of sight.” I turn to Clay. “Mail them to whoever. I don’t care, but I don’t want them here.”
“You know, this is a really big accomplishment, Stet—”
Suddenly, Nate wants to care about what happens with his daughter. “There’s no extra space in her room. I checked on her this morning, and all her bedding filled the extra space.”
I still, chills rushing down the back of my neck. “And why’s that?”
“Clearly, there isn’t as much space as you thought,” Nate tells me, the tone of his voice rubbing me wrong. He’d better watch himself. I’ve got a gun loaded with his secret failures, and I’m not afraid to use it. Blackmail is ammunition at its finest.
“That’s not what I asked, Nate. Why is Cove’s bedding on the floor?” I take a deep breath through my evident frustration. There’s not a ton of space, but enough beside the bathroom and window to store packed boxes.
Another thought comes to mind. So help me god…if I find out…
“Hell if I know. She’s been down there every morning I’ve looked for her.”
“Define down there.” There’s no disguising my hostility. I’m past the point of refrain, and I have a sick feeling that whatever Nate says next will send me straight to the circle of death.
“Sleeping on the floor, Stetson. What the fuck is your deal? She’s an adult. I’m sure there’s a reason for it. Leave it alone.”
I don’t process past Cove sleeping on the floor.
On the floor.
In my home. Under my roof.
Without a mattress or anything remotely soft to sleep on.
On. The. Fucking. Floor. While he sleeps on the bed.
“Oh, fuck no,” I shout before slamming the magazine to the ground and searching the barn for Austin Hartwell.
“Stetson. Hold on a second,” Clay calls out to me, but I can’t be stopped.
Everything around me obscures to small specks of black.
Every guest on the dance floor turns fuzzy as I book it to where he stands with his hands on my girl, flaunting her to people he doesn’t know like a trophy.
She’s fucking gold. Cartier and Rolex quality combined. Calling her a prize would be a humiliating offense, especially for a man of G-Shock quality.
“Stetson, what up, my man?” Wesley, an old buddy from college, greets me as I hover behind Austin’s lanky frame. With my hands behind my back, I hum roughly, “Nice to see you, Wes.”
As if my voice is his cue, Austin turns around and, if it’s even possible, grips Cove tighter to his side. I see how uncomfortable she is, and it doesn’t help the anger inside me, inches away from boiling over. I look Austin up and down, reveling in being a man of power over him.
I can feel his cower from here, yet he works far too hard to hide it. It’s useless. I may be a small-town cowboy rancher, but I learned a long time ago how far dedicated eye contact and a firm handshake can take you.
And Austin lacks both of them.
I see the panic in Cove’s eyes, just as I know for a fact she sees the rage in mine. I send her a reassuring smile followed by a nod before saying calmly, “Cove, sweetheart. Would you mind taking four steps to your left, please?”
She doesn’t argue, just obeys, untangling herself from Austin’s overbearing hold. “Great party, man. My princess and I were just saying how awesome this week has been.”
I drop my head, directing the wrath in my body to the floor. I pace my unstable breaths, waiting for the moment he stops fucking talking. This is me communicating, and right now, I’m about to do my damndest work with my fist. “Hey, Austin?”
“That’s my name, don’t wear it out.” He chuckles, and well, I don’t.
I act. My fist connects with his nose before anyone can stop me.
One punch has him falling to the ground in agony, the sound of gasping guests only satisfying me more.
He deserves an audience for making Cove sleep on the filthy floor.
He struggles to get up, his hand covering his nose helplessly to stop the blood.
“What the hell was that for?” he shouts.