Chapter 3
Rough Cut looked like it always did—dim lighting, sticky floor, walls that hadn’t seen new paint since before cell phones were a thing. Still, it was familiar, and most nights, welcoming.
Tonight the energy inside ricochetted like a raccoon caught in a karaoke machine.
Tucker stepped through the door behind Luke and immediately winced at the off-key wailing coming from center floor.
“God help us,” he muttered.
On the tiny dance area, Dare twirled wildly, her long limbs flying, her hips a beat ahead of the music as she butchered the lyrics to a country ballad.
It might’ve hit harder if it weren’t screeched at double volume and punctuated by jazz hands.
The only line Tucker caught was something like “I ain’t your angel, and you sure ain’t mine… ”
“‘Angel of the Broken Heart’?” Luke guessed beside him. “That’s gotta be it. Poor Reba’s rolling in her grave, and she’s not even dead.”
Dare had clearly tried to make a dramatic fashion statement—her jacket half-off, a second shirt tied around her waist, hair tousled as if she'd fought someone to keep her boots.
And Ginny, poor Ginny, clung to her side like a human seatbelt.
She didn’t look drunk—more like exhausted and deeply, profoundly over it.
“Okay,” Luke said grimly. “Time to go.”
Rex, the bartender, nodded at them with his usual stiff-jawed disapproval, then he shocked the hell out of Tucker by calling out gruffly, “I’ll cover their tab. Just get that one home.”
Tucker gave the man a quick salute. “Thanks.”
Ahead of him, Luke wove through the crowd with the kind of single-minded determination usually reserved for men facing down a raging bull. He reached Dare just as she flung her arms wide for a dramatic spin, and he caught her mid-revolution.
“Whoa there, Patsy,” Luke said, scooping her off the floor like a rogue pageant contestant having a breakdown. “Time to exit stage left.”
Dare blinked at him then patted his cheek affectionately. “Awww. You’re the bestest big brother. You came.”
“Yep.” He adjusted her in his arms as she sagged against him, the emotional energy suddenly draining out of her. “You’re done.”
Ginny sagged too—but only in relief. She turned toward Tucker, breath hitching, her expression pinched with gratitude and mortification in equal parts.
“She wouldn’t leave.” Ginny’s voice was tight. “I didn’t know what else to do.”
“You did good,” Tucker said quietly, resting a hand on the small of her back. “We’ve got her.”
As Luke carried Dare toward the door, Ginny followed. Tucker stepped beside her, instinctively slipping an arm around her shoulders when she swayed a little too far to the left.
She immediately stiffened. “I’m not drunk.”
“Didn’t say you were.”
“You don’t need to carry me.”
“I’m not.”
“You’re carrying me with your arm.”
“That’s not how carrying works.” He eased it away but didn’t quite step back. “I’m walking beside you, Stone. You’d know if I carried you.”
Ginny shot him a look. “Would I?”
Something zinged low in Tucker’s gut at the mental image of her cradled in his arms, but he tamped it down fast. Tonight was not the night.
“Come on,” he said, holding the door for her. “Let’s get Dare home before she decides to go for round three of the talent show.”
The instant the truck doors were unlocked, Luke climbed into the back seat, settling Dare on his lap like a sack of half-drunken potatoes. She leaned against him, humming tunelessly into his neck.
Which left Ginny the front passenger seat, her arms wrapped tightly across her chest as she angled her body toward the door.
Tucker pulled out of the gravel lot, headlights sweeping across a cow statue with a Santa hat hanging from one horn.
February in Alberta. Yeehaw.
Tucker winced as Dare’s humming morphed back into full volume wailing again. He thought it might have been “You Were Mine” by the Chicks, but she kept sliding into what sounded suspiciously like early Carrie Underwood.
Ginny groaned and let her head drop back onto the seat, exhaling like it hurt. “I think that’s the third key change in this verse.”
Luke chuckled dryly from the back. “She’s got spirit.”
“She’s got whiskey,” Ginny muttered.
Luke tried to redirect Dare with a quieter tune, humming “Cowboy Take Me Away” in her ear like a lullaby. It worked—sort of. At least she stopped belting out half coherent lyrics.
“Want to tell me how it got this far?” Tucker asked quietly.
Ginny rubbed her face then dropped her hands to her lap. “She wanted to toast the people we lost. All of them. So one drink each for our parents, then for hers and Shayla.”
Tucker winced. “That’s five drinks.”
“Shayla’s was non-alcoholic, thank God. But then Dare got sentimental. Decided she had a new family now who all needed to be appreciated. Her boys. That was five. Then her new sister—me.” Ginny blinked hard, glancing out the window. “Six.”
Tucker gave a low whistle. “Please don’t say she got to seven.”
“Oh, she did.” Ginny huffed a laugh. “A toast to ‘whoever the hell ends up being her future family, poor bastards who will have to deal with her.’ Her words.”
“I don’t know if that’s touching or terrifying,” Tucker said.
“Both.”
They lapsed into silence as the ranch turnoff came into view. He flicked on the signal even though no one else was on the road.
Snow crunched under the tires as he rolled north, past the main ranch house and toward Dare’s cabin. The cabin glowed welcomingly, the golden pool of porch light reaching fingers into the February darkness that had fallen hours ago.
Tucker parked at the base of the four steps leading to the deck.
“I’ve got her,” Luke murmured, shifting Dare in his arms and easing out the door. “She’s mostly dead weight now.”
Dare perked up just enough to say, “I resent that,” before she leaned over and vomited onto the snow covered grass.
Ginny winced but jumped out to help. She was at Dare’s side a second later, rubbing her back and murmuring softly.
Together, the three of them managed to get Dare up the steps and inside the cottage. Tucker hurried ahead far enough to get the door open and spot the soft glow of the kitchen light.
The place was exactly as he remembered—two bedrooms, warm with wood paneling, the faint scent of cinnamon on the air. One room held a double bed and dark curtains. The other had a desk with two computer monitors and a narrow single bed pushed up against the wall. A cozy blend of past and present.
“I’ll stay with her tonight,” Luke said firmly as they guided Dare into her room. “She’ll need someone here if she wakes up.”
“I can do that—” Ginny began, but Luke cut her off.
He turned to her with a gentler tone. “You need a break. Help get Dare into pajamas, then I’ll handle the rest. You did everything you could, Gin. Let it go.”
Ginny nodded, her lips pressed tight.
She guided Dare down to the bathroom, and the water ran briefly as Dare alternated between brushing her teeth and singing a dirge.
Luke caught Tucker’s gaze. “You’ll get Ginny home?”
“Of course.” Tucker pressed a hand to his friend’s shoulder. “You okay?”
“Just pissed, like usual, that life handed us such a shitty hand.” Luke glanced toward the bathroom. “Do I wish she hadn’t gotten trashed? Absolutely. But hell if I’m going to tell her that she was wrong. Anything that makes the pain better for today is understandable.”
Erasing the pain. What Tucker wouldn’t do to make that a reality for any of his friends.
A moment later, Ginny popped out of the primary bedroom, speaking softly through the open door. “I love you, Dare.”
“Luv ya, Truth,” Dare slurred back.
Ginny paused to hug her brother. “Thanks for coming to get us.”
“I’d say any time, but you know what I mean.”
She snorted softly. “Yeah.”
Tucker followed Ginny back outside, the porch light a warm glow above them. She stepped down the stairs but paused halfway to the truck.
“I don’t want to go back to the ranch,” she said quietly.
Tucker frowned. “You worried about Caleb?”
She shook her head. “He’d probably understand. But Wendy…” Her voice trailed off, and she let out a hard sigh. “She’ll find some way to make this all my fault. She’ll twist tonight into something ugly. Uglier.”
Tucker felt that like a punch. He’d seen how Wendy treated Ginny—polite, sharp-edged, dismissive. Passive-aggressive turned straight-up aggressive at times—out of Caleb’s hearing though.
“I’ll take you anywhere you want,” he said. “Main house is out, obviously. Dare’s place is full. Bunkhouse?”
“Full of hands.” Ginny looked up at him, hair windblown, cheeks flushed with cold and frustration. “What about your place?”
“My—” She’d lost him.
“You’ve got the horse trailer.” She lifted one shoulder. “It’s got heat. A door. Privacy.”
Temptation hit like a truck.
She didn’t mean anything by it—he knew that. She wanted safety. Comfort. Not him. Not like that.
But the thought of her within arm’s reach, curled up in that little bunk behind the tack wall—
Tucker swallowed hard. “Yeah,” he said hoarsely. “Yeah, that’ll work.”
God help him.