Chapter 7
CHAPTER SEVEN
Hooooly fuck.
This wasn't just your run-of-the-mill small-town drama.
This shit felt Shakespearean.
I hustled toward the bunkhouse, already hating how much I had put myself smack-dab in the middle of this shit show.
Well, maybe not the middle.
That looked to be Sass.
Whatever the fuck kinda name that was. Viper had a much better ring to it. Part of me wanted to turn right around, ask Brody if he was okay. Because, damn, the bomb he just dropped came with some serious devastation. I'd seen plenty of cowboy drama in my day, but none that emotionally gutting.
All the bits from the last few hours started arranging into a much clearer picture. One that had me wanting to scoop my boy scout up into a big hug and hold him.
Let his ex and Rhett figure their shit out while I happily distracted Brody from the mess of his life, his probable heartbreak.
I had almost made it to the bunkhouse door when a hand caught my elbow, jerking me to a stop. I looked down to where Brody gripped my arm. Despite wanting to wrap him up like a broken bird, I spoke in the low, controlled voice I'd perfected when dealing with men of a certain variety.
"Let go of me. Now." He immediately pulled his hands up in surrender. "And don't you ever fuckin' touch me like that again."
Too many times in my life had a man taken liberties with my body because he was bigger and stronger. But strong men, good men, didn't need to toss a woman around to get her to listen.
I didn't need to voice it, though. The clench of Brody's jaw told me he could read between the lines well enough.
"I'm sorry, Calvin." He looked almost panicked. "I just really don't fuckin' want you stayin' in the bunkhouse. They're a bunch of assholes and—"
For a brief moment, my mind flashed back to last night—he'd been so eager to please, so willing to let me lead. This cowboy was one of the good ones. I knew that down to the marrow of my bones. But clearly, he'd been goin' through it. So I could cut him some slack, soften my tone.
"I can handle assholes, boy scout. What I can't handle is you assuming I can't take care of myself. I've been doin' it a helluva long time and around plenty of cowboys, too."
The shift in his expression was immediate—eyebrows raised, lips quirked with what looked suspiciously like amusement. But there was something else there, too. Something that made my stomach flip in ways I didn't particularly appreciate.
"Got a thing for cowboys, do ya?"
His gaze flicked toward the bunkhouse, and I caught the flash of something darker beneath his teasing tone. Jealousy? Concern? Whatever it was, it made heat prickle along my skin.
"Ya know how some kids were army brats? Well, I was a rodeo brat."
The words tumbled out before I could stop them. Christ, why was I telling him this? The golden stubble on his jaw caught the afternoon light as he processed what I'd said. The playful cowboy vanished, replaced by something softer, more serious.
"Well, shit. That ain't no life for a kid."
The sympathy in his voice scraped against something raw. I'd gotten real good at keeping that particular wound sealed tight, but there was something about the way he looked at me—like he could see straight through the armor I'd spent years forging.
"You're not wrong. But, my daddy had one love, and it wasn't me."
Oh, god. Was this diarrhea of the mouth? Stop. Fucking. Talking.
The words hung between us like a rope bridge—sturdy enough to cross, but still swaying with the weight of what I'd just revealed. Brody's eyes searched my face, and I could see the gears turning in his head. He was cataloging every scar, every defensive wall I'd just let slip.
Jesus, why did this golden boy have to look at me like that when all I wanted to do was get laid and get paid?
"That's his loss then, honey."
The endearment rolled off his tongue soft as butter, and something in my chest did a traitorous little flutter.
Damn him. I'd spent years perfecting the art of indifference, and he was finding cracks I didn't even know existed.
I had to resist the urge to reach out and smooth away the furrow that had taken up residence between his brows.
Instead, I lifted my chin and let a smirk play at the corners of my mouth—the same one that had made grown men back down in dive bars from here to Texas.
"I think I prefer viper."
With a taunting lift of my brows, I pulled open the door of the bunkhouse and marched on in. Three steps in and I stopped. "Alright, listen up!" I shouted. Two heads whipped my way just as my boy scout barreled right into the back of me, hands shooting out to grip my biceps.
"Shit," he whispered against my hair. "Sorry." He gave my arms a little squeeze, and the press of his body against mine had a shiver running down my spine.
Here I was, trying to bad bitch up and lay down the law with these cowboys and instead I was getting all hot and bothered by sunshine in man form.
Ridiculous.
Brody dropped his hands and stepped up to my side, but said nothing. Simply let me take the lead, like he'd already proven he was so good at doing. I peeked up at him, his brow furrowed, arms crossed, ready and waiting to back me up if I needed him.
I wouldn't.
"Just the two of you?" I asked the two men playing cards at the small dining table in the kitchen space.
"Yes, ma'am," the one on the left said.
They were both young—probably in their late twenties. Didn't make me that much older than them, but I'd been dealing with cowboys of all ages long enough to know that they all scared the same.
"Either of y'all call me ma'am ever again, I'll pull your balls out your throat. Got it?"
Their wide-eyed nods told me I had their attention.
"Good. Now, I'm sure y'all aren't used to having a lady in the bunkhouse—"
Brody bent to whisper in my ear. "You ain't no lady, viper."
The look I shot his way had lesser men tuckin' tail and running. Not this boy scout, though. He simply grinned, eyes lighting underneath the brim of his chocolate felt Stetson.
"—but I'll be hangin' around for the summer, so get used to it. We'll all get along just fine if you keep your hands to yourself and your shit cleaned up."
"Yes, ma—" the one on the right stopped short, eyes wide.
"You can call me Calvin, and that'll be just fine."
The kid's shoulders relaxed a fraction, like he'd found safe ground after navigating a minefield. Smart boy. Relief washed over his sun-weathered face.
"Yes, Ms. Calvin."
Now that had a nice ring to it. Better than ma'am, with its stuffy formality that made me feel ancient.
Ms. Calvin struck the perfect balance—respectful without being patronizing, authoritative without being cold.
I let the title roll around in my head for a moment, weighing how it felt.
Like wearing a perfectly tailored jacket that hugged in all the right places.
"Alright, now deal me in."
I tossed my duffel on an open bunk and took a seat at the table.
All the while, my boy scout stood in the doorway, looking at me like I hung the goddamn moon.
Shit, I really needed to stop thinkin' about him as my anything.
Sure, he gave me a mind-blowing orgasm with just his tongue.
And sure, his cock was, in fact, massive and I'd love to take it for a ride.
But he was all drama, and I didn't need that shit.
If I was smart, I would steer clear of Brody Lancaster and his supporting cast of characters.
Except I was a lot of things. Smart just wasn't one of 'em.
"You comin', Brody?"
"Yes, Ms. Calvin," he shot back with a wink.