Chapter 2 #2
I look at her through narrowed eyes, not happy that she’s all up in my business.
Hell, I don’t let Shay get in my business and she is my business.
Though now that she’s married to Luke Bennett, I pawn her off on him as much as I can because he signed up for that gig with a diamond ring.
She’s his problem now, I think happily. Shay did good with him, much as I hate to admit it.
“Family business.” The implication is clear.
She seems to hear me say ‘no’, though, as in I’m single, because she goes right back into some smiley, hair-twirling version of flirting.
And it’s doing nothing for me. Earlier, I’d thought she was hot as she was handing me my balls for daring to disturb her.
Now, this whole getup and flirty thing feels like a split-personality show.
I don’t like it. Fake and filtered makes my bullshit meter go off.
And it’s clanging in my head like a damn siren bell.
It’s a pity because her flirting like this earlier would’ve been more than welcome. Maybe it’s because she was at work?
Off the clock, she’s doing all the right things, sending me every damn signal she can—laughing even when I don’t say anything funny, touching my arm . . . and nothing. I’m not encouraging her in the least, have barely grunted at this point, but still, she’s trying.
I’m mostly thinking she’s got Bessie and I shouldn’t piss her off, so I sit here sullenly and let her gush girliness all over me, knowing I’m gonna need a shower later.
And not to jack off, but just to get the fake off.
And maybe to try to figure out which is the real Lil Bit. Not that it matters to me.
As long as she can fix the truck, it’ll be just fine. And I won’t even have to see her again. Hell, I’ll send Mark to pick it up and not even have to see her then.
The bartender walks over, looking hesitant to interrupt, but he knocks on the bar in front of me like it’s a damn door. I meet his eyes and he lifts his chin toward the door. I turn and see Katelyn waiting for me.
She raises one eyebrow in question. “You still need a ride?” that eyebrow says.
“Gotta go,” I tell Lil Bit, or the bartender, or maybe no one, I don’t know. I pick up my beer and chug the rest of it. “Keep the change.” That was to the bartender for sure.
Lil Bit pouts, her bottom lip poking out in a move that has probably gotten her what she wants countless times. “Already?” She takes the liberty to trace a short-nailed finger along the tattoo on my bicep, so much in those three syllables.
I blink, looking at her and remembering her earlier. And just like that, I forget Lil Bit ever existed and my cock agrees whole-dickedly.
I get up from the bar, walking toward Katelyn without a word.
Katelyn looks over my shoulder. “Who’s that?”
“No one. Let’s go.” I hold an arm out, motioning for her to walk in front of me because I’m a damn gentleman despite the tattoos, rough hands, and fuck it attitude I wear like badges of honor.
Katelyn says quietly, “Looked like someone to me. She was eye-sexing you when I walked in, and she watched every swaggering step of you leaving. I think you’ve got yourself a fan, Brody Tannen.”
“What’d you do?” Mark’s growl would stop most any bar fight in its tracks.
He’s a big motherfucker and has a presence about him that says he’d just as soon knock your head off your shoulders as look at your stupid face.
In most cases, that’s true. Much as I hate to say it, it’s one of the things I like best about him.
We’re two peas in the same pod, and because we understand each other, we do our best not to step on each other’s toes.
Not too long ago, I would’ve told you that me and the oldest Bennett being anything but enemies was damn near impossible, that it’d be more likely for my cows to sprout wings and start flying around the field like birds than for us to be cordial, much less friends.
I’d have lost that bet.
The transition when the Bennetts bought our ranch wasn’t all rainbows and cupcakes, more like fists and insults, but the cows are still mooing and Mark’s a good friend now.
That don’t mean the accusation doesn’t sting like a bitch, though.
“Not a thing and you know it.” My growl back is equal in measure, one of the things I think Mark likes about me too.
It took awhile for him to get used to someone calling him on his shit because he was accustomed to his word being law as the oldest. Well, except for one person, who rides herd on us all.
Damned if I’m not the same way, both of us having spent years running our family ranches. We were like two bulls ramming into each other for a while, but we’ve got a good stasis now. It’s just a whole lotta fun to test it sometimes.
Luckily, in this family, it’s just another normal evening, so those bar-fight-stopping growls don’t give anyone the slightest pause. The swoosh of a beanbag against wood keeps right on sounding out in the evening air as Brutal and Cooper play cornhole on the set they built as a father-son project.
I should’ve seen that coming as soon as Brutal told me his girl, Allyson, had a son, but I hadn’t been prepared to add a smart-mouthed nine-year-old to our family.
But we did, and Cooper’s just another one of us now.
A tiny version, but family. Brutal, my monster of a brother, is like the hard-shell coating on an ice cream sundae, totally ooey-gooey messy underneath that tough exterior, and he’s taken to fatherhood like it was his life’s purpose all along.
His latest fascination is teaching Cooper all about hand tools, hence our newfound evening routine of cornhole after dinner.
“Sit down and tell us all about it, Brody.” Mama Louise’s kind offer of a chair beside her is topped off with a glass of her special sweet tea.
It’s special because it’s got more bourbon than sugar, and if you’ve ever had sweet tea, you know it’s got a shit ton of sugar.
I make a note to take it easy because we’ve all had Mama Louise’s tea set us on our ass unexpectedly.
It goes down so smoothly, you’re drunker than a skunk before you know it. And I’m already three beers in tonight.
I sit down beside Mama Louise, take the offered tea, and have myself a healthy swallow before I say a word. I take the moment to look over my glass at our mish-mash, motley crew of a family.
The Bennetts. Mark, Luke, and James, the three boys who were once enemies and are now pseudo-brothers, though I’d deny that if asked, and Mama Louise, their mother by birth and ours by forced adoption when we were grown—but the woman won’t take no for an answer—are sitting around the yard in old handmade wooden chairs.
And the Tannens. My brother, Bobby, and my sister, Shayanne, are watching Brutal and Cooper play as Allyson watches on like only a mother can. Pretty sure they’re all cheering for Cooper at this point, and Brutal’s shit out of luck.
Katelyn’s gone to sit on Mark’s lap since we got here, where she is half the time you lay eyes on them. And Sophie, James’s wife, has a full-sized goat in her lap, mindlessly scratching under its chin, which means their daughter, Cindy Lou, must be inside asleep already.
It’s not the family I ever thought I’d have, but I’m damn thankful for it.
There’s a saying about family, something about it giving you roots and wings.
That’s what this right here does for me.
I’ve always had roots—to this land, to our herd, to my family.
But for a while, I had no wings. I was as landlocked as my cows are.
Weighed down by Dad, by bills, by expectations.
When we’d been forced to sell our ranch to the Bennetts in the wake of Dad’s death, and came on as the hired help, I’d fought stubbornly against it.
I’d been so arrogant and prideful. Don’t get me wrong.
I miss being the one to shine if it’s all good, and even the one to rage if it all goes to hell, but it’s been nice to just work and go home, rinse, and repeat.
It’s freeing in a way, finally giving me those wings in a way I didn’t expect.
Mark’s eyeing me, telling me to get on with explaining what happened.
If Katelyn wasn’t running her fingers through the hair at the base of his scalp, he’d probably still be growling.
As it is, with her magic, he’s almost purring.
And glaring, but purring and glaring is a damn sight better than growling and glaring.
I take one more sip of my tea before I start, just to irk him because I like stomping all over that line where he goes from okay to aggravated.
“Did Shay’s deliveries, had old ladies telling me all day that I was too skinny.
” Mama Louise snorts, probably because she’s the one who makes food for all of us and knows how much we can put away in one meal.
“I know, right?” I pat my flat belly in confusion.
“But Bessie was doing fine until she wasn’t.
Felt like the transmission, but I made it to a mechanic shop.
They’re going to look at it and call you with an estimate before they do any work. ”
Mark grunts. Could mean ‘good job’, could mean ‘I’m gonna beat the shit out of you behind the barn later’—no way to tell for sure. I choose to take it as the former.
Katelyn smiles, never missing a loop on Mark’s hair. “He’s skipping the best part.”
Mark leans in and acts like he’s whispering to her, even though we can all hear him just fine. With an amused tilt of his lips, he asks her, “What’s the best part of my truck needing a couple thousand dollars’ worth of work, Princess?”
“Where’d you go after the mechanic’s, Brody?” I swear, she’s almost sing-songing the question.
“Resort bar.” Another sip of tea.
“What’d you do there?” More singing. She might as well be turning into a damn Disney princess—Princess Katelyn of the Redneck Ranch, coming soon to a theater near you.