Chapter 17
Sage:
We have a big problem, boss.
I blink, reading back the message that has just arrived. My mind races with the possibilities of everything that could have gone wrong back at the ranch. Cattle escaped. Stock injured. Teddy breaking someone’s ribs. Any number of eventualities could be the reason for her message. My brain immediately wants to skip to picturing all kinds of worst-case scenarios.
Did she burn herself again?
Gritting my teeth, I try to swallow back the tension. Kayce would surely have called if shit was truly bad, if there really was a crisis, wouldn’t he?
We do?
What’s wrong?
Are you ok?
I’m not exactly sure how we’re gonna solve this…
You look like you’re about to crush skulls in every single one of these photos.
A close-up image comes through next, cropped to show just my face half-hidden by the shadow from my hat brim. Scowl firmly locked in place and my jaw clenched like a steel trap.
Dragging my hand over my mouth, I’m partly hiding the fact my lips want to twist into a faint smile, partly exhaling with relief that Sage is teasing me. There’s an odd sensation squeezing around my ribs that she’s choosing to send me a message at this time of night.
I like it far too much. Even though we shouldn’t really be texting each other at all.
Am I not allowed to look serious?
No, not when you’re giving off the vibe of kicking puppies at noon, followed by landing your fighter jet by dinner.
Another mustache joke? How original.
Do you get a discount on aviator sunglasses when you flash that top lip?
I’m gonna go right ahead and ignore all of that, by the way.
Back to the photos.
I’m sure you’re exaggerating.
Hand on my heart. I’m not sure I can do my job when every single one of these photos are going to scare your potential clientele away, Heartford.
Before I can think of anything remotely clever to say in reply, she’s already sent a follow-up message.
How’s the cowboy road trip going?
“Your shot. Or else I’m gonna be forced to get you sloppy drunk like that time in Houston, just so you’ll whisper all your secrets in my ear, sugar.”
St?rmand goddamn Lane rubs chalk over the tip of his pool cue and blows me a little air kiss.
Shoving my phone back in my pocket, I hate that it’s so effortless to chat with Sage like this. I’m excruciatingly aware that even if I wanted to respond, it’s a terrible idea for me to allow any kind of conversation to remain ongoing.
Being playful? Asking me how things are? Veering into topics beyond the business essentials we need to communicate over? It could potentially spell doom for both of us if I start replying to anything of that nature.
“Everything ok back at the ranch?”
“Yeah. It’s fine.” I line up the nearest ball and miss the pocket, horribly. My head is far, far away from this backwater country bar.
Mentally, I’m in Crimson Ridge, sneaking glances at the way she sits with one knee tucked up, bites her lip, and scrunches her nose while completely absorbed in her design process.
Storm chuckles. “Then what’s got you itching to check that phone of yours again? You look like you’ve got ants in your jockstrap.”
“Just take your goddamn shot already.”
“You never properly thanked me, you know.” He crouches to survey the table and the array of scattered balls from eye level.
“What for?”
“For finding you someone to get that big ol’ ranch dream of yours off the ground.”
With a sharp snap of his cue, Storm sinks his shot easily, then walks around the table to figure out his next angle.
“Who?”
“Sage. The girl’s got some pretty epic talent… you should consider yourself lucky I didn’t just snap her up?—”
My shoulders tense, heart pumping faster as all I hear is her name, and it’s coming from the mouth of the man who was notoriously fond of women in all the years we were on the pro tour together.
“Back off, Storm.” My teeth clench. I’m gripping the pool cue so hard it might snap clean in two.
He looks up at me from his position, leaning forward with a tattooed left hand braced beneath his stick and brows furrowed. But instead of continuing to take his shot, he straightens up, then points the tip of the cue my way.
“Woah there… Briar is my everything. You know we’re extremely happy…” His voice drops low in warning.
It happens right before my eyes; his expression morphs from one of being mildly pissed at me, to becoming the smuggest fucking asshole who ever walked the earth.
“Oh, shiiiiiit . You’re into her, aren’t you?”
My ears are ringing. The thud of my pulse intensifies in the side of my neck. All I can do is scowl. Storm coughs into his fist, choking on his own glee.
“Fucking hell, sugar. You look like you wanna come over here and shove that pool cue somewhere. Got it real bad, huh?” The man across from me raises his eyebrows suggestively. It’s taking everything in me not to readjust my grip on the stick beneath my palm and side-swipe him across the jaw with it.
“Christ. You’re the worst, you know that? Just play.” I grunt and jerk my chin at the white ball he’d been lining up only a moment ago.
“Oh, hell no.” He crows. “Screw any more rounds of pool. This is a big deal… a revelation like this calls for shots, or getting an entire bottle to celebrate, or a round of cold ones at the very least.” Storm blows out a low whistle. “Damn, Heartford, you’re walking around with a giant goddamn boner for your one and only employee.”
I tug the brim of my cap lower, my attention flickering around the empty bar, before I hiss at him. “Would you shut the fuck up?”
Storm’s blue eyes dance, all mischief and merriment at witnessing my utter misery in this.
“Does she know? Is that her texting you right now?” The mile-wide grin on his face is just asking to be wiped off.
“She knows. And will you piss off if I say it is?”
The glittering look in his eyes is a dangerous prospect indeed.
“What does she think? That hideous thing on your face hasn’t scared the girl back to the city?”
Christ. I blow out a breath and tilt my head to the ceiling.
“Aw, look at you, all flustered, like a schoolgirl with a crush.”
“Screw you.” There’s no escaping his inquisition now. I’m gonna have to grab him by the horns in order to ride this one out, and hope to hell I make it from the arena in one piece. “She’s on a contract for the summer.” I’m trying to figure out how to salvage this disaster.
“Perfect, so she’s only looking for something brief and fun?”
God. There’s no hope, this wreckage is plummeting straight for the bottom.
“No…. well… I don’t know.” Shit. I drag my cap off and run my fingers through my hair before wedging it back down. “Whatever. It doesn’t even matter, anyway.”
“Something happened between you two already?” Storm is a dog with a goddamn bone.
“No. Nothing.” I shake my head and slump onto the stool at my back. “Besides, she knows nothing is gonna come of it, because it damn well can’t.”
“Why not?”
I frown at him. “Are you serious? You bloody well know why.”
“This is completely different. You’re not your father.”
“Is it, though?” This feels like wanting to climb out of my skin. “I fucked up and married someone I didn’t even know. This isn’t anything but my fault, and I might not have any feelings for that woman, but I still jumped in with eyes wide open.”
Storm rests his ass against the edge of the pool table. Our match long since forgotten now that we’re into this.
“Your judgment is more than a little clouded by your own personal experience, wouldn’t you say?”
I dig the heel of my palm into my eye socket. Jaw clamped down. Throat working overtime. How do I explain the way this feeling has ruled every decision I’ve made for so many years?
“My shit is different to yours. I did the wedding thing with my eyes wide open and sober as a judge. Not blind drunk and being taken advantage of. I made them, and myself, a promise. I swore I’d never be like him, yet here I am…” My words falter. Out of a force of habit, I’m fucking paranoid about someone overhearing us—even though the only other soul in this place is the gray-haired bartender with a hearing aid who is too busy playing word puzzles while sitting behind the bar to pay us any mind.
“I get it. You don’t want to let anyone down. But have you stopped to think about the fact they wouldn’t give a shit? Tessa and your mom. I sure as hell know those two women would rather see you flawed, doing the best you can, and happy .”
Reaching for my half-finished beer, I drain the glass, mind racing as I gulp swallow after swallow. My goddamn father, the rodeo star of his time, who played the stand-up family man with my mom when Tessa and I were young… only to one day not come home after one of the stops on the tour ended.
The lying, cheating asshole had a whole other life.
A woman he’d been seeing—semi-living with—for years.
Turns out, while he’d been living out the highs within the rodeo arena, he’d found time to provide for another woman, another child, with a second on the way. My mom had no idea about any of it.
Finding her crumpled, brokenhearted, and sobbing on the kitchen floor at one a.m. was a core memory imprinted on twelve-year-old Beau. One I carry to this day.
No one should have to hug their mom and feel that raw pain. Agony and tear-stained distress caused by the very man who taught me how to saddle a horse properly and took me to my first rodeo.
“I promised them.” I shake my head, throat thick with the fresh wave of that particular memory. “I told Mom and Tessa I’d never be like him. I’d never do that to a woman. And more importantly… I promised myself.”
Storm narrows his eyes on me. “So where does that leave Sage?”
My shoulders drop. Where does that leave her? The brilliant girl who deserves so much better than to be caught in my web of bullshit.
“Nowhere. It leaves her nowhere, other than being a woman who works for me for a couple of months. That’s it.”
He twists his lips in thought and brings one hand up to ruffle his hair.
“What’s that look for?” I glare and shift uncomfortably, because I know St?rmand Lane, and he’s got the exact expression on his face—a guarantee of trouble—the kind that has nearly landed my ass in lock-up one too many times over the years.
“Figured you were a smart guy, Heartford. Now? I’m not so sure.”
“Well, I’ve always known you were an asshole. So, spit it out.”
With a glance toward the bar, he raises one eyebrow, then strides over to interrupt the man engrossed in his crossword. From where I sit, I watch as he nearly startles straight off his seat when faced with an actual customer to serve. Especially one of such an imposing size. Storm points to the shelf, and the man fetches down a bottle of whiskey and a pair of glasses.
After paying, he strolls back over, looking mighty pleased with himself.
“Have you worked it out yet?” he asks, while pouring us a glass each.
“Fuck you with this cryptic bullshit. Enough already.”
Storm hands me the drink. His tattooed knuckles bearing the name of the girl he fell so hard and fast for he didn’t know which way was up anymore.
“Let me spell it out… nice and easy for you, sugar.” Clinking his glass against mine, he knocks back a long sip and hisses. “You’re out there on that ranch alone, aren’t you?”
I bring my glass to my mouth and allow the whiskey to slide down my throat with a burn that seeps straight into my veins.
“So, other than a pesky moral standard you’ve set for yourself—which is benefitting absolutely no one, least of all your blue balls—what’s to stop you from indulging this little curiosity?”
I nearly choke on my drink, brandishing the cursed ring I always have to wear while out in public. “Did you forget the part where I’m fucking married?”
“A technicality. One that is only a stone’s throw from being finished, right?”
My eyes roam the empty room. “Mandy would be out for blood. You know I’d be trapped forever if I so much as looked at another woman.” I hiss through gritted teeth.
“You know how to be careful, I’m sure.”
A snort bursts out of me. “Well, aren’t you just the poster boy for fidelity?” I tip my glass at him while rolling my eyes.
He shrugs, pausing with the glass lifted to his lips. “Hey, hey. All I’m saying is don’t cut your dick off to spite your face.”
“Pretty sure that’s not the saying,” I mutter into my whiskey.
“If you’re both liking the idea of what’s under each other’s hoods, then what’s the harm in indulging a little curiosity? Best-case scenario, you’re rid of that nightmare of a woman in a couple of months, then you two can give things a real shot. Worst-case, fun-time gal chews you up, spits you out, and decides to float off to greener pastures after summer. At least by then, your dick will have finally remembered what it’s useful for… other than having your soft little palm tugging frantically on it every night.”
I glare at him, without knowing what to say. I hate that he’s making sense. I hate that he’s messed with my reasoning so quickly. I hate that I’m tempted to do exactly as he’s suggesting.
St?rmand Lane is the worst motherfucker to exist, because now that seed has been planted, I’m watching it sprout almost immediately. Stupid, irrational goddamn ideas have started laying down roots unbidden, entirely uninvited.
“Well… either you take my advice, or you don’t. Whatever angle you come at it, I think we’d better toast the fact your cock hasn’t withered away out of neglect. Let’s give that ‘stache of yours a proper drink to celebrate.”
Storm grabs me by the shoulder, all devious smirk tugging on his lips and mischievous eyes.
“Here’s to not feeling guilty, for having a pulse, and fucking finally being into someone that isn’t your own fist.”