Chapter Five
Mags
Year Five. Hallow Ranch.
“You coming up to the house later?”
I looked up to find one of the newest ranch hands staring at me with a goofy smile on his face. I said nothing and returned to my book, ignoring the ache in my muscles, the new, yet repetitive, phantom pain on my left side. The walking fucking headache in front of me didn’t move, and I was seconds away from pulling out my gun when another voice spoke, halting my thoughts.
“That one doesn’t talk, Lance,” his twin brother said from across the bunkhouse.
“I can see that,” the headache, Lance, mumbled.
My eyes snapped back up to find his back to me as he walked over to his bunk. These new ranch hands had only been here a few months, and though they were fast learners, my patience had worn thin. Both of them liked to yap.
Like dogs.
The front door swung open then, and Beau walked in, his eyes as cold as the snowfall behind him. The shadow loomed over him hadn’t changed since I saw him this morning, and I knew that by the time night fell, it would consume him.
“Hey, Beau!” Lance greeted over his shoulder, oblivious. “You coming up to the main house tonight?”
Beau took off his hat, gloves, and coat and hung them up before grabbing a beer out of the fridge and taking a seat at the table, not saying a word. He twisted the cap off and took a healthy swig.
I studied him for a few more moments, and when he finally lifted his chin to the twin in greeting, my eyes dropped back to my book.
Abbie and Beau were no longer together.
She’d left him in the summer, and he was a fucking mess.
However, Denver, Jigs, and I were watching him closely to make sure he didn’t fall off the fucking deep end. We did the best we could not to leave him alone and drink his life away, but a man couldn’t blame him. He’d lost the woman he wanted to spend the rest of his life with, and nothing could compare to that pain.
“You coming up, Mags?”
Beau’s question floated throughout the silent space over to the leather chair I occupied. My eyes didn’t leave the page as I said, “Maybe.”
One of the twins broke out into laughter. “Yeah, that’s a no.”
It should’ve been a no.
I didn’t want to go, and Denver knew that.
Hallow Ranch was finally out of the deep end. It was a good year—a very good year. Denver hiring two new ranch hands was proof of that. Another sign was that Cathy, Caleb’s mother kept coming around, asking for money. She said that town was taking notice of how well the ranch was doing, thriving again after the loss of John Langston, and she felt like she was owed.
It was a bunch of bullshit, but then again, anything that came out of Cathy’s mouth usually was.
The year was so good that Denver’s spirits were higher than normal. I’d been at Hallow Ranch for almost five years now, and Christmas was usually a quiet day for Denver and me. He’d spend the day with his boy and by the time Caleb went to bed, I was waiting on the porch with a bottle of whiskey. Somewhere along the way, Denver had become not only my boss, but a damn good friend to me.
I’d only had one other friend in my life: Joseph Grayson.
We’d served together in the Marines, been through hell and back together. For the last few years, I didn’t have a cell phone, but we still communicated by mail. Every year, on the tenth of June, we’d write a letter to each other checking in, but I’d grown tired of waiting for his letters. He was buried deep in his company, Red Snake Investigations, but there were some days when the past would almost be too much, and I would need to hear from him.
Maybe it was time to change that.
The front door opened again, the howling wind outside compelling me to look up and find Jigs walking in, carrying a bunch of bags, snow on his hat and shoulders. “God damn fucking snow,” the old man muttered. “God put me in a damn state full of fucking snow, and my dumbass chose to stay.”
The twins chuckled, and I shook my head, used to the old cowboy’s bitching.
“What the hell, Pop?” Beau asked, getting up from his seat to help his father.
Jigs looked to the twins, jerking his head back, his mustache dusted with snowflakes. “There’s more in the back of the truck,” he snapped. “Get off your asses and help.”
The twins were on their feet, mumbling, “Yes, sir.”
I made a sound of approval, and the old man’s head snapped over to me, a smirk teasing his lips. “I like yelling at them,” he said once they were gone. “Makes me feel young again.”
“Used to like yelling at me too,” Beau muttered, digging through the grocery bags, searching for his fucking snacks.
“Yeah, I know, son. That was the point.”
A rough chuckle rumbled from somewhere deep in my chest, and Beau’s head snapped up, his eyes narrowing. “So you’ll laugh at the shit Pop says, but not at my jokes.”
“Your jokes are shit,” I replied as I continued reading the last page of the chapter.
“What? No, they’re not!” he exclaimed, twisting his torso to glare at his father.
Jigs laughed then, the sound old and raspy. “Yes the hell they are. Even Denver told you so.”
Beau rolled his eyes and waved his father off, and it was the first time I’d seen a glimpse of his old self since Abbie left. It was comforting to know the old Beau was still in there somewhere. We’d just have to dig him out. “I figured he was just in a bad mood, and I didn’t take it seriously,” he explained simply.
“You probably should’ve,” Jigs replied, carrying two jugs of milk over to the fridge.
The twins came back in with a heap of bags, and as much as I enjoyed watching them lug heavy shit around, I closed the book and stood. My lower back screamed in pain, and I bit down, grinding my jaw. The pain would subside eventually. Hopefully.
“Jesus, Jigs. Did you buy the entire store?” one of the twins asked, breathless.
His question went unanswered. There were many things I liked and respected about the old cowboy, one of them being that he didn’t respond to stupidity.
“Look who finally got off his ass,” the second twin noted dryly as he plopped the bags down, his brown eyes on me. Beau’s hand shot out and slapped him on the backside of his head. “Hey! What the hell was that for?”
“For being a dumbass,” Beau answered, walking over to his bunk while pulling his thermal over his head.
“You’re going to have be more specific,” Lance sighed. “Lawson is a dumbass ninety-eight percent of the time.”
Lawson. That was his fucking name.
I grunted, unsure if I would remember that in the future. If they wanted me to remember their names, they were going to have to make a lasting impression, something beyond the usual stupidity they displayed.
Beau pulled a fresh shirt over his head and came up to me, his eyes guarded. “You doing alright?” he asked quietly.
He and I were the only ones who’d worked today. Kings didn’t want the twins getting lost and freezing to death before the holiday. After the new year, though, he might. So, I’d instructed them to stay near the barn and gave them a hefty chore list while Beau and I headed out. He checked on the fence line in pasture two and three while I monitored the herd in the main pasture, the harsh winter wind howling and beating against us. Managing a herd of that size on your own could be difficult, especially in the snow, and the twins weren’t ready for that yet. Honestly, it would be very easy for me to make them ready, but this morning, I wasn’t in the mood for their bullshit. They goofed around too much on work days, laughed too much, occupying every last one of my damn nerves.
“Better than I deserve,” I answered, tucking my book underneath my arm. Pain from an old, horrible injury flared in my shoulder then, stretching before crawling up my neck. I bit down, trying not to grind my teeth.
“The herd alright?” Beau pressed, his brows furrowed.
I nodded.
“You see any tracks?” he asked, referring to the wolves. There was a pack that settled on the mountain in the fall. I spotted them when I was out on a hunt. They came and went every year, but their pack had almost doubled in size since last year. That was a problem. About a week ago, Denver and I tried chasing them out, only to spot them on the trail camera’s hours later, after the sun had set. They were back the next morning.
“No. You?”
His mouth was in a thin line as he answered, “Yeah. A few, but they went across the property line.”
“You tell Kings?” I prompted, raising a brow.
Beau nodded. “I think I’m going to go out there later—”
I cut him off. “The only place you’re needed tonight is up at the main house.” His blue eyes held mine, and I could see the pain flickering within them. He wanted to be alone.
But leaving a cowboy alone with nothing but the company of his broken heart was a very dangerous game to play.
Beau needed to be about the people who cared about him the most. “You got me?” I pressed, my voice low and firm.
Thankfully, he nodded. “I got you, Mags.”
Our conversation was cut short when one of the twins opened their mouth to spout off some more bullshit. “Oh, so he talks to Beau, but not us,” Lance quipped, huffing.
I stared at him, wondering if Denver would mind being down a cowboy or two. We were doing just fine before they wandered onto the ranch. Plus, hiding their bodies would be easy—-
“So, at what point are you going to stop being a whiny bitch?” Jigs asked causally, pulling out his favorite cast iron skillet and setting it on the stove, silencing all thoughts of murder in my mind.
All eyes shifted over to the old man, and Beau chuckled from beside me.
Lawson shook his head, his eyes darting up to the ceiling. “I hate it here.”
“You can leave whenever you want, you know,” Beau suggested. “Not everyone can handle being a cowboy.”
Lance pointed at his brother. “We can’t. We owe a debt to Denver.”
Jigs whistled. “Owing a Langston. That’s…” He trailed off, and the twins started barking out questions.
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“Is owing him a bad thing?”
“Why are you all fucking laughing?”
I walked into the kitchen area and started checking the bags as Beau began arguing with the dumbasses. Jigs tipped his hat to me. “Afternoon, Mags.”
“Jigs,” I rumbled, pulling out the groceries.
“Now, they didn’t have any protein powder this time around, so I got you some protein bars instead.”
“Either is fine. Thank you,” I murmured, pulling out a wad of cash and handing it to him. He eyed the money for a moment, hesitating like he did every month. “Either take it now, or it’ll end up in your truck.”
Another old laugh left him as he took the money, putting it in his breast pocket. As I unpacked the groceries, Jigs got to work cooking a meal for all of us, Beau settled in the chair I had been occupying , and the twins finally cut their shit out.
“Maybe we should put up a Christmas tree,” one of the twins said, breaking the comfortable and peaceful silence all of us had settled into.
Beau’s head fell back. “Rather shoot myself in the foot.”
“Why shoot your own foot when I can do it for you?” I drawled.
Beau flipped me off.
“So that’s a no to Christmas tree?”
Jigs put a second ribeye into the skillet, the sizzle filling my ears, and the smell—fuck, I was starving. “You want a tree, boy, then you need to go chop one down and bring it in here,” he said. “No one is going to do it for you.”
“Don’t forget to water it,” Beau added, closing his eyes, hands folded atop his abdomen.
“Water it?” Lance or Lawson parroted. I didn’t know which one it was, but again, I didn’t really care.
Beau groaned. “Yeah, idiot. If you’re going to have a real Christmas tree, you have to water it so it won’t catch on fire.”
The twin’s eyes nearly popped out of his head. “What the hell? Why didn’t anyone tell me that?”
Jigs shot me a look before turning around to look at the twin. “Are you as stupid as I think you are, or is it all just an act?”
A low chuckle left me before I could stop it. Jigs was a funny bastard, I’d give him that.
“Lance, I know what I want for Christmas this year,” his brother, Lawson, said as he came out of the bathroom.
“What’s that?” Lance asked.
“For you to shut the fuck up.”
A rich laugh came from Beau, and his father grinned. I knew he was happy to hear that sound again. That was a Christmas gift within itself.
Five Hours Later. The Main House.
The sharp teeth of the harsh winter night air nipped at my skin as I stepped onto the porch, feeling like I could fucking breathe for the first time in hours. I inhaled a deep breath, letting it go slowly and watching it drift higher into the air before fading altogether. The tension in my shoulders finally lessened as I brought my hand to the back of my neck, hoping that would relieve the strain.
Fuck, I needed a cigarette. Or a whole pack. Maybe a carton.
I’d been at this fucking Christmas party far longer than I’d wanted, lingering in the corner like some creep, watching Beau and the twins make Diana laugh from afar.
“What did I do to deserve this special version of hell?” I asked myself underneath my breath before taking a swig of my beer as I walked to the far corner of the porch.
Kings would whoop my ass if I gave him an Irish goodbye, but there was no way I could go back in there, not with Diana laughing the way she was, the bright color in her cheeks, her fresh highlights shining in the glow of the Christmas tree.
No.
There was no way in fuck I’d be going back into that house.
She was one more heavenly laugh away from me throwing her over my shoulder and carrying her down to the bunkhouse. All night, I’d been plagued with a sense of jealously, one I’d never experienced before—ever. I didn’t like the way Beau was smiling at her, and even though I knew he was hopelessly in love with Abbie and heartbroken over her, I still wanted to break his jaw for making Diana smile back.
I wanted her smiling at me.
I wanted her laughing at my jokes.
You don’t have any, dipshit.
I leaned against the house, hidden in the shadows in case anyone decided to come looking for me, and tipped my head back. Every year, being around her became increasingly more difficult, despite only seeing her once every three months or so. There wasn’t a lot Kings needed her for anymore, not when Cathy was behaving. So, whenever she was here, I only got a glimpse of her which was more than enough for me.
Tonight wasn’t supposed to be this difficult, but all I could focus on was the sweet peach scent that clung to her deep red dress and the matching lipstick painted on her bow-shaped lips. She had her glasses on tonight, something I hadn’t seen since the spring. They made her hazel eyes bigger, magnifying their beauty and the purity within her soul.
From the moment I’d walked in, I’d been in agony.
She’d been playing a game with Caleb by the tree when I finally arrived. I avoided her, going into the kitchen to have something of a conversation with Chase, the sheriff, but what we had to discuss wasn’t appropriate for a damn Christmas party.
Eventually, Diana made her way to me like I knew she would, greeting me with bright smile and cheerful spirit that had every cell in my body stilling. It was in her nature to make sure everyone felt included—even the cowboy who didn’t want to be. She was doing it to be polite, to spread her little light to anyone within her reach.
I didn’t know which was worse: being addicted to her light or seeing her smile up at me like I was Superman.
The screen door popped open suddenly, pulling me from my thoughts, and my head snapped up, my eyes locking on her curvy frame as she put her cell to her ear.
“This is Diana,” she answered.
All business, even on a fucking holiday.
She wrapped her arms around herself as the freezing air surrounded her, rubbing her free hand up and down her arm to chase away the cold. My palm itched to spank her plump ass for not putting on her fucking coat before coming out here.
She fucking knew better than that.
“W-what do you want?”
My spine straightened at her tone, my body on alert as I watched her stiffen, her shoulders snapping back almost as quickly as her spine straightened.
She was scared.
I was half a second away from moving to her, to do anything in my power to help her, to figure out why, instead of sweetness, there was fear laced throughout her voice. My eyes focused on the back of her head as I heard her stop breathing altogether. I lifted my boot—
“Lucas,” she pushed out on a breath, hissing at the end of it. “You can’t just call me like this out of the blue.”
Lucas?
Who the fuck was Lucas?
My brows snapped together, my eyes on her shoulders, noting how rigid they were. Her body was on alert—a trauma response. “No, I—” A low muffled sound came from her phone then, cutting her off. She let out a defeated sigh, her fingers running through her honey golden locks. “You still loving me isn’t my problem.”
My jaw jumped.
The muffled voice grew louder, and before I could stop it, I was moving. The sound of my boots thudded against the wood of the porch, and Diana’s neck twisted, her wide hazel eyes meeting mine. As I drew closer, the man’s voice booming from her phone became more distinct.
He was yelling at her, verbally abusing her.
Fury boiled inside me.
In a flash, I had her phone in my hand and to my ear.
“You’re such a fucking bitch, Dian—”
“—talk to her that way again, I’ll cut out your tongue,” I cut the bastard off, my voice sharp.
Diana turned her body to face me, her hand going to her mouth, stifling the sound of shock. I looked down at her, holding her eyes as the man started cussing at me. I ignored his threats.
“Who is he?” I asked, my voice low and vibrating with malice. It had been years since I’d craved this level of violence. Nowadays, killing was swift. Clean. Easy. Three bullets and no more. I didn’t want to kill Lucas swiftly, and three bullets wouldn’t be enough. Hell, an entire clip wouldn’t be enough. I wanted his body in pieces, his screams ringing through the night.
No one talked to my Diana like that.
Ever.
Her hand slowly fell away from her mouth, drawing my attention to her red-painted lips. “Mr. Mags, you don’t—”
Here we go again with the Mr. Mags bullshit.
My nostrils flared as I leaned in, her sweet scent surrounding me now. “Firefly, who the fuck is he to you?”
“Put Diana back on the phone now!” the man bellowed on the other end of the line.
“Mr. Mags,” she whispered. She shook her head, her hazel eyes drifting to her phone. “I—I can—”
“It’s just Mags and you fucking know it,” I growled. “Answer my damn question. Who is he to you?”
Those beautiful eyes met mine again as she answered, “He’s my ex.”
That was all I needed to hear.
I pulled the phone away and ended the call.
She made a sound of protest, reaching for the device. I shifted my hand, holding it away from her.
“It doesn’t take a fucking rocket scientist to know why he’s your ex,” I murmured, taking a step closer to her. “But let me make one thing very clear. Should you decide to waste your time on him again, know this: he calls you a bitch again, his body will burn on the mountain, just like all others. Do you understand?”
Her lips parted on a gasp, and damn it all to hell, I didn’t think those eyes of hers could get any wider, but they did. A roar of laugher erupted from the house, and she turned her head, following the sound. I didn’t move an inch, staring down at her, wishing I could close the inches of space between us.
How long had they been together?
How long had she suffered his abuse?
How long had she loved him?
My questions halted when she looked back at me. “May I have my phone back, please?”
Please.
The more she said it, the more I began to enjoy that word spilling from her lips.
“Do you understand?” I repeated, my voice soft. I needed her to get me. I needed her to understand that, though I could never have her, I was willing to protect her, for the rest of my days.
She nodded then. “I-I understand.”
I grunted, placing the device back in her soft hand before jerking my head to the door and looking out into the night. “Get back inside before you freeze.”
“But—”
“Diana,” I clipped, looking at her again.
Fuck, I needed a cigarette.
She raised her chin. “Merry Christmas, Mags,” she whispered before giving me her back and heading into the warm house.
For a longtime, I didn’t move, keeping my hat tipped down, staring at the spot where she once stood.
“Merry Christmas, Firefly.”