3. Duke
DUKE
“Damn, these girls look good! All right, let’s get them back to the chutes. I hear a beer and a shower calling my name.” I’m yelling so my voice will carry across the thundering herd of cattle to my best friend, Sam Seymour’s, ears.
The stench of manure and sweat permeates the air as the Texas sun steadily lowers toward the horizon.
Sam came over to work cows on Redford Ranch.
He’s the best thing that ever happened to his fiancée, Dolly—aside from the pleasure of her getting to be my sister, of course.
If he wasn’t such a damn endearing son of a bitch, who killed a man to protect her, I wouldn’t have given him my blessing to put a ring on her finger.
“You just wanna do it here or back at my place?” Sam yells back.
We’re supposed to be going out for his bachelor party tonight, but he keeps trying to get me to cancel the original plan to go out to the bars, instead wanting to stay home and play poker. He’s so pussy-whipped. My sister’s been carrying his balls around in her purse for months now.
“No, we’re going out. You can be away from her for one night, Seymour, damn.”
We’re herding the half-grown bulls and their mamas up to the ranch house, where the arena and the pens are for sorting.
They’re due for a round of vaccines. This group is at the age where we start determining which ones are bound for the sale barn, which ones will be fed out for beef, and which, if any, we want to keep here.
I spur my horse, Lady Liberty, and take off on the flank side of the herd.
Holden—my oldest brother, who stole my ex-girlfriend like a dick—is riding up ahead with one of his and said ex-girlfriend’s little girls in front of him on the saddle.
Birdie is two and a half, so this is her first cattle drive.
Judging by the grin splitting her chubby cheeks, she’s in heaven.
Never thought I’d see the day when my tough-as-shit ex-con brother became a girl dad with a marshmallow center, but I’ll be damned if it isn’t the cutest thing in the world.
He brushes her coppery-red curls out of her eyes.
“You coming tonight?” I ask him as I ride by.
He looks down at Birdie before adjusting the Stetson on his head. I can already see the indecision in his gaze.
“Come on. Y’all can’t bail on me because you’re all married off now. It’s boys’ night.”
He finally nods. “I’ll be there. But don’t go trying to get me to drive you and a bunch of girls home. Rosie would beat my ass.”
“I wouldn’t do that.”
I would do that. Have done that. Might do it again if I have too many whiskey sours.
“I’m not kidding, Duke. Boys’ night. Just the boys. And I wanna get home at a decent hour.” He reemphasizes his point.
Every one of my goddamn brothers is married or engaged.
We used to be rowdy. We used to brawl for fun.
Before our beautiful mother was laid to rest after a tragic car accident, she used to say God had blessed her with one precious daughter as an apology for all the gray hairs and splitting migraines us boys gave her.
Holden is the one who suggested we all brand ourselves with the cattle brand after one too many bottles were drained dry, and now he’s over there, doting on his baby girl and telling me he has a strict bedtime.
Cash would bet money on who could ride the biggest, meanest bulls for the longest, resulting in more than one ER visit.
And Sterling—the brother right above me in order, who I thought would for sure stay single until he retired from the military—just upped and married a girl he’d met at a truck stop and known for two whole weeks.
He said it was because she was in a crisis pregnancy, but the second I met her and saw the way he looked into her big doe eyes, I knew he was a goner.
Even Sam—not my blood brother, but he might as well be—started sneaking around with my sister and doing only God knew what behind my back after I asked him very nicely to keep her safe while I hunted down someone threatening her.
He even took her to where some girlie vampire movie had been made in Washington State to propose.
Sam. Vacationing in a vampire movie set town for fun.
Like I said, pussy-whipped, the whole lot.
I roll my shoulders back as we approach the pens Sam is successfully herding the cattle into.
One with a copper-red hide tries to escape, darting around Sam’s horse and making a beeline for the open field behind us. I grab the rope looped around the horn of my saddle. I wind it up, twisting it above my head, and throw it toward the small, protruding horns of the animal.
It hits its mark, looping around the horns, and instantly tightens when I wrap the other end across the horn of the saddle.
Lady Liberty knows exactly what to do, digging her hooves into the dirt and straightening her legs.
Once the rope goes taut, the bull calf’s body is jerked behind him.
He fights against it at first, but my buckskin mare starts slowly backing up, pulling him toward the chute where the rest of the cattle are.
When we get him all the way there, I swing my leg over and jump down. The bull sees me coming and finally runs where he’s supposed to go. When the rope loosens, I unhook it.
“All right, boys, good work,” Holden says. “Thanks for the help, Sam.”
“You bet,” Sam says, climbing down off his horse.
I use the hem of my white T-shirt to dry the sweat off my brow.
“Hey, ladies,” a familiar voice calls from the fence.
I turn to see Cash and Sterling leaning against the steel fence, both grinning widely. All of us have the same dark hair and deep tanned skin, courtesy of our late mother’s Native American heritage.
Cash flew in from Los Angeles with his country-music-star fiancée, and Sterling took off work for just this weekend to celebrate Dolly’s upcoming nuptials.
I walk up to them, shaking each of their hands. “Glad you made it, finally.”
Cash looks more like a city slicker than ever before. He’s completely clean-shaven, and even though he’s dressed in our usual uniform—Wrangler jeans, a Stetson, cowboy boots, and a button-down shirt—his is brand-spanking-new.
He smells like the private jet he rode here on.
“You wanna go roll around in the barn for a minute so we don’t get jumped at Lucky’s later?”
Sterling lifts a brow. “Lucky’s? I thought we were going to Old Harry’s.” He’s in his usual attire—jeans that have actually been worn before tonight and an army-green T-shirt.
“I thought we’d switch it up a little, get a little farther out of town.” I shrug, trying to appear casual as I lead Lady Liberty through the gate.
“I smell fish. Tell the truth, Duke. Whose woman were you caught with?” Sam asks.
“I’m sure we can handle whoever it is.” Sterling says it like it’s no big deal if I did steal someone’s girl—because when they see the five of us, they wouldn’t do a damn thing.
He’s right, but I don’t want to tell them that I’m hoping to see a certain married bartender who works at Lucky’s Pub, who happened to leave me in my truck with a raging case of blue balls four nights ago.
“I just want a change of scenery. Lucky’s does this thing called a hurricane shot.”
“Oh, I’ve heard of that. I thought about asking Dol—never mind.” Sam stops himself.
Four sets of eyes cut to his face as we walk into the red barn. He busies himself with taking off his saddle and acting like he wasn’t about to tell us about his and our sister’s weird kinks.
Sterling clears his throat. “Yeah, so what is it?”
I pull on the leather strap of my saddle. “It’s where the bartender sits on the bar and spits a shot of whiskey into your mouth, and the chaser is her splashing your face with water, then slapping the shit out of you.”
Cash and Holden share a look before their eyes return to me, noticeably filled with doubt and concern.
“What? It sounds fun. Here, I’ll show you the video.” I pull my phone out of my pocket and find the video I saved on social media.
They all gather around to watch it.
“Send that to me,” Cash says as soon as it’s over.
I grin at him. “Told you.”
When we pull up to Lucky’s Pub a few hours later, the parking lot is already full.
I’m wearing my nicest shirt—an azure-blue pearl-snap that brings out my eye color according to Dolly.
I rolled the sleeves up to my elbows. I reserve my tan Wranglers for going out.
My black felt Stetson has a feather in the side of it from a turkey I shot and cooked for Thanksgiving a few weeks ago.
And my spirits are flying high.
Sterling parks Rosie’s Yukon near the back of the dirt parking lot. We drove her vehicle since it has more legroom for the five of us than any of our trucks do.
“Damn, what a good night to be out on the town, just us guys, huh?” I grin, looking at Sam as he climbs out.
Sterling is right behind him. Sam smiles, nodding. Cash and Holden look around the parking lot.
“Since when did Lucky’s Pub become a hot spot?”
I shrug. “Don’t know. Heard it was a good time though.”
Actually, I’m pleasantly surprised to see how many people are here tonight. I suggested the place not only because I get sick of going to Old Harry’s all the time, but mostly because I’m hoping to see Dallas again.
We show our IDs at the door and pay the cover fee since there’s a band tonight.
They give us bracelets before we walk through the double wooden doors.
The interior is dimly lit with neon bar signs scattered throughout, illuminating it in a rainbow of colors.
The energy is high, couples up dancing on the elevated dance floor to the live band playing a Trace Adkins cover in the corner.
The place looks like a converted barn, with two long bars on either side and one huge square one in the middle, flanked by the dance floor and band.
My eyes are immediately peeled for a curly-blond-haired bartender. After turning the corner around the main bar in the center of the large space, I spot her on the far end of the square.
Then I notice her uniform.
Dallas Hayes is wearing a low-cut, cropped red tank top with the Budweiser logo stretched across the front of her full chest, exposing her smooth, tanned stomach.
The Daisy Dukes she’s wearing are frayed at the hem and riding up, revealing a sliver of her round butt.
She’s not one of those super-thin girls.
Dallas has meat on her bones in all the right places.
She looks so unbelievably hot that I have to look away before I get caught staring like a creep.
I have to slow down and inhale a deep breath before I continue on. I lick my lips and rest my elbow against the bar top near her. Of course, most of her section is jam-packed with leering cowboys.
Her blond curls are up in a messy bun on top of her head with a few cascading down around her flushed cheeks. Her pretty face is pinched in concentration as she pours a row of whiskey shots.
She slides them over the bar top toward the waiting patrons.
“Here you go, boys. Bottoms up.”
One of them drops a hundred-dollar bill on the counter.
“Thanks, sweetheart. We’ll be back for more, so don’t go anywhere.
” The gray-bearded man winks. He’s wearing a leather biker vest and has huge, bulging shoulders covered in tattoos, but the urge to shove him out of the way suddenly roars through me.
All right, chill out. She’s at work.
She smiles at him. The biker group takes the shots and moves down the bar. I move to take their place, but before I do, she turns around and starts tapping on the tablet register.
I’ve been with plenty of women, probably more than my fair share. But something about her Coke-bottle frame and the no-nonsense attitude she carries sends a tingle of awareness up my spine. She’s wearing tall black cowboy boots, which I know would look so damn good on my shoulders.
Sam steps up to my left side while Sterling sidles up on the right.
“Just wanted a change of scenery, hmm?” Sam asks.
“Only here for some special drink they offer, right?” Sterling muses.
I shrug, wrapping my arm around Sam’s shoulders. “What are you drinking? It’s your night.”
He peruses the backlit colorful bottles lined up on the wall. “Silver tequila with lime.”
“Seymour! Redford! How y’all doing?” a male voice calls out over the crowd, pulling Dallas’s attention from the tablet.
She spins, her eyes flashing when they land on me. She sets her jaw.
Sam and Sterling turn away to shake hands with the newcomers, but I keep my eyes on Dallas. She wets her pink lips and exhales before finally stepping up to the bar that separates us. Now that she’s closer to me, I can see the faint stretch marks on her stomach, probably from her twin pregnancy.
And I want to kiss every single one as I trail my lips down lower.
“What can I getcha?” she drawls, her Southern accent more pronounced than the last time I saw her.
“Hurricane shot.”
Her eyes cut to mine, widening.
“Oh, hell yeah!” A hand grabs my shoulder, tugging at me. “I heard Dallas is the best at those. I want one next.”
I turn to glare at Jesse, one of Sam’s friends. He used to be mine, too, up until this moment.
He stands about six inches shorter than my six-foot-three frame. He’s clearly already been drinking, and his body sways into the bar top.
“Fine. Jesse first. Fifty dollars. What kind of liquor?” Dallas says.
I grit my teeth and look back over at her, wondering why she would choose to let him go first.
She pulls a stool over to the bar and steps up onto it before sitting on the edge of the bar top with her legs on our side.
“I’ll take vodka,” Jesse says, rubbing his grubby hands together.
Another bartender with a red pixie cut hands her the vodka bottle and a glass of cold water.
I clench my fists and take a step back. Half the bar is tuned in to watch the show. Sam settles next to me, trying to hold back a laugh.
Dallas uses her finger to make a come-here signal to Jesse. He steps closer, right between her spread thighs.
I want to be sick, but I can’t stop watching. Dallas squares her shoulders, tilts her head back, and pours a generous amount of vodka in her mouth before leaning forward and spitting it into Jesse’s open mouth.
She grabs the cup of water, throws it right in his face, and slaps him so hard that the sound carries. His head jerks to the side, and this half of the bar goes quiet for a split second.
Then he looks back at her and raises his hands in the air. “Woo-hoo! Baby, let’s gooo!”
The crowd roars in approval, raising their glasses. Dallas’s eyes find mine and lock on my gaze.
I step closer. “My turn.”