Chapter 74
EMMA
Friday night in Iron Ridge always looks the same, and the Rusty Spur is busy when I arrive.
I do a cursory glance through the bar, relaxing when I see Cole isn't there.
I have a decent enough poker face, but I have a feeling Cole's a master at reading people.
If I ran into him right now, he'd probably see my dislike for him and the frustration I have from taking pictures of dirt for the past two hours in the middle of nowhere.
Lily is here, though. Somehow, she got us a booth near the back. I wave at Hank and hold up two fingers as I head back toward her.
"For a second I didn’t think you were going to show," Lily says as I slide into the booth.
"I wouldn’t stand you up.” I reach across the table and squeeze her hand. “Especially not when I’m go grateful for girl time. I’m up to my ears in testosterone.”
Lily grins. “It didn’t look like such a bad thing the other night.” Her humor fades, replaced by the somber gaze of a woman who’s seen bad things. “Unless they aren’t what they seem.”
“If they seem like big, overprotective, immovable louts, then they’re exactly what they seem.” I smile at the harried server as she clacked our beers onto the table. I wrap my hand around a glass and take a long drink.
Lily studies me with those sharp veterinarian eyes—the ones that can diagnose a sick horse in thirty seconds. "Is that a good thing, or bad?"
"Both. Neither.” I shrug. “I don't know."
She chuckles. "That's specific."
"Sorry." I take another drink. "It's complicated."
"Men often are." She pushes her hair back, her gaze darting to the side. "Yours seem intense."
"Jake is, yes." I wrinkle my nose. “I suppose, in a way, Mason and Luke are like mine too. They’re all so close. They’re like brothers I didn’t ever really want.”
Lily blinks in surprise, then laughs, a happy musical sound that makes me grin. I remember the way Mason looked at her the other night and decide it can’t hurt to drop a seed. You never know—it could sprout. “By the way, Mason? The dark one? He’s got a thing for you.”
She chokes on her drink. “He does not,” she manages.
“The quiet, intense staring? The whole pretend-I’m-not-looking act?” I lean back and grin. “Yeah, he does.”
Blushing bright red, Lily clears her throat. “Want to hear about the mare I treated yesterday?”
I laugh.