26. Colton
“What?”
I narrow my eyes at the kid in front of me as he throws himself in the seat opposite the desk in the Bar 9’s ranch office.
Hell, what am I talking about?
This ‘kid’ is as much of a man as Callan is—the one who needs to shift perspectives here is me.
“Is that any way to start a conversation with your new brother-in-law?”
Calder McAllister sniffs. “Isn’t a real marriage.”
“The law disagrees.”
Today’s kiss does too.
Jesus Christ, I can still feel the lingering aftereffects of it and it’s been a whole three hours since she left my office in a daze.
“I don’t. I know my sister. She’ll get pregnant and then she’ll fuck off back to New York.” His declaration hits me on the raw. He knows her better than I do now. Is he right? “She hates it here,” he continues, “because of your family?—”
I can’t argue with that so I hold up a hand to stall his words. “I didn’t ask you to come to the office because of her.”
“Then why am I here?”
“Over in the east quadrant of your land, by the highway, there are three ponds that are pretty much in a row.”
His mouth tightens. “Mom said they were our ponds. One for each of us.”
That he shared that memory with me has me pausing before, softly, asking, “There’s a copse of trees up there. You know where I mean?”
“Near the watchtower?” At my nod, he demands, “What about it?”
I bridge my hands on top of my abs. “There’s a weed farm.”
His eyes bug. “A what farm?”
“Marijuana,” I clarify, rocking in a chair that I don’t think has been sat in for a decade. This whole office makes mine look modern. “You got anything to do with it?”
“I tagged your barn. That doesn’t make me a drug dealer.”
“If you’re not lying to me, the fact that you don’t know about it tells me you three haven’t been pulling your weight around here.” Though, admittedly, the emotional attachment to the ponds might be why they’ve avoided the area. “That’ll have to change?—”
“You can’t boss me around!”
“Sure I can. Won’t just be me either. Theo Frobisher will be taking on the duties of ranch manager at the Bar 9, so you can expect to be bossed around by him too. And what he says, Calder, goes or I’ll hear about it.”
“I’m so fucking scared,” he snipes, jumping to his feet, his attitude of before shifting into a more normal adolescent pout.
This I can handle.
This I’m used to.
Callan might like to think he’s mature, but he’s still only eighteen years old.
“You should be. You think I won’t toss you in one of your many lakes if you don’t start acting like this is your legacy? Won’t be one with a mineral spring either.”
“I’m not scared of water.”
“All the more reason to do it then.”
“You gonna waterboard me or something?”
“What?! This isn’t Guantanamo Bay! Jesus, Calder.”
“Then what’s with the threats, dude.”
“I like to call them incentives.”
“Pay us, that’d be an incentive,” he grouses. “Otherwise, it’s child labor?—”
Because that’s exactly what Callan would say, making me wonder why the hell he and my youngest brother don’t get along, I chuckle. “You’re not a five-year-old. Anyway, it’s your ranch?—”
“Look, we don’t want cash. Our truck’s busted and the mechanic won’t fix it without us paying upfront. We owe him too much.”
“So, you’ll work for your truck?” I query as he sinks into the chair again.
“Yeah, and none of us have to get wet. How were you going to shove us into the lake anyway?”
“Barrels.”
“That’s worse! Does my sister know you belong in the Spanish Inquisition’s hit squad?”
“I’m sure she thinks the worst of me as it is.” I arch a brow at him. “Theo will be implementing a schedule?—”
“Yeah, yeah. How long until you’ll pay the garage bill?”
“I won’t be paying dick. You’ll be earning your own wage so you can pay for it yourself. There are three of you so it shouldn’t take long.”
“Takes a genius to work that out.” Folding his arms across his chest, he huffs. “Can’t you just pay?—”
“No. I’d hate to be accused of using child labor,” I mock. “Do the work. Prove yourself?—”
“It’s our ranch.”
At his deepening scowl, I sigh. “Look, the contracts and arrangements aside, if you want to work on the ranch in management, then I’m not going to stop you, but you’ll have to prove yourself.
“This place is so deep in the red, your bill with Jim in town probably looks cheap. I’m not taking your legacy away from you. I’m protecting it so that there’s something left for future generations to have—including you and your brothers. You understand me?”
Calder’s gaze turns pensive. “I understand you. We have nothing to do with that weed farm.”
I grunt. “Good to know.”
“I mean it. I’d never do anything to risk the land. Not when this is Mamie’s home. Anyway, if I got my ass hauled off to jail, the shock’d kill her. I know she’s an old bitch, but she’s fragile and I love her. I wouldn’t jeopardize?—”
Again, I hold up a hand. “I believe you.”
He sags in his seat. “Good. What are you doing about it, then?”
Not sure what it says about me that he already expects me to have a plan in place.
Of course, he’d be right.
“I put men in the watchtower nearby. We’re going to make sure whoever’s growing it knows they don’t have free rein over our turf.”
Calder’s jaw tightens. “Damn straight.”
I peer at the clock on my phone. “In fact, I need to get out there?—”
“You’re going?”
“Of course.” I study him. “First rule of ranch management. Don’t ask your men to do anything you wouldn’t do yourself.”
“Can’t see Clyde living by that rule,” he snipes.
“Clyde didn’t teach me to run a ranch,” is my simple retort. “My uncle did.
“Keep your noses clean and stop with the tagging or I’ll be taking the cleanup out of your wages. I know you hit up the Frobishers’ truck the other day. At least this time, you didn’t sign the Bar 9.”
His grin’s sheepish. “They’re assholes.”
“Yeah, I agree. Theo isn’t though. He’s good people so don’t give him any shit, you hear?”
“I hear.”
With that being said, I get to my feet and round the desk. Before he can stand, I clap him on the shoulder. “We’re family, Calder. No matter the circumstances. Your land and mine will be tied together forever. Let’s make your ancestors roll in their graves at a McAllister working with a Korhonen, hmm?”
A loud snort escapes him. “I like the sound of that, Colt.”
“Good.” I pat his arm. “Spread the word with the other two. I don’t like having to repeat myself.”
Before he can sass me anymore, I head on out, jump into my truck, lower the window as the radio blares, and get my ass over to the weed farm.
Technically, the rotation of manpower shouldn’t have started until Zee signed over the power of attorney to me, but there was no way in hell I wasn’t monitoring that situation.
It’s a beautiful day to stare at the clouds while waiting for some stoner hippie to collect his crop of weed.
I make it to the watchtower and take over for Darrel who, yawning, finishes his shift.
Then, it’s me, my thoughts, and I.
Knowing that the sound of a car on this barren stretch of the highway will give away the ‘cultivators,’ I close my eyes and take in some sun.
It’s not often I get the chance to sit and be. Which makes Calder’s belief that I’d leave this kind of chore for someone on my staff all the more hilarious—why the hell wouldn’t I want this task?
The hours pass swiftly. Mostly because the one thing on my mind is the one thing I don’t want to chase away—my new wife.
Aside from this morning when she kissed me, Mum had a point when she said that Zee has barely left her bedroom. In fact, she’s channeling Callan two years ago when he was hooked on camgirl sites and I could barely get him into the kitchen unless I offered him new games, ice cream, and led him out of there like a donkey with a carrot in front of its nose.
Not that I think they’re doing the same thing.
But Calder’s words come back to haunt me in the sleepy somnolence of the afternoon.
Did our kiss change anything? Has it?—
A crankshaft sounds in the distance, making my eyes pop open.
The rumble of a motorbike along with the louder motor of another vehicle has me descending the watchtower, heading to my truck, and picking up the shotgun I stored in there before I drove over to the Bar 9.
Shoving some extra cartridges into my pocket, I load the shotgun and then storm over to the farm on foot.
I timed it pretty damn well—the dead stretches of highway updated me faster than radar.
Moving to the front of the farm, off the patch of land where their tires have previously drawn rivets into the soil, I wait for the vehicles—a Harley and a white van—to come to a stop.
The cut and patch have me cursing.
My fervent hope for a stoner hippie drifts away on the wind because this is clearly the endeavor of an MC.
And they’re not like the ones we work with in the US who transport victims to the Canadian border. No, it’s the goddamn Rabid Wolves.
I remember them from when I was attending university.
They held up a series of gas stations and killed some of the attendants.
At least I know what I’m dealing with…
“This is my fucking land.” I punctuate the declaration by shooting the ground a few feet away from the bike. “You want to explain to me why weed is being cultivated on it? In fact, no. I don’t give a shit. You get off my property and we can forget any of this ever happened.”
The biker just tucks a cigarette between his lips and flicks a lighter. “You think you and your shotgun are enough to?—”
Taking aim, I shoot out his front tire.
“Fuck, man! I didn’t sign up for this shit!” the van driver yelps.
“You didn’t sign up for dick,” the biker growls, standing straight as he climbs off his bike. “Look what you did to my?—”
I don’t let him finish the sentence.
Shifting to the side so I’m not facing straight on, I shoot out the engine next.
“You fucker!” the guy curses as I reload.
“You’re going to get off my property, asshole, and you’re not coming back.”
He drags out a handgun from his cut as I cock the shotgun and aim at him. “You can shoot me, but I can shoot you too. And double-aught buckshot will fuck you up faster than anything you have in that peashooter.”
“This is no peashooter. It’s a?—”
“Do I look like I give a fuck? You can get off my land now or I’ll shoot to kill. So be smart, use that peanut you have for a brain, and get. Off. My. Land.”
I can feel the veins in my forehead and throat bulge as I yell the warning at him.
It’s the guy in the van who screams, “Come on, Vinnie. It’s not worth it! Get in. Please. Fuck, I don’t want to die for some weed.”
“You’ll regret this,” Vinnie snarls as he backs off, running around the van’s fender. I shoot at his feet as he jumps into the passenger side. “You’re fucking crazy, man!”
As the driver reverses, Vinnie’s eyes are locked on mine. It’s only when they pull away, wheels smoking as they turn hard and fast onto the road, that I shoot again. The rear window shatters, and the van jerks to the left before, brakes shrieking and engine groaning, they fly down the highway.
“That was so cool!”
Jolting, I see the triplets. “What are you doing here? You’re lucky I didn’t shoot you!”
“Oh, my God, I thought that asshole was gonna piss his pants,” Carson crows and mimics, “‘Use that peanut you have for a brain and get. Off. My. Land.’ BOOM.”
Colby presses, “Please tell me you’re going to teach us how to use a shotgun.”
That clears the adrenaline from my brain. “You mean you don’t know how to already?”
In tandem, their cheeks flush, but it’s Carson who mumbles, “No one would teach us.”
I scrape a hand over my head, but they don’t give me the chance to answer because Calder’s cocking his arms like I did the shotgun and shouting, “This is my fucking land. BOOM.”
Carson jumps on his shoulders. “So cool.”
Colby dives in front of Calder. “‘Shotgun pellets will fuck you up faster than anything you have in that peashooter.’ BANG.”
As they burst out laughing, their adrenaline buzzing as high as mine, I shake my head.
No way in hell did I expect I’d come face-to-face with the weed farmers today, but more than that, I could never have anticipated this.
If ever there was proof these little shits need corralling, I have it.
Still, I call the cops first and report the weed farm and the day’s events, then I drawl, “Right, you three. I have to deal with the RCMP, and then we’ll return to the homestead and I’ll teach you how to fire a shotgun.”
Their whoops and cheers have me chuckling at their antics as they leap around like I told them they’d won the lottery.
Still, as an impromptu bonding session, I guess it worked…