Hard to Handle (The Walkers of Coyote Ridge: Caine Cousins #2)

Chapter 1

Chapter One

Lynx Caine

With the song blaring through the speakers, a Friday night with absolutely nothing to do but chill laid out before me, I was feeling no pain. I was minutes away from a cold beer with my name on it and good friends to hang out with.

“When the line froze, what did I see?” I belted out loudly.

There was nothing better than a little Machine Gun Kelly rocking it out with Kid Rock.

“A bad motherfucker standin’ next to me.”

With September officially underway and August finally behind me, I was ready to get my drink on, and I damn sure wasn’t opposed to getting my knuckles scraped a little if some smart-mouthed fucker wanted to go a round or two.

With all the shit going on, it was safe to say, stress was a prominent word in my vocabulary.

Between some crazy psychopath terrorizing my cousin’s girl, and said girl gearing up to blow the whistle on that asshole, I didn’t think it was going to get better anytime soon.

But what the hell did I know?

Bad, bad motherfucker 'til the day I die.

Pulling into Reagan’s Bar, Kid Rock screaming about being a bad motherfucker, I felt some of the strain ease from my shoulders. This was my fucking theme song. It rang true and I'd damn sure earned the reputation in this small town.

To make it even better, when that song ended, good ol’ Brantley Gilbert started rasping about being hell on wheels.

I sang along, hopefully doing the song justice.

I'd heard more than once that I had the same raspy tone as the kickass country boy who had rednecks everywhere kickin’ it in the sticks.

Not that I intended to change my career or anything. A singer I was not.

However, I couldn’t deny the redneck part. That was a part of who I was and I was damn proud of it.

I drove my big Ford F-250 around to the side of the building.

“Damn. Gonna be a good night.” After all, the parking lot was full.

Not at all surprising. Not in Embers Ridge on a Friday night.

Reagan’s was the hangout for the low-key crowd.

She served only beer and pretzels, a few tunes cranking out of the jukebox, and the entertainment consisted of darts or pool.

Truth was, no one there needed more than that.

Hell, they usually needed little more than some good conversation.

And I suspected there were quite a few people who had come out tonight to get the scoop.

According to the rumor mill, my cousin had officially hooked up with one sweet little filly and the big, tough sheriff of our little backwoods town.

Not one or the other.

Both of them.

Little did everyone know, but it wasn’t a rumor. I knew it to be true.

And in the small ranching community of Embers Ridge, that was some serious headline news. I had figured Wolfe would go balls to the wall when he did finally settle down. Although I'd never witnessed it, I had always suspected my cousin went both ways.

“Good for him,” I muttered to myself.

As long as Wolfe was happy, I didn’t give a fuck whose boots were beside the man’s bed.

Of course, the town was abuzz with questions, everyone wanting to know how it had happened and what it meant.

No one seemed to believe that their little triad was real.

Didn’t it figure? If it walked like a duck, quacked like a duck, most people just assumed it was a duck.

Here in Embers Ridge, it seemed that if it walked like a duck and quacked like a duck, it was probably a cow in costume.

The obvious couldn’t possibly be real, but the bullshit they made up was.

Granted, I wasn’t sticking my nose all up in my cousin’s shit, and I damn sure wasn’t about to contribute to the gossip pool. I had more important things to worry about.

Namely, the hot little number who ran my favorite bar.

She’d been avoiding me like the plague as of late.

Not that I could really blame her. Ever since I'd established residence outside her house a couple of weeks ago, Reagan Trevino hadn’t been happy with me.

Shit, my body hadn’t been happy with me.

At six foot three, I wasn’t at all comfortable sleeping in the front seat of my truck.

But Reagan and my tired-ass body would have to deal because I wasn’t going to sit back while the crazy fucker who’d killed a detective not even three weeks ago was on the loose.

I didn’t give a shit if my Walker cousins were now leading the charge against the fucking chief of police of Houston.

I wasn’t taking any chances. If that fucker thought for one second he was going to do harm to someone I cared about, the asshole would have to go through me first.

Realizing there was no parking to be had, I pulled my truck into the field adjacent to the building, shut off the engine, and hopped out.

“What’s up, Lynx?”

Turning toward the sound of my name, I grinned. “Hey, Jimmy Don. How’s the ol’ lady?”

“Hella good, man.” Jimmy Don’s smile went wide as he continued to move toward his truck. “Baby’s comin’ any day now.”

“Congrats, bro!” I made my way to the front doors, continuing to face Jimmy Don across the parking lot. “Holler when she pops that one out. We’ll grab a beer to celebrate.”

“Sure thing.”

With a quick wave, I turned toward my destination.

Stepping inside, I took a deep breath, then let it out slowly.

The tiny, wood-framed bar smelled the same as always. Like beer and stale pretzels, not to mention sweat and a whole lot of verbal bullshit. Sure, that shit had a smell, too. I could usually sniff it out a mile away, and it seemed tonight the aroma was extra potent.

“Hey, brotha’,” Wolfe greeted from his spot at the bar.

“What’s up, hoss?” I gave my cousin a knuckle bump. “Thanks,” I told Reagan when she passed me over a beer.

I let my eyes track her from one side to the other. Of course, the stubborn minx didn’t respond. But her cute little nose lifted, and the defiant tilt to her chin made my dick hard. Then again, everything about Reagan Trevino made my dick hard. All five foot five sweet inches of her.

“We need to talk, Reagan. Come on, babe. Please.”

My gaze snapped to the opposite end of the bar, where I saw Billy Watson leaning on the wooden top, begging like a little bitch. I glanced at Wolfe, who shot me a quick eye roll. Turning back to the scene, I gave them my full attention.

“You know I’m not leavin’ till we do,” Billy droned.

Looked as though the fucker had finally realized what he’d lost when he let Reagan go a solid month ago. It appeared he was back to the same old bullshit, trying to get in her good graces and convince her to take him back.

I wanted to punch him in the face. The little pussy didn’t deserve Reagan. Hell, he didn’t deserve any woman. He had absolutely no respect and that shit was what pissed me off the most.

“Come on, honey. I know you ain’t serious. You love me. Don’t deny it. It’s time for you to come back home. Put the past in the past.”

The past he was referring to was the pussy Billy had been getting for the past thirty-three days—yep, I'd counted—ever since Reagan up and moved out on the asshole. The guy had no qualms about flaunting the fact that he was making up for lost time with any woman who’d give him the time of day.

A killing rage burned just beneath my skin, my need to do some serious bodily harm ratcheting up a few hundred notches. When a man loved a woman, or even claimed to love a woman, he just didn’t do stupid shit like that. Ever.

“I told you, Billy. I’m done,” Reagan hissed, apparently trying to keep her voice down. “Now, just leave it be.”

“Whatever.” Billy huffed. “That’s bullshit and you know it. Quit fuckin’ around and just come home.”

Reagan leaned over the bar, getting right up in his face. “It’s not my home,” she snapped. “I’m done. It’s over. Get used to it.”

I waited, counting down silently in my head. I knew Billy, knew the man’s temper would get the best of him. I had spent the better part of a decade watching as Billy treated Reagan like shit, then sitting back and dealing when she took the sorry fucker back.

As much as I'd wanted to intervene, I knew it wasn’t my place. Then or now.

Good news was it looked as though she might be done this time for good.

I could only hope because it was high time I moved on with my life, and the only way I intended to do that was to have that woman in my bed, where she belonged. However, I wasn’t talking for only one night. My intentions toward her were along the lines of forever and a day.

The hardest part was going to be convincing her.

Fortunately, I was always up for a challenge.

“What the fuck you lookin’ at?”

I allowed my gaze to slip to the right of Reagan. That was when I realized Billy was talking to me. Unable to help myself, I smiled. “A hairy asshole.” I glanced back at my cousin. “Right? That’s what you see, too?”

“Yep,” Wolfe agreed. “A hairy asshole with teeth.”

I turned back to Billy.

It was Friday night.

Everyone in this town knew that the Caines could generally be persuaded out to the parking lot for a little throw-down action. I was more than willing to clear the way for me and Billy to go outside. I'd been itching to beat the guy’s ass for a long damn time.

“Don’t do it, Billy,” Reagan warned.

“Fuck you,” he muttered. “I shoulda known you were fuckin’ him. Prob’ly been fuckin’ him the whole time we were together.”

Same shit, different day. Billy always took that route, no matter what. Truthfully, it was getting old.

“Ain’t that right?” Billy asked me directly. “You been lettin’ her hoover your dick while she was hooverin’ mine?”

No one said he was known for his social skills.

Before the dickhead could draw another breath, I was in his face, my fist in the asshole’s shirt as I lifted him off the ground. “What’d I tell you about talkin’ about her like that?” I dropped him to his feet. “Let’s take this outside. You and me. Once and for all.”

“Fuck you,” Billy spat.