Chapter 7
SEVEN
MILES
Macy whines as I knock the debris out from her hooves, picking out all the hay and dirt crammed in the grooves. It never hurts her, nor any of the other horses, but I swear it’s like cutting the nails of a toddler all the same.
Whining and crying, tooting and hollering, for absolutely nothing.
“Oh, would you shush, you old bat?” I grumble as she neighs again. “Why are you the only one giving me trouble today, huh?”
I’m surprised by the soft, feminine voice that answers. “Maybe because you’re an old man who needs some ‘youngins’ to put you in our place.”
The sound of Kayla’s voice has me standing straight and turning toward the barn door. I feel like I’ve hardly seen her or Collin the last month, which is absolutely wild considering we live in the same fucking house.
“You know this horse is probably older than you, right?”
She chuckles as she walks up. My eyes take her in slowly—from the loose, ripped jean shorts hugging her dark thighs, all the way to her braids that have threads of pink in them—before I finally meet her brown eyes.
God, if the pink in her hair didn’t make me pause and think of that night over and over again.
But there could be no way.
Right?
Her breath hitches slightly under my gaze. “You got me there, chief.”
I shake my head. “Cowboy, ma’am.”
“Cowboy?”
As I squat down to get back to Macy, breaking our eye contact, my mouth tilts in a smirk. “What other name could you come up with?”
She doesn’t answer. Instead, she takes out her phone, and the sound of the shutter starts in seconds. I turn to her with a faux glare. “What in the hell are you doing?”
She raises an eyebrow at me in confusion. “Being your social media manager? You need more pictures for the ranch.”
I wag a finger at her. “Nah uh. None of me.”
She pouts. “Dawwww, does the old man not want to be in front of a camera?”
“Girly…” I warn.
“C’mon, gramps. What’s the big deal? It’s not like you have any tattoos connected to the Russian mob or something.” She pauses. “Right?”
And instantly, my throat goes dry.
Because… no, I’m not connected to the Russian mob. But I am connected to my late wife, whose name is tattooed on my pelvis. And in turn—I’m connected to a glory hole, where two strangers gave me the best blowjob of my life.
By a fucking man.
Fuck.
My brows pinch together as heat spreads across my cheeks. I cough awkwardly. “N-no. No Russian mob tattoos.”
She nods. “Fantastic. So, you’ll be in front of the camera. Glad we cleared that up.”
Before I can respond again, the distinct sound of my phone buzzing in my back pocket cuts me off. Kayla nods her head in a way of saying goodbye as I reach for it and swipe to answer.
“Yes?” I ask.
A whistle comes through the phone as Gavin, one of my longest-working cowboys, answers. “You give such delightful greetings.”
I roll my eyes, only wishing he could see. “Princess treatment is for my daughter only, dipshit. Not my ranchers. What do you need?”
He hesitates. The hitch in his breath gets my attention, and I move out of Macy’s stall to pace.
Gavin’s never nervous.
The line is silent for a couple more seconds before I snap, “Spit it out, kid.”
His words are rushed. “Does your employee, Kayla, still work for you?”
I blink in surprise.
I thought someone was dying.
What the fuck?
“Uh, yeah,” I mutter, swiveling my head to make sure Kayla is long gone. “Why?”
“Uhm.” He pauses. “I was doing some… stuff, earlier. And I found videos. Of her. Of two of your employees, actually. And I just wanted to make sure you knew, since that could be… ya know, a public image concern.”
I’ve never been more confused in my life. “What kind of videos? Kayla does social media. It’s not atypical for her to be in some of the, uh… trends, I think is the word.”
Gavin chokes on a laugh, forcing it into a cough. “I think she does more than social media, Miles. And so does your boy, Collin.”
I turn toward the barn door again and resist the urge to throw my hands up. “Yeah, no shit. Collin is in accounting.”
Gavin sighs. “How did you become so successful when you’re so hard to communicate with?”
Now I do throw my hands up. “By telling people to stop beating around the fucking bush. Now tell me what’s going on.”
He hesitates. “Okay, yeah. I’m gonna send you a link. You’re not allowed to fire me though, okay? Swear it.”
From those words alone, I’m instantly reminded that I’m talking to a twenty-one-year-old kid, and my anger falls in an instant. Fucking fantastic at his job—his upbringing harder than hell—but still just a fragile bean.
I sigh. “I promise. Can I go now?”
The phone beeps in response, showing he hung up.
It’s not even seconds later before my phone buzzes again—but this time, in the form of a message.
I click on it blindly, only to nearly drop my phone.
The words come out of my throat before I can stop them. “Holy fucking shit.”
I click play.
And I watch as Kayla and Collin, in the same clothes they were in that night, suck a man off through a fucking glory hole.
Not just any man, I realize.
Me.