Chapter 12
Chapter
Twelve
HOT AS A TWO-DOLLAR PISTOL
Dallas
Nelly’s tenth whining fit in as many minutes makes me turn off my sander and flip up my goggles. “I know, buddy. I wish I was skinny dipping in the lake right now too, but duty calls.”
He blinks his doleful eyes and slumps back down to the hardwood floor I laid myself when I built my shop.
He’s killing me with that innocent face, but I have to get this project done for my client.
I’m already a week late delivering the custom dining room table built from the client’s own oak tree that fell in his backyard.
There’s a burnt streak running through it from the lightning that struck it.
It’s actually one of the coolest pieces I’ve done.
I should be proud of my work, but all I feel right now is exhaustion.
Between riding around the ranch and checking calves, my own woodworking, my son, and pretending to be Shelby’s fiancé, I’m beat. Something’s gotta give.
I pull out my phone and call Houston again.
It’s noon. He should be up by now, even if he rode last night.
Despite my irritation at him deserting the ranch and only rarely coming home for visits, I’m proud of the fucker.
He’s made a name for himself on the rodeo circuit, managing to win a few events on the Rockies circuit and avoid major injury.
Rodeo is a bit like gambling, though. He can’t seem to quit until he’s won an overall, which is where the big money’s at.
“You’re, like, obsessed with me,” Houston deadpans by way of greeting.
“Yeah, well, I’m up to my elbows in the backside of an animal more times than I’d like, so I figured I’d share that experience.”
“If that’s your way of trying to get me to come home, you’re doing it wrong.”
I lean back against the table I’m building, swiping the sawdust from the scruff I haven’t had time to shave. “Seriously. I’m not cut out for full-time ranch work. Especially with my woodworking taking off recently.”
“And you think I am?” Houston scoffs. “I’ve got back-to-back rodeos lined up, man. I can’t just pull out of one when they’re using my name for advertising to get butts on bleachers.”
“Not even when it’s a family emergency? They don’t make exceptions for that?” I ask with a bit more heat in my tone. I’m tired of that being his excuse every time we try to get him to come home.
Family before all else.
That’s the credo the Gamble family has always lived by. And Houston is shitting on it.
“You being careful with Shelby?” Houston changes the subject like he always does when he knows I’m mad at him.
“I’m always careful with Shelby,” I grouse. I stand back up and run my hand along the bottom edge of the table. There’s a tiny knot there I need to sand down.
“No, I mean real careful. That girl had a thing for you a long time ago. Don’t go play-acting your way into messing with her heart.”
I scoff, nearly choking on my own spit. “She did not!”
Houston’s chuckle is annoying as fuck. “She did. Oh, she was real subtle about it, but I specifically remember catching her staring longingly at you when we were seniors. Be careless with the randos’ hearts, but don’t do that to Shelby. She’s my friend too, you know.”
My knees give way, and I sit my ass down on the old rickety chair I keep in the shop. The wheels fly across the floor, crunching over sawdust. Nelly barks and chases after me, his tail going crazy. “If that’s true, why didn’t you ever say something?”
Houston yawns loudly in my ear, pissing me off even more. “What would have been the point? I knew you didn’t feel that way about her and telling you would have only embarrassed her. Again, Shelby’s my friend too. I didn’t want you breaking her heart.”
There’s a commotion on his end of the phone. “Man, I gotta go. Someone’s always gettin’ in a fight.” With a click, he’s gone.
I shake my head and stare at my dark phone screen.
Just like Houston to drop a bomb and then abruptly leave.
What does he mean, Shelby had a thing for me?
Never, not once, did she and I cross that friend line.
We mutually agreed right from the start to only be friends.
Partly because Houston is right. I wouldn’t have been able to give her what she wants, so why ruin a good friendship?
He must be wrong. That’s the only option here that makes sense.
Lifting my right hip, I pull out my wallet and stare at the napkin, both our signatures faded over the years but still legible.
“There’s no way,” I tell Nelly. He licks my arm, then starts sneezing out the sawdust, making a racket. “There’s no way Shelby had a thing for me. Not then, not now, not ever. And that’s that.”
I tuck the napkin back in my wallet and get busy finishing this project. When I’ve got it completed to my satisfaction, I text the client to schedule a pick-up time and head for my truck, intent on getting to Ridge and seeing what kind of help he needs over there.
When I get to the big house, Shelby’s truck is in the driveway. Nelly came along but abandons me to chase after Meemaw’s chickens. I head for the paddock, wanting to see if this morning’s round netted any more sick calves.
Ridge is nowhere to be found. Pops is pacing while on his cell phone, looking like he’s ready to try his luck in a fistfight.
Shelby’s down on the ground in the corner of the paddock with a calf I don’t think was here yesterday.
Wade Barlow, the young farmer who rents part of our land, is hovering just a bit too closely to Shelby, his gaze taking in her backside as she’s crouched down.
I clear my throat, and his eyes shoot to mine. He lifts his hand to wave at me, stupid grin on his face, like we’re pals. Okay, fine, normally we are pals, but not today. I glower at him and decide we need better rules on who can come into the paddock.
“Got some wheat to harvest, Barlow?”
Shelby glances up at the sound of my voice, but her hands stay busy, working on the calf. I step up to the group, putting my body between Shelby and Wade’s eyeballs. He won’t be staring at my fiancée on my watch.
“Finished up yesterday,” he proudly proclaims.
A man in overalls and a worn-out straw hat shouldn’t have that much confidence. I appreciate the rental income he provides the family, and I definitely appreciate farmers in general. I just don’t appreciate him sticking to Shelby like white on rice.
“Awesome. Get the fuck out.”
His smile slips from his face. “Oh, so it’s one of those days, huh?”
Shelby snorts below us but doesn’t say anything. Frankie, who just came through the gate and heard only the last part of this conversation, hollers.
“Hey there, Wade! How many ground squirrels did you kill this harvesting season?” Oh, damn. Looks like Frankie hasn’t forgiven him for flirting with her wife before Wade knew who she was.
Wade pulls off his hat and pretends to be contrite. “I’m just a peaceful farmer. I don’t slaughter animals.” Then he mumbles so quietly only Shelby and I hear him. “Unlike you ranchers.”
It’s a long-standing joke between us, one we’ll never quit arguing about. Thankfully, none of us takes any of it seriously. With both of us glaring at him, Wade tips his head, flips us the bird, and scoots out of the paddock. Shelby stands up, wiping her hands on her thighs.
“This poor thing is miserable. We lost two calves yesterday, and Ridge brought in four more with symptoms this morning.”
We all look over at Pops, who’s now growling into the phone. “Who’s he talking to?”
Shelby makes a face. “I think it’s the bank.”
Dread lines my stomach with lead. I know the land and the big house are paid off, but property taxes and ongoing expenses of running a ranch this size required Pops and Meemaw to take out a loan a few years ago.
When everything goes right, we can make those payments and still make a living.
But when calves start dying off more than the usual, things get dicey.
This place is Momma’s family legacy, and I know Pops feels a lot of responsibility for making things work. In fact, Momma always wanted us to expand the ranch, but we just haven’t been able to. Pops and Ridge fight over who’s to blame for that.
“I’ve got three more to look over before I head out,” Shelby says, quietly moving away to the other calves. I don’t blame her. I wouldn’t want to stick around in uncomfortable silence either if I didn’t have to.
Frankie looks back at me, determination in those brown eyes. “Skye, Meemaw, and I have some ideas to help us out. Don’t you worry.”
I make a face. “Uh yeah, I do worry. Whatever Meemaw says, cock fights are illegal, okay? And no, we ain’t turning this land into a pot farm.”
Frankie grins. “Make a lot more money that way.”
“No, Frankie.”
“Alright, alright. Calm down.” Frankie looks behind her where Shelby’s helping another calf, then wiggles her eyebrows and drops her voice when her eyes come back to me. “Want to tell me why you were about to put your hands around Wade’s red neck?”
I lean in, whispering as quietly as I can. “He was staring at Shelby’s ass!”
Frankie giggles. “So? She’s got a great ass.”
I avoid commenting on that. “He still shouldn’t be looking at it.”
Frankie tilts her head to the side, studying me, and a warning bell rings in my head. I’ve made a misstep somewhere, but I’m not sure where or how or why.
“You ever wonder why you’re so protective of Shelby?”
I shrug. “No. She’s my best friend. Of course I’m protective.”
Frankie nods but doesn’t lose that shit-eating grin. “Is it possible you have feelings for her that go beyond friendship?”
To that idea, I scoff. Loudly. “I have feelings beyond friendship for every woman.”
“But not Shelby,” Frankie confirms.
“Correct.” My brain tries to bring up what Houston told me this morning, but I tell it to fuck off.
“Have you considered why?”
“Huh?” Now she’s lost me. Woman logic is circular and windy and littered with leaps into fairytale land.
Frankie leans in, entirely too excited. “Like maybe if you ever let yourself go there with her, you’d fall head over boots in love with the woman?”
I stare at her, refusing to even acknowledge that notion. “Does Morgan know you’ve lost your mind?” I lean away and step around her. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to hose off before my sawdust causes more respiratory damage to these calves.”
Frankie’s laugh echoes after me. Goddamn, sisters are annoying.
On the side of the faded red barn, I breathe in the warm air, stretching my back and wondering if Ryder and I can sneak away this weekend to the lake.
Summer sure is hot around here, but it doesn’t last long enough for my liking.
We need to enjoy it while we can. Shelby can read her latest romance novel on a picnic blanket, and he and I can practice his backstroke while getting a reprieve from the heat.
That idea sounds like the perfect summer weekend plan.
I grab the hose off the side of the barn and crank the spigot.
Letting the first bit feed the dry ground, I strip off my shirt and belt, hanging them over the fence post. When the cooler water flows, I lift the hose over my head and let it rain down over me, washing off the sawdust and sweat.
Damn, that feels amazing. The cool water reminds me of all the times us kids would run through the sprinklers in the summer.
I have to scrub my hand over my skin to dislodge off all the wood shavings, but I get the job done. It’s only as I twist to shut off the spigot that I find Shelby standing outside the paddock, frozen in place, staring at me.
My skin heats all over again, and it has nothing to do with the hot summer sun. I slowly slip my hand down my chest, flinging off some water. “Want me to turn it on again so you get a longer show?” I holler, teasing her. I don’t even think about it. Flirting is just a reflex at this point.
Shelby snaps back to attention. “No, thanks. I don’t want to get nauseous!” Then she sticks her tongue out at me.
“Real mature!” I holler back.
She spins and struts back into the paddock with the syringe in hand, giving me a glimpse of the backside that had Wade mesmerized. Can’t really blame the guy.
Then Frankie’s accusation and Houston’s warning play on repeat in my brain, and I get dressed, putting Shelby firmly back in the friend box I’ve always kept her in. Things are way less confusing that way.