Chapter 12
CHAPTER TWELVE
Ain't nothin' worse than a long week of shoein' horses when you've got the worst case of blue balls known to man.
The Birmingham ranch was my last stop this week and, because the old man was at an eye doctor appointment, I was in and out quick without a lot of chit-chat.
Cowboys ain't big talkers, but Bart Birmingham is a whole different breed.
Senile as fuck, too. Fortunately, his sons were all but runnin' the show these days, and they were a bunch of quiet, grumpy fucks.
Reminded me of my brother.
Speakin' of the grump, my phone had buzzed with a few texts when I was just wrappin' up. No better time to check it, other than the fact that my mama'd have my head for textin' and drivin'.
LUKE
Met the new chick on WA
Hot
I thumbed out a reply, gritting my teeth so damn hard my jaw'd be achin' later.
brODY
You ain't her type
And she ain't "a chick"
You'd know that if you knew anything about women
Asshole musta been sittin' there—feet kicked up on the store counter—just waitin' for my response because he replied in an instant.
LUKE
Yeah and if you knew anything about women, you'd be married
Oh, fuck this guy.
brODY
I'm telling mom
LUKE
I'm sorry
brODY
That's what I thought
Didn't matter how old we got. We were both still mama's boys through and through.
brODY
And be nice to Calvin
LUKE
I WAS nice. Helped her load up her truck. Even asked her for a drink but she kinda blew me off.
And that had me grinnin'. Maybe she wanted to be just friends with me but at least she was friend-zoning Luke, too. Not sure I could compete with my baby brother. He had that same big, broody bastard thing goin' for him that those Birmingham dudes had.
I'd always been a little bit softer, but I just covered it up behind a laugh and a smile.
Seemed like the only people who saw through that bullshit, though, were my mom and now… Calvin.
I pulled up to the last of three stop signs between Larkspur and the Birmingham ranch. It was pretty much a straight shot down Route 89, but if I turned off right here, I could swing by Wild Acre.
Didn't have much of a need to. Could see my horse. Check on Rhett.
Or make a dozen other excuses for why I'd be there.
In reality, I just wanted to see her.
And that was dangerous fuckin' territory.
She'd made herself crystal clear.
We were nothin'. She didn't need my help or me hangin' around on the ranch, panting after her.
Better I just head on home, take a shower, beat off, and hope like hell I could get her out of my head before the next time I had to make it out to the ranch. After all, I had a job to do.
I tapped my fingers on the steering wheel. No cars around. Just me and my thoughts. My piss-poor decision-making skills.
For once, I did the right thing. I stayed the course.
Drove home.
Took a shower.
Fucked my fist.
Then took a nap.
It felt like I had just closed my eyes when my phone buzzed on the coffee table. Squinting one eye open against the too-bright summer sunset shinin' through the apartment's living room window, I picked it up and checked the time.
Almost half past six. Woke up just in time for my programs.
I slid open the text notification.
RHETT
Might wanna get down to the bar.
brODY
Why's that?
RHETT
Just trust me.
brODY
Better be good. Was just gettin ready to watch Real Housewives.
RHETT
You need to find some taste
Get down here. Ain't dealin with this shit alone.
And that had my attention. No matter what the issue was, I wouldn't let my best friend deal with it on his own.
I slipped on a clean pair of jeans and a gray t-shirt. Threw on my boots and hat because wasn't sure if we'd be gettin' up to cowboy shit tonight. If I was about to be throwin' a punch, I oughta be wearin' my hat.
After a few minutes, I finally made it down the staircase that led out to the back parking lot and made a sharp U-turn into the dimly lit bar. Wasn't prepared for what I saw, though—Calvin and Sassy cuttin' a rug.
"What in the sweet baby Jesus is goin' on there?" I said, sidlin' up to Rhett where he sat on a stool in the corner of the bar.
"Oh, haven't you heard? Those girls are the best of friends now."
I blinked. "I beg your finest fuckin' pardon?"
"Mhm."
"And how in the good fuck did that happen?"
Rhett just laughed and took a sip of his beer. "Your guess is as good as mine. Thought for sure they'd spend the summer tryin' to kill each other."
I gulped. "Should I be scared?"
"Probably."
Just then, Sassy turned toward us and crooked a finger. I couldn't tell who she was pointin' to, so with brows creepin' up my forehead I gestured between me and Rhett in question.
Sassy merely shrugged then turned around to keep dancin' with Calvin, like she didn't quite care which of us came to her.
She'd take either.
I wasn't touchin' that landmine with a ten-foot pole.
"All you, brother." I clasped a hand on Rhett's shoulder before turnin' to the bar and holdin' up a hand for Hank.
The air shifted behind me. He'd taken the bait.
Sucker.
"What'll it be, uglier of the two Lancaster spawn?"
Goddamn, Hank was brutal. I rubbed my palm against my chest.
"Jesus, Hank. Give a guy a break, will ya?" He simply glared at me, one clear eye and one cloudy. "I'll just have a beer tonight. Got any of that Moose Drool left?"
"No. That was for a special occasion. Your weddin'," he deadpanned. "Gone now. Kinda like your hopes and dreams."
"Alright, Hank. Guinness is fine."
He turned to pour my beer with a scowl just as a butt plopped down in the seat Rhett had just vacated.
"For what it's worth"—Calvin's husky voice had my head snappin' her direction—"I'd argue you're the more handsome Lancaster brother."
Somethin' in the kitchen must have caught fire, because the temperature in The BP spiked a good hundred degrees.
I swallowed hard as I took her in. Fuck, she was every red-blooded cowboy's wet dream. Skin-tight jeans. White, V-neck T-shirt dipped low, showin' off her gorgeous tits. Her lips were painted fire-engine red and I so badly wanted them wrapped around my cock again.
But it was her eyes that really got me. She'd done that smokey-eye thing I'd told Sassy looked great a million times before when we'd gone out.
Never paid too much attention to it—just told her she was beautiful, because she was.
But on Calvin? Whatever the fuck she'd done to her face had my brain skippin' like the old ass jukebox at the end of the bar.
And as if that hadn't been enough all on its own, she had to go and fucking smile up at me.
Like she was fucking happy to see me.
God.
Fucking.
Damnit.
I was toast. Completely gone for this girl after one fucking night eating her pussy.
Okay, it was more than that. We'd had a good talk, a good walk on the ranch. We played cards in the bunkhouse. She knew about all my… shit with Sassy.
And she was still here, still smilin'.
Hank dropped my glass on the bar top, startling me outta my gawk fest. I blinked, shook myself a little bit. "Thanks, Hank."
Before he could grumble any additional obscenities my way, the deadly viper next to me spoke up.
"Hey Hank," she said, all sickly sweet. Maybe she was about to devour him, fangs out and jaw unhinged, for talkin' shit. "Honey, can I get another round of tequila for me and Sass?"
"You got it, sugar." Hank winked his cloudy eye at her and I physically felt my nose wrinkle as I looked back at Calvin.
"Was Hank just… nice to you? Were you nice to him? What in the actual fuck is goin' on here? Hank ain't nice. And you ain't neither." I pointed a finger in her beautiful, cackling face. "Hey, knock it off—"
She struck fast, like a viper was known to do, and gripped the index finger I held a handful of inches from her face. All it took was a little tug and I stepped into her, crowdin' the space around her bar stool as she placed a gentle kiss against the tip of my finger.
And I was rock fucking hard in my jeans.
From a.
Kiss.
On.
My.
Fingertip.
Jesus fucking Lord.
Trying to retain some sense of my good name, I pulled my hand back, but she didn't let go. Nope, just casually maneuvered her fingers through mine til they were clasped together, danglin' between us.
I mustered up all the stern, alpha-asshole bravado I could find. "Friends don't kiss friend's fingers, Calvin."
She just batted her pretty, black-painted lashes at me. She may have been sittin' on the bar stool, a whole foot below my eye level, but she might as well have been the tallest one in the room for all the attitude she packed in that tight-as-fuck body.
"Can't ya let a girl have a little fun, boy scout? It's been a long week and I'm feelin' a little tense." Hank set her tequila shots down gently without so much as a muttered curse. "How 'bout you loosen up a little with me, huh?"
Oh, for fuck's sake.
"Let's dance," she said, followed by a grin before she tossed back a shot of tequila then handed me another.
This was 'bout to be a long fuckin' night.