Chapter 12 #2
“What IPA do you have on tap?” I ask as I mull over the menu.
“Rifle Falls and Face Down Brown,” the server tells me, her hips stuck out, her expression laconic. This is the last half hour of her shift, I can tell. She’s past giving a damn about tips and just wants to go home and put her feet up.
“Rifle Falls. I’ll have the double cheeseburger with the sweet potato fries.”
She brings the beer right away. I drink some and let myself relax. It’s been a day.
“So, we hear that Rami divided the ranch between his daughters,” Joy remarks.
I scowl. “How the fuck do you already know?”
Elena guffaws. “Seriously, Mav? How long have you lived here?”
“So, do you think the older sister…what’s her name?” Joy tries to recall, and when I fill in the gap, she continues, “Will Aria kick Celine out?”
“Joy, you’ve got to stop with the gossip.”
My sister snorts. “Puhlease! This town survives on good ol’ ranchy gossip. Also heard that Hudson didn’t get a dime.”
“No, he didn’t.”
“How did he take it?” Joy asked, curiosity dancing in her eyes.
“He was too soused to give a shit.”
“Christ, but he’s a drunk,” Elena mutters, leaning back, slouching a little on her chair.
Joy props herself on her forearms. “And how did Celine take it?”
“She was sobbing like she’s auditioning for a daytime drama,” I tell them.
Joy bursts out laughing. Elena cracks a smile.
The food arrives, which is a relief. ‘Cause I’m starving. I haven’t eaten a thing since breakfast.
I all but attack the burger, devouring it.
“You think Aria will sell?” Joy muses.
“I don’t know what I think.” I take a long pull from my beer. “Earl warned me that she might not. Nadine said the same thing.”
“Then, at least, she won’t be selling it to a golf developer,” Elena pointed out.
“Hallelujah!” Joy raises her glass. “Last thing we need is to have to deal with stray balls in Wildflower Canyon.”
Before I can say anything, the door swings open, and in walk Duke and Hunt. Heads turn—men and women alike. They know who they are: the one who owns the biggest ranch in Colorado and his right-hand man.
While Hunt has, as Joy likes to call it, Rip Wheeler energy—broad shoulders, hard eyes, a face carved like a granite ridge; Duke’s many years in a tailored suit give him a polished look even in worn jeans and a battered cowboy hat.
“Baby.” Duke sits next to his wife and kisses her softly.
Hunt sits between Joy and Duke. He nods at me. “Mav.”
“Gents.” I lift my glass of beer. “Drinks and dinner or just drinks?”
“You pickin’ up the tab?” Duke wants to know.
Elena punches him lightly on the shoulder.
“You know, considering the kind of money you have, it’s cheap of you to expect me to pay for your supper,” I say drolly.
“How do you think we have that kind of money?” Duke quips. “Gotta save where we can.”
Hunt chuckles. “We already ate at the bunkhouse.” He waves to the server, who literally hops, skips, and jumps to get to our table.
“Hunt.” She isn’t looking bored now, not even a little. Her eyes are perky, and she’s pushing her tits out.
She takes their orders and, after shyly looking at Hunt, goes to the bar.
“What do you have that I don’t?” I look at Hunt with mock exasperation.
“A big dick,” Hunt deadpans.
“Is there anyone here you haven’t had sex with?” Joy glances at Hunt with barely contained irritation.
“Haven’t done it with you, darlin’.”
“Eww!” Joy gives him a withering look.
“Heard that Aria Delagado ain’t interested in sellin’.” Duke settles back in his chair. “I got a call from your BFF, asking me to help convince her sister to sell.”
I send him a flat, unimpressed stare. “I had to tell Celine that I wasn’t interested in her in that way, which probably pissed her off.”
Duke chuckles as he wraps his arm around Elena.
“What’s your problem with her? She’s damn decent lookin’.” Hunt picks up a French fry from Joy’s plate and pops it into his mouth.
“She’s married.”
Hunt looks confused. “And?”
“And?” Joy playfully slaps Hunt’s hand. “My brother doesn’t have sex with married women. He has morals.”
“Hey, I’m not the one who’s married. I made promises to nobody. So, if the woman is married and she’s fuckin’ around, it ain’t my problem, moral or otherwise,” Hunt protests.
“Men!” Both Elena and Joy hiss, but there’s no heat in their words.
Hunt is not a saint, but he’s not an asshole. He’s the guy who gets along well with his exes and is always upfront about how he’s not looking for a commitment.
Hunt ignores Elena and my sister and leans on the edge of the table. “So, Mav, what’s your play?”
“I need to talk to Aria, and then I can come up with a plan on how to get her to sell,” I admit.
The server comes back with drinks, and after batting her eyelashes one too many times at Hunt, who seems to enjoy the attention, she leaves, hugging to the promise Hunt made of calling her soon.
“From what I remember about Aria…she was a quiet kid. Liked to ride horses. Was interested in farming…the ranch,” Hunt says thoughtfully. “But, you know, Celine took up all the oxygen, so…we never got to know Aria.”
The music changes to a classic two-step—something with a steel guitar and the kind of rhythm that pulls boots to the floor without asking.
Laughter rises. Chairs scrape.
Couples start pairing off, moving toward the cleared space near the jukebox where someone strung fairy lights overhead.
“She’s got a strong spine,” I admit as her eyes flash in my mind, her poise and how she handled me when I was being a jackass. “But the debt is considerable, and she’s got inheritance taxes to deal with. Selling might be her only option.”
Elena shakes her head, disgust soft in her expression. “You’re being such a vulture, waiting for her to fail and give up so you can feast on the carcass of her legacy.”
Duke raises an eyebrow. “That’s not at all what he’s doing. He’s being practical.”
Joy gives me a soft, contemplative glance. “I actually agree with Elena. If Aria wants to keep the ranch, then, Mav, you should be a good neighbor and help her, not see her flail so you can buy her out.”
Elena and Joy’s sentiment makes something shift in my chest.
Help Aria?
I hadn’t thought about that, probably blinded by my tunnel vision as well as my ego and ambition.
Before I can respond, a chair crashes across the floor behind us.
A brawl breaks out near the poker table—two ranch hands slinging sloppy punches while everyone else keeps drinking without missing a beat.
“That’s my damn wife, you prick!” one of them yells as he stumbles into a table, nearly toppling a tray of beers.
“We’re divorced, you motherfucker!” a woman hollers from somewhere behind the bar.
“We’re only separated!” the guy fires back, just before another man who has no business being part of this battle swings a wild punch that misses by a mile.
They all crash into a set of chairs and go down hard, taking half the furniture with them.
We all take a sip of our drinks as we watch the show.
No one flinches. Not even the bartender, who just calls out, “Take it outside, or I’m callin’ Hugh,” like it’s just another day that ends with Y, which it is.
Hunt watches the fight with mild interest. “Someone’s had a bad calving season.”
“What?” Joy frowns at his non-sequitur.
“Happens. Shit goes wrong at the ranch. Wife leaves, files for divorce. She’s sick and tired of the hard life.
Husband comes for a drink.” Hunt takes a sip of his beer and continues, “He sees his wife with a new man…Sheriff Hugh Dillon has to show up and haul everyone’s ass to a jail cell so they can dry off. ”
“Wow! Sounds like you have some experience with this,” Joy remarks dryly.
Hunt smirks. “You can call me New Man.”
Someone else punches someone right then. There’s more screaming.
I wave a hand to get the server’s attention so I can pay our bill.
While I wait, I think about what Elena said—help her, don’t buy her legacy. It’s sound advice.
I’ll help Aria the best I can, and when she fails—‘cause she will, considering the state of Longhorn’s finances—I’ll be there to pick up the pieces. And the ranch.