9. QUINN
QUINN
I storm out of the barn, boots kicking up dust, hair sticking to my sweat-slicked neck, and let out a sharp groan.
Anger and frustration make my eyes burn with tears, my chest tight with a foreign emotion.
I want to cry, kick, curse, and scream, but I will not allow that overgrown man-child to get a rise out of me.
Beck warned that he’d make my life hell, and he meant it.
Today was supposed to be about getting him to see reason, not surviving a one-woman obstacle course.
But I didn’t pack up my life and move here just to fold on the first day.
Although, amidst all that labor, I was able to observe him, even from afar, and learn a few things that could potentially help me come up with a solid plan for him.
Ella is in the kitchen when I walk in, her eyes widening in shock at the sight of me. “Girl, what happened? Did you have a fight with the horses and lose?”
“Your brother happened,” I groan. “Can I have a bottle of water, please?”
“Of course,” she replies, grabbing one for me from the fridge and handing it to me.
“I’m gonna go shower. If you see Beck, let him know that I’m looking for him.”
That infuriating man left me all alone fighting for my life with that mare and disappeared to God knows where.
“To kill him?” Ella whispers fearfully.
Her honest fear makes me laugh. “Tempting, but no. It’s time to get down to business.”
She looks relieved and nods, letting me know she’ll keep an eye out for Beck.
The water bottle is gone by the time I make it to my room.
I cannot get under the shower fast enough.
I scrub myself from head to toe, watching as the water turns from murky brown to clear, the cleaner I get.
I washed my hair this morning, but I’m forced to do it again due to all the sweat, mud, and animal shit stuck to it.
I spend a whole hour in the bathroom, but by the time I’m done, I feel all better.
Fresh clothes, clean hair, and moisturized skin feel like heaven. I haven’t eaten all day, but it’s not quite dinner time yet, so I head back downstairs in search of something to eat and Beck.
Ella is in the same spot I left her, only now her brothers are with her. “I made you this—figured you’d be hungry, so it’ll hold you over as we wait for dinner,” she says, pushing a club sandwich my way.
“Thank you. I’m famished,” I smile appreciatively as I take it from her.
“Ella filled us in on what Beck put you through today. My apologies on his behalf—he’s always been a brat,” Jace expresses.
“It’s okay. I knew what I was signing up for. I can handle him.”
“I admire that can-do spirit,” Zane chimes in.
“Thank you.”
I finish the sandwich, excuse myself, and go off in search of the man himself. Now that I’m not busy toiling my back off, I take my time savoring the beauty that is Iron Stallion ranch. No wonder the Morgans are the richest family in the state—this is impressive.
“Where the hell is he?” I mutter under my breath, spinning in a tight circle as I scan the ranch, looking for signs of Beck.
The sun is dipping low, casting long shadows across the paddocks, but there’s no sign of Beck. I check the tack room, the corral, even the workshop where I’m informed he goes to perfect those impossible horse maneuvers.
There’s not a hint of him anywhere I look. My patience is gone, replaced by a white-hot irritation.
I hit the main house, barging in on the family in the kitchen. “Have you seen him?” I demand, voice tighter than I intend.
They look up at me with concern. “He’s not in the corral?” Jace asks.
“No, I’ve looked everywhere.”
“I think I saw him drive off earlier,” Zane says, making my ears perk up.
He could have said that earlier and saved me all the wandering around.
“Any idea where he was going?”
“Not a clue.”
A sigh of frustration escapes my lips. It’s not their fault that they have a rowdy brother who is hard to keep in check.
And yet, even as irritation blooms, a stubborn determination coils inside me. I refuse to let him vanish on me. I’ve worked too hard today, planned too meticulously, to have him have the last word.
If his siblings have no idea where he is, that leaves one other person. I grab my phone and dial Landon. He better answer, or I swear…
The line clicks, then his calm, teasing voice answers. “There’s my favorite sister.”
“Hey, Landon. Where is he?” My voice is sharp, and he picks up on it.
“Calm down, Quinn.”
“Where is he?” I snap, trying to keep my voice from shaking with equal parts frustration and worry. “I’m not playing around, so you better tell me, or I’m posting the video I took of you peeing all over Mom’s rose bush last Christmas on the family group chat,” I threaten.
“You promised you would never bring that up. I was drunk, for crying out loud.”
“Desperate times. Now. Where. Is. He?”
There’s a pause on the other end, then he sighs. “Alright, alright. Calm down, tornado. He’s… not exactly where you think.”
I grit my teeth. “Not where I think? Landon, this isn’t a game. I need him, now.”
“You want a hint or the full truth?” His tone is half-laughing, half-exasperated.
“Full truth,” I growl.
“He’s… at the usual spot. You’ll see. Try not to throw a fit when you do.”
I hang up, my heart thudding. “Usual spot?” That could mean a dozen different places, but there’s only one place Landon would smirk about like that. My stomach twists in a mix of dread and disbelief.
“Found him?” Ella asks.
“Yes, I’ll be going out for a bit,” I excuse myself.
I head upstairs to grab a jacket, my keys, and put on shoes.
Beck has been impossible all day. I’m exhausted, yes, but I refuse to lose to him. My plan, everything I’ve worked for, depends on him. And I will find him and make him listen to me.
Like a woman on a mission, I drive out of Iron Stallion and into town, headed for the last place I want to be.
I push open the door, expecting smoke, loud music, and neon chaos—but the place is smaller than I imagined, dimly lit, and filled with a few rowdy men shouting obscenities at the dancers on stage. It’s the middle of the work week, so there aren’t that many people, allowing me to spot him easily.
My eyes lock onto him sitting at the bar, back straight, head tilted just slightly as he studies the drink in front of him. My stomach twists. He’s drinking? What the hell, Beck?! How can he be drinking when he’s fresh out of rehab?
I stride up to him, snatching the drink right out of his hands just before it makes contact with his lips. “Seriously?”
He looks shocked to see me, but only for a moment before turning to my brother, who is right next to him. “You backstabbing motherfucker.”
Landon doesn’t even bother denying it. “I’m sorry. She has dirt on me.”
“You’re drinking?” I attack him, ignoring his fight with my brother.
He stares back. “Taste it. I dare you.”
He’s too confident. I sniff the drink, and it’s sweet-smelling, but so are some cocktails. Taking a tentative sip, I’m relieved to realize that it’s just soda.
Instead of admitting defeat, I set the glass back down, facing him head-on. “All this running around, hiding, acting like a complete maniac, and you’re sitting here drinking Coke?”
“Would you rather have me drinking whiskey?” he retorts.
“That’s not what I meant.”
“What did you mean?”
I am not going to admit that I was wrong, accusing him of falling off the wagon, so I decide to strike elsewhere. “Didn’t you have enough strippers in Vegas?” I mock, looking around us.
“There is no such thing as too many strippers,” he smugly replies.
Of course he’d say that.
“Well, I hope you’ve had enough because we’re going home.”
“Yeah, not happening,” he chuckles, waving the bartender over and pointing at his glass.
He’s asking for another drink? I only took a sip, but he won’t drink it just because I have. What a baby!
“Beck, I’ve been looking all over for you. We need to talk, and this is not the place to have such a serious conversation.”
“I know. That’s why I came here. I needed a break from being tortured by you.”
I groan, sinking onto the barstool beside him, frustration and relief warping together. “Tortured by you? You’ve made it your personal goal to make my life miserable all day.”
“Not miserable enough if you’re still here.”
“Why are you being so difficult? It’s not like I want to be here either, so why don’t you at least try and work with me?” I plead.
“No.”
“Please, Beck,” I plead, shrinking myself to a level I didn’t think I’d sink to.
He looks taken aback by this. He falls silent for a moment, takes a sip of his new drink before facing me fully. “Tell you what—why don’t we settle this once and for all with a bet?”
“A bet?”
“Yes.”
“What kind of bet?”
He looks around the strip club, his eyes wandering around until they light up as they land on something. I follow his line of sight. “I can’t believe this,” I mutter, dragging my fingers through my hair as I size up the mechanical bull.
“You do not want to challenge me to that,” I chuckle.
“You really think you can beat me?” he asks, voice low, teasing, eyes glinting with that damn confident sparkle I want to punch out of him.
“I don’t think,” I snap, shoulders back, chin high. “I know.”
“I like that confidence, which is why I am going to reward it if you win.”
“What do I get?”
“If you win, I will do whatever you want—let you launch Project Clean Up Beck. But if I win, you’re going to…” He trails off for a moment, his eyes lighting up a few seconds later when he figures it out. “Give me a lap dance and leave Iron Stallion for good.”
“What’s the lap dance for?!” I exclaim.
“We are in a strip club, sweetheart. I came here for a reason, and I’m not leaving without one.”
“Then I’ll pay for you to get one.”
“No, I want it from you. Deal or no deal?” he asks, holding his hand out.
I think about it and realize that if I win, I’ll have Beck in the palm of my hand doing what I want. If I lose, I’ll have to leave the ranch and give him a lap dance. The lap dance is a cheap trick on his end, but I don’t really care. My true fear is losing and having to leave Iron Stallion.
“What do you say, sweetheart? It’s either this or another eight weeks of what you experienced today, and trust me, I’ve got a lot more where that came from.”
Now he’s definitely threatening me, and there is only one way to shut him up.
“You have a deal,” I seal with a handshake.
I have to win. Beck might be a professional bareback rider, but I ain’t no city girl either. I know my way around a mechanical bull—I did grow up with a bareback rider for a brother, after all.
Beck laughs, that deep, mocking laugh that makes my chest tighten. “Bold. I like that. But you’re really going to regret it when I win.”
“Yeah, yeah,” I say, rolling my eyes—but inside, my stomach is fluttering with nerves and adrenaline. He’s not just Beck Morgan; he’s Beck Morgan on a mechanical bull, and I’m supposed to make him do whatever I want afterward if I win. Pressure much?