Just Say When (Lodestar Ranch #2)

Chapter 1

1

Essie

I f there was one thing Braxton Hale excelled at, it was ruining a good time.

Specifically, my good time.

I took a casual sip of my club soda with lime and pretended I didn’t see Brax glaring at my reflection in the oily mirror from two barstools down. He’d probably already tattled to my twin brother, Jack. Later tonight I’d get an email from somewhere in the world—Jack rarely gave me an exact location, preferring to keep it vague, like “the Middle East” or “Africa”—demanding to know why I was at the Painted Cat, flirting with Alan Gaffney, a man a decade older who had a reputation for being a mean drunk.

Because of course Brax thought I was flirting. That was what I wanted him to think—the him being Alan Gaffney, of course. I didn’t give a hot damn in hell what Brax thought, so long as he didn’t think I was here to get the man good and drunk so I could steal his horse.

Which was exactly what I was there to do.

A good time if ever there was one, and I was not about to let Brax Hale ruin it for me.

Pretending Brax didn’t exist, I angled my body toward Alan and swung my leg, letting the short skirt I was wearing creep up my thigh another inch, because I wasn’t above such things.

Alan was whining about something because, in addition to being a mean drunk, he was a man-baby.

I cupped my chin in my hands and stared at him like I found it all super fascinating. “Tell me more about that.”

It was something I’d heard my friend, Chloe Adams, say and it never failed to get someone talking. Of course, Chloe was working on her doctorate in psychology in addition to being a barista at the local coffee shop, and she actually cared about the answer. Whereas I only cared about hearing whether Alan was slurring his words yet.

“It’s like this,” he said, each syllable perfectly crisp.

I sighed and rubbed my temple. That was the problem with getting a drunk drunk. It took a lot more alcohol to get them there. Reluctantly, I pushed my empty glass across the bar toward Janie, who took it with a raised eyebrow.

“Another round?” she asked .

I nodded. I was drinking a gin gimlet, hold the gin, but that was a secret between me and Janie. She hadn’t asked why and I liked that about her. A splash of something stronger to get me through this tedious conversation with Alan would have been nice, but that wasn’t a good idea. Rule Number One of horse rustling was don’t get drunk on the job. Probably, anyway. This was my first go at it, but I already suspected I was a natural.

“And another beer for my friend,” I added as Alan tipped the last of his ale down his throat.

His grin was lascivious as he swayed toward me. “Thank you, friend .”

I didn’t like anything about that, but I managed to swallow my vomit and smile back. “How about a shot of whiskey to wash it down?” I suggested to speed things along. “You could use it after such a rough day.”

“Top shelf.” His eyes glinted.

The audacity. What, exactly, did he think he was offering me in return? Sloppy sex? He couldn’t honestly believe he was worth top shelf. I could do better for myself with both hands tied behind my back.

Janie looked at me, waiting. Masking my wince, I nodded. “Top shelf.”

God damn , stealing a horse was an expensive thing. Paying in liquor might cost me more than paying in cash—which I had already tried, to no avail. If there was one universal truth of abusers, it was that they liked to keep the object of their abuse close, whether they were beating a woman or beating an animal.

Alan had been guilty of both at one time or another. His wife had had the good sense to leave his sorry ass years ago, but Pirate never had that option. Alan had won him as a leggy yearling in a poker game with a rich kid who had more money than sense. In the two years since, he’d kept him locked in his backyard that was barely big enough for a dog, forgetting to feed him more often than not.

I might never have known about it, but Alan liked to brag. There wasn’t a single person in Aspen Springs, Colorado, who hadn’t heard how Alan Gaffney had won Gee Whizz’s colt with a straight flush and someday he’d be rich from stud fees.

Unlikely, considering Pirate spent every day standing cannon deep in his own shit, thrush evident in both hind hooves.

It made my blood boil thinking about it now. Boiled my blood and steeled my resolve.

Getting Pirate out of there was worth every cent of that whiskey. More. Not because the blood of a champion ran through his veins, but because the heart of a champion beat in his chest. I had taken one look at his mismatched eyes—one blue, one brown—and promptly fallen in love.

I had to save him.

“Hellion. ”

The word was a breeze against my bare neck, causing a riot of goosebumps on my arms. I spun slowly on my barstool and tilted my chin up to meet Brax’s disapproving gaze. “Prig.”

It was our standing greeting, at least for the last fifteen years or so—that is, when we bothered to greet each other at all. Mostly we ignored each other or let our glares do the talking.

With a narrow glance at Alan, he gripped my elbow with one large hand, hauled me off my stool and into a corner at the far side of the bar, and proceeded to loom over me in a way that made me wish for a few extra inches on my five-nine height.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing, Essie?” he demanded, his voice barely more than a low rumble.

I gave a toss of my ponytail and batted my eyes, knowing it would piss him off even more. “Having fun.”

He glowered. “That’s what I was afraid of.”

You used to like my idea of fun . That was the kind of thing I would never say out loud, due to the high risk of it coming out wistful. And honestly? Death first. I would never give him the satisfaction.

Brax had always been a stickler for rules when we were kids. My brother Jack was even worse. Still, the three of us—Brax, Jack, and me—had been a tight trio. We had done everything together, right up to the day in our junior year of high school when Brax almost died. That had changed things—between me and Brax , anyway. He was still close with my brother. He liked Jack, the way he used to like me. Nothing had changed for them, not even when Jack joined the Army.

It was me he took umbrage with.

Umbrage . That was a good word. Too bad I so rarely had a reason to use it. I almost never took umbrage, aside from animal abusers. Unlike Brax, who took umbrage against every single thing about me.

“What are you up to, Essie?” He released my elbow and crossed his arms over his chest, legs akimbo, blocking my ability to get up to anything at all.

That annoyed me. Not that he was in my way; Brax wasn’t prone to violence, and I knew his ticklish spots, so getting around him wouldn’t be much of a challenge. No, I was annoyed that I had stood there for a solid minute and hadn’t once thought to remove his hand from my elbow. He’d let go first, like my elbow had served its purpose and was no longer of any interest to him.

Galling, really.

I almost took umbrage with it.

But I had the feeling he would like that, so I simply smiled, knowing he wouldn’t like that at all. “Can’t a girl have a couple drinks and some laughs on a Friday night without people jumping down her throat?”

“Sure. But you’re not having some laughs, Essie. You haven’t laughed once. Alan Gaffney has never said a single interesting thing in his life, even by accident, and you rubbed your temple a moment ago. That means you’re bored. Boring people give you a headache. The fact that you’re still here talking to that jackass means you’re up to something. Tell me what it is.”

Damn our thirteen years of friendship.

“You know,” I said coolly, “it’s customary to forget all those intimate little details you learned about a person when the friendship no longer exists.”

The corner of his mouth kicked up. “That so?”

“A gentleman would. It’s the polite thing to do.”

“See, that’s the problem, right there.” He leaned forward, his gaze hot as it seared into mine. “I’ve never felt like much of a gentleman where you’re concerned.”

My pulse jumped at the base of my throat as I swallowed hard. If Brax pushed me against the wall right now and put his hand up my skirt, I would be slow to stop him. I blamed his forearms and broad shoulders. It should be illegal to look that hot on the outside and be that irritating on the inside. False advertising, that’s what it was.

I gave him a good, hard shove that failed to move him even a little bit. “You’ve been a gentleman every goddamn day of your life, Brax, because that’s how your mama raised you, so don’t try acting all tough with me. Even when you’re asshole, you’re a gentleman about it.”

Which was exactly why I was going to win this little game. Brax was a gentleman to his core. Fortunately for Pirate, I was no lady .

“Get out of my way. I need to piss.” I pushed past him, my shoulder hitting him somewhere in the bicep.

He let me pass like I knew he would. Sucker . I glanced over my shoulder to see him settle in next to my empty barstool and then jerked my chin at Janie. She followed me to the bathroom.

I handed her a wad of cash. “For Alan’s next four drinks.”

I almost felt bad about it, but the truth was, he was going to drink those drinks regardless of whether I was paying for them. Around ten, he’d pass out in his truck in the parking lot, too drunk to drive home. It was his Friday night routine. Me paying for it was for my own peace of mind, to make sure he stayed where I needed him to, for as long as I needed him to.

Janie nodded and tucked the money into her pocket. “And Brax?”

I heaved a long-suffering sigh. “Not much anyone can do about him,” I groused. “Try to stall him, I guess.”

“I’ll do my best. Go out the back door, okay?”

“Thanks.” I paused. “You know, we have a sewing club. Saturdays at the library, ten a.m. You should come.”

“A sewing club?” She wrinkled her nose.

I laughed at her unenthusiastic response. “It’s fun,” I promised. “You get to stab things.”

“Huh.” She tilted her head, looking interested.

The sun was low in the sky when I slipped out the back door of the bar. There was just enough daylight left for me to pick up Pirate and get him settled for the night. But first I had to slow Brax down. I grabbed the rapid tire deflator from my SUV—a nifty little device that had come in handy on more than one occasion—and squatted next to Brax’s truck, adrenaline making my heart race as the air whooshed out with a hiss.

And then, even though I knew I shouldn’t, I pressed my lips against the windshield. I wanted to leave no doubt in his mind that it was me. That I had won.

In my rearview mirror, I caught sight of him bursting out of the bar as I tore out of the parking lot, the empty horse trailer rattling behind me. I grinned. He was too late to stop me.

“Toodle-oo, mother fucker,” I muttered, and hit the gas.