Chapter 4
Ace of Hearts.
Cole
Damn. This girl is going to be trouble. And if she and Maggie actually get along? Jesus Christ.
Dad said he was going to rent out the guesthouse. Said it’d be nice to have some extra money coming in since it’d been sitting empty. It made sense. What he didn’t say was that the first person he’d rent it to would be her. A girl from Seattle. Layla.
A girl like her probably likes men in suits. The kind who drink wine, drive Benzes, talk too much about restaurants and stocks. She ain’t used to men like me. Men who ride horses. Get dirty. Stay dirty.
She seems like a good girl, though. That part annoys me more than it should. Maggie won’t shut up about her. All these little details she picked up today, how Layla’s an author, how excited she got over the horses, how she laughed like she didn’t even realize anyone was listening.
Like I care. I don’t give a shit. I shouldn’t remember any of this, I don't know why I keep listening to Maggie while she talks about her. She’ll be here for six months.
Maybe less, if she can’t hack it. Then she’ll leave, and we’ll never see her again.
Temporary people leave, that’s how it always ends.
I’m not getting attached. I don’t want to know her story. Temporary people don’t get space in my head.
Bang. Bang. Bang.
“Dinner’s gonna be done in thirty minutes!” Maggie yells through the door. “Can you hurry it up in there?”
“Leave me alone—use Luke’s!” I shout back over the shower.
Water rushes over my feet, carrying dirt down the drain. Every day it’s the same. Dirt under my nails. Sweat in my clothes. This place takes everything you’ve got. And now Layla’s coming to dinner.
Again.
Why does my family insist on inviting her to every damn meal? It’s like she can’t exist on this property without being included in everything. I turn the water off harder than necessary.
I wrap a towel around my waist and step into my bedroom.
I pass Maggie in the hall and she stares daggers at me. Then she slams the bathroom door.
“Dammit, Cole! All the hot water’s gone!” she yells.
“Oops,” I mutter.
I pull on jeans and an undershirt, then my boots, the ones I wear around the house. I ain’t trying to impress anybody.
I hear laughter from downstairs. Layla’s laugh. Too loud, too big for this house. She’s early. Again. I head down the stairs and stop short at the bottom.
Layla’s crouched on the floor, petting Rooster—our orange cat. He’s old as hell. Mean-looking. Been around longer than most people.
“He looks grumpy,” she says, looking up at me, “but he’s so sweet.”
I feel my mouth twitch before I can stop it.
“He’s about fifteen.”
“Whoa there, big guy,” she murmurs to him, scratching under his chin. “You take it easy.”
“Come eat!” Dad yells from the kitchen.
Layla stands and walks past me like she’s done it a hundred times. I follow behind as Maggie and Luke practically sprint past us.
“Hey, girl,” Maggie says to her.
“Hey, Layla,” Luke adds.
I watch them for a second too long.
You’d think Layla was a damn gift from God the way my family’s acting. She’s not theirs and she’s not mine. And I don’t like it. Not one bit.
We all head into the dining room, and Layla grabs a chair like she’s one of us and just… sits. No hesitation. No asking. No awkward pause. Like she belongs here already.
She warms up fast.
“So, Layla,” Dad asks, “did you check out the ranch today?”
“I did,” she says easily. “Maggie showed me a lot of things. I actually rode a horse for the first time.”
Maggie lights up. “She’s a natural. Absolutely. Shadow was so calm with her—he really opened up. It was beautiful to see.”
Shadow is a good horse but he doesn’t just act that way for everyone. Must’ve been a fluke.
Layla smiles, cheeks a little pink, and takes a bite of food like she hasn’t just flipped my whole routine upside down.
She fits too easily. I need to know who I’m dealing with. I’m not asking for me.
“You warm up pretty fast,” I say, sharper than I mean to. “How does your family feel about you coming down here to live with strangers for six months… and your boyfriend?”
“Yuck,” Maggie mutters.
Dad rolls his eyes, but I don’t back down. I needed to ask. I don’t know her. She’s in our space. Around my family. I don’t really care—except I do enough to want to know who I’m dealing with. The last thing we need is some kind of serial killer living fifty yards from the house.
Layla pauses, then sets her fork down.
“Well… I don’t have any family,” she says. No drama. Just the truth. “I grew up moving from foster home to foster home. Never knew my mom or dad.”
The room goes quiet. That wasn’t what I expected.
“I always wondered about my last name being Park,” she continues.
“So I did one of those ancestry DNA tests. Turns out my dad was Korean. I couldn’t find anything about my mom, but I figure she was probably white.
Maybe young. Maybe they couldn't take care of me.” She shrugs lightly.
“That’s okay. I don’t hate them. I think I turned out pretty alright. ”
She’s tougher than she looks. I wasn’t ready for that.
“And the boyfriend thing?” she adds with a small, nervous laugh. “Yeah, I don’t have one of those. Writing’s been my life for a while. But if the right one comes along… who knows?”
I feel like an ass. Everyone sits there, forks hovering, unsure what to say.
“I’m sorry,” I mutter. “For prowlin’.”
I don’t apologize easily.
She looks around the table. Calm. Understanding. “No worries at all. I’d be curious too if a stranger showed up in my territory.”
Territory.
Maggie reaches over and squeezes Layla’s arm, and they share a smile that feels… earned.
“I have a feeling we’re gonna be like sisters,” Maggie says.
Maggie doesn’t say things like that lightly.
Layla’s eyes soften. “I’ve always wanted one of those.”
So had Maggie. So had Mom.
Something shifts in my chest. I don’t like it. I don’t like that she said it so simply. Like it wasn’t a big thing. Like wanting a family was normal.
A smile creeps onto my face before I can stop it, faint but real. Maybe this girl needs a family. She needs to know what it feels like when people give a damn. Even if she’s only here for six months. And I don’t trust myself not to give her one.
Once dinner dies down, we all migrate into the living room. Maggie and Layla are a few beers in now—laughing, loose, moving like the night belongs to them. Maggie spins Layla around, showing her how to two-step right there on the rug. They’re definitely tipsy.
“Y’all ready for some Texas Hold ’Em?” Dad calls out.
“Hell yeah,” Maggie says.
“I’m down,” Layla adds.
Yeah, right. Like she knows how to play poker.
“What’s the buy-in?” Layla asks. “Ten or twenty?”
“Twenty,” Dad answers.
Layla looks up at me with a smirk. “You playin’, Scrooge? Or is this too much fun for you?”
I smirk back and drop into the chair across from her.
Oh, she’s goin’ down. She doesn’t know it yet, but I’m the best in this family.
“You’re in for a ride, city girl,” I tell her. “This ain’t Seattle.”
“Bring it, cowboy.”
Woah, that made it jump in my jeans. Something shifts low in my gut at that. I don’t know why, but I feel it immediately and I don’t like that I do. Now that she’s sitting right across from me, it’s harder not to notice her. She knows I’m looking at her.
Dark brown hair, shoulder-length, a little wavy. Tiny freckles scattered across her nose. Lips small but soft-looking. She’s curvy—bigger than what most men go for—but I like that. I like something real. Something warm. What the hell am I thinking? Must be the beer.
We’ve been playing for over an hour. I’ve got the biggest pot, but Layla’s right behind me. Who knew she’d be this good? She shrugs it off, says poker was about the only thing they had to do back in the orphanage.
Now it’s down to just the two of us. Fourth hand. I toss in ten dollars. Layla matches it without blinking.
“What’re you doin’, city girl?”
“Matching you, cowboy.”
The flop hits.
King of spades. Nine of hearts. Seven of clubs.
Hell yeah.
I throw in another ten.
I’ve got two kings in my hand—hearts and clubs. Three of a kind. She might have a king too, but I still beat her. I add five more. The room’s alive now—everyone leaning in. Maggie cheering Layla on. Luke backing me. Dad and Nancy both tense as hell.
Layla raises ten.
No fucking way she’s got the ace.
I match.
The river comes.
Ace of spades.
My heart slams.
Full house.
I don’t lose in my house.
I push all my chips forward. “I’m all in, baby.”
“I like it when you call me baby,” Layla says easily.
There it is again, that pull, that heat in my jeans.
“But,” she adds, “I’m all in too.”
Dad slams his beer on the table. “Alright, enough, call it!”
I lay my cards down. “Full fuckin’ house.”
I reach for the pot—
Then Layla flips her cards.
Ace-high Full House.
I freeze.
She grins, drags the pot toward her, and does a little shimmy, shaking her massive tits right at me, laughing, just enough to be distracting. Maggie and Nancy lose it. Luke claps my shoulder.
“You did good, bro.”
I stare at Layla, jaw tight.
This girl is doing something to me.
“Damn,” Maggie laughs, “she’s even better than Abby.”
That’s it. The room tilts. That name lands like a punch.
“Fuck this,” I mutter, shoving my chair back and grabbing my beer before heading for the front porch.
“Wait—Cole, hold on!” Layla follows me outside. “It’s just poker. You can have the money.”
“It ain’t about the money,” I say, turning away.
She steps closer, her hand landing on my shoulder. “Why do you hate me so much?”
Because if I don’t you'll stay and people who stay always end up leaving at some point. She’s slurring a little. She’s had too much to drink.
“Hate you?” I turn back. “I don’t hate you, Layla.”
She looks up at me like she’s waiting for something more. Like I owe her an explanation.
“I don’t need another person to worry about,” I say quietly.
My eyes drop—to her mouth, then back to her eyes.
Why do I want to kiss her? Why does it feel like she wants me to? She’s not saying anything. Just looking. Waiting.
“I don’t need you to worry about me,” she snaps, pulling away. “I can handle myself.”
She turns and nearly misses the step, almost falling off the porch.
I catch her by the arm, pulling her back into me. Her back hits my chest, and I lean down, voice low by her ear.
“You sure about that?”
She tilts her head, looking up at me. Bites her lip. Licks it. I let her go before I do something stupid. She walks back toward the door, but pauses, glancing over her shoulder at me. And the look she gives me? Yeah. It’s already started.