Chapter 36
Rhylan: Eight Months Later
“Liam, Conrad, Deacon, Walker, Matthew.”
“Lucy, Mallory, Celine, Cadence, Raina. Five and five. We’re getting there.” Dakota and I had been running through our baby name lists as the due date approached. We’d already confirmed the gender—twice, but she insisted on having a name chosen for both as a just-in-case.
“Oh god, you two have been at this for fucking days… Just pick one already!” Tiffany groaned from the wicker chaise lounge, dramatically throwing an arm over her eyes while my wife and I cuddled up on the daybed swing.
It was another gloomy, misty morning on the ranch; the rich scent of petrichor soothing the senses. Dakota always made time to relax on the back porch, even when it was raining.
Occasionally, I’d join her; others, I’d sip my coffee while resting my forearms on the kitchen island, watching her through the windows as she swayed in the breeze.
There wasn’t a thing in the world that could prevent me from admiring the world’s most gorgeous woman as she rested a hand against her round belly, beautifully swollen with our first of many.
“Aww, did someone wake up on the wrong side of their stud this morning?” I couldn’t resist antagonizing Tiffany, especially when I had the chance to do it in my well-rehearsed ‘Dad’ voice. It pissed her off… a lot.
“That’s not—D, are you seriously going to let him talk to me like that again?”
Dakota just gave her sister a simple shrug and a smile—the one I loved, full of warmth and affection.
“He’s gotta practice on someone. Besides, I think Trent would throat punch him if given the chance.” Nothing phased her these days. Killing targets for the MUR like a badass while simultaneously requesting a Diet Coke and fries.
“I don’t even know why I bother coming over anymore.
You’re always taking his side over mine now…
” Tiffany got up from her seat, rolling her eyes as she crossed her arms with her typical pouty attitude and bitter tone.
“Mild jealousy aside, I should probably go; Trent and I have a job that needs handling tonight, and I need a new outfit before we leave.”
“Tell Daddy I said ‘Howdy’.” I tried my fuckin’ hardest to channel my inner Silas, remaining straight-faced when dealing out smart-ass comments like cards in a round of poker.
“Fuck you, Rhylan. Count yourself lucky I have impulse control.” Tiffany shot me a deadly glare, flipping me off as she stepped off the porch, already fed up with my shit, and it wasn’t even ten in the morning.
“Trent would never—Ow!” My wife elbowed me hard in the ribs the second her sister cleared the corner of our house, out of sight and earshot.
“That wasn’t funny.” Okay… but it was. “Do you always have to piss her off?”
“Not my fault she still feels the need to come over here and act like she owns the place. This is my house, darlin’. I make the—”
“Our house, and she’s the reason we’re lying here together. Remember that, darlin’.” This remarkable woman, always putting me in my place. If she didn’t hate it so much when I did it, I’d get on my knees and bark right about now.
“Yes, ma’am. On another note, what’d the doctor have to say about my future legacy?” Yesterday, Dakota had one of her last three appointments, but was tired when she got home, crawling straight into bed until dinner, and by then I’d forgotten to ask.
Since this was our first, I enlisted the help of Chase Morris—another member of the MUR who performs with Red Magic—to serve as her obstetrician. He promised to be there from her initial appointment up until delivery.
The moment Dakota goes into labor, Chase will get the call to arrive at the hospital. He’s already planned to be in Nashville a week before her expected due date to make himself readily available for the big day.
Just another one of the many benefits of having members with specialized careers in the organization.
“He said no talk of murder until the age of eighteen.” Fair, although I knew it wasn’t her doctor who said that. “I still can’t believe couples allow their sons to initiate...”
“All by choice. No one forces their kids, and neither will we. But if he wants to join, I’ll make sure he’s well prepared before the time comes.”
Where ‘normal’ parents would strive for their children to follow in their footsteps, we understand the cost of joining.
So, generally, we don’t. To have a legacy initiated into the MUR is every father’s dream, but we aren’t heartless psychos.
We all know the value of a life. Historically, it’s more common for them not to join.
At eighteen, sons are given the choice to join the brotherhood, but even within families, our society remains a secret. Daughters would never be told what their parents or brothers do behind closed doors, unless they marry into it. To my knowledge, that’s only happened once.
“Aren’t you nervous about the kind of person he’d become?” Dakota had been concerned from the moment we found out we were having a boy, and I’d never dare to think about crossing a line that she’s drawn.
If she said no, then I wouldn’t question her decision. But I’ve also been doing my best to reassure her that if he did choose to follow in my footsteps, it wasn’t necessarily a bad thing.
“Rare as they are, I’ve met a few legacies.
Dallas, for example, is more down-to-earth than you’d expect as the son of a former revue leader who’s now a leader himself.
Granted, at times he can be a little… much, but the real unhinged members are the ones who come out of fuckin’ nowhere.
Like literal bats outta hell. Like Nick, Nash… or Dane.”
“When will I get to meet them? The wives outside of Nashville...”
While she was fortunate to have her sister close by to confide in, Dakota did wonder what the wives in Vegas were like compared to the women here. From what I’ve heard, they’re exceptional.
“You’ll get to meet them all at the next Gala. Dustin hosts it every five years, and it’s an event to remember. It’s the one night where we all come together as one massive fucking family. The members are good people, Dakota. Some are even better than us.”
Being introduced as the newest revue to join the organization at our first Gala was nerve-racking.
But when all fifteen of us Kerosene Cowboys arrived, we were welcomed with open arms. It gave us all a raw feeling of belonging, as if we’d been there from the beginning, and that was the definition of a brotherhood.
Seeing one of the large parlor rooms thriving with enthusiastic wives gave us hope at the possibility of a future we assumed wouldn’t be possible, regardless of what we’d been told. They were the reason why we established the buckle-branded–
“I almost forgot, I’ve got something for you.” I gently slid out from underneath my wife, lowering her back down on the daybed before darting inside to the bedroom where I’d hidden her gift for safekeeping.
Every cowboy receives a buckle specially designed and crafted for their future bride. I’d stored mine with a picture of Dakota that I’d taken on San Padre Island.
After grabbing the black box and photo from my top drawer, I brought them both outside and set them on the daybed beside her. Dakota quickly sat up, eager and curious about the gift, her eyes shifting from the box to the photo as she picked it up with shaky fingers.
“This… this was my trip with Tiff… the dress…” I could see the gears turning in her head as she remembered that trip, eventually connecting the dots as to why I’d chosen that exact outfit for our vows. “You were there?”
She wasn’t afraid. My wife looked up at me in awe, her eyes brimming with tears at the sentimental value that dress now held for us both.
Since I’d come clean about the stalking, Dakota wasn’t bothered by the fact that I’d always been in her shadow. She saw it for exactly what it was—obsessive love.
I nodded toward the black box, and she set the picture down, her fingertips brushing lightly across the matte velvet before reaching the seam and slowly prying it open.
Inside was her belt buckle forged to match mine; the one I’ve been wearing every night at Kerosene since the day she said yes. The buckle that represents my loyalty to her more than a ring ever could.
Cowboys wearing that specific buckle were deemed off-limits, and we made sure that the women who came to our shows respected that boundary. It was a line none of us would ever cross.
“Am I…?” Her sobs muffled her words, but it wasn’t hard to understand what she was trying to say.
“Officially a buckle-branded? That you are, Darlin’, and you’ll wear that buckle with pride.” I couldn’t wait to see her wearing it every night when she stops by after work. I’ll gladly pull her up on the bar and show my girl off with every chance I get; light a few extra blowtorches in her honor.
As I bent down to go in for a kiss, my wife took the dark leather hat right off my head, placed it on hers, then pulled me in close by the collar of my T-shirt, our lips nearly touching.
“There’s just something about you, Cowboy.”