Chapter 8
The bar smelled of spilled cranberry juice, coconut liqueur, and a faint tang of bubblegum.
Unlike the Tipsy Cow, a true honky-tonk that sat next door, which was all dark wood, neon lights, and rowdy cheers, the Drunken Rooster looked like a cocktail lounge where Barbie threw up.
Despite its name, the walls were a loud flamingo pink, with matching velvet booths and dainty chairs. Every drink arrived in a stemmed glass, delicate as if meant for a fancy tea party, decorative umbrellas optional but sometimes enthusiastically included.
Colter sat in the back booth with his brothers, an espresso martini in front of him, and ran a hand over the brim of his cowboy hat.
He knew they looked absolutely absurd—three stoic, rugged cowboys sitting at a bar with toothpick-strung maraschino cherries and umbrellas in their frilly stemmed glasses.
In this town, Tuesdays, Thursdays, Saturdays, and rotating Sundays were reserved for the Drunken Rooster. The remaining days were spent throwing back a pint or a shot at the Tipsy Cow. It was the town’s way of avoiding an all-out bar-war in Bridlewood.
According to town lore, the feud between the Bukeford twins was less of a disagreement and more a municipal landmark.
For decades, the town had managed just fine with a single bar—until the sisters had a falling out.
They hadn’t spoken a word to each other in nearly twenty years and the feud was so infamous it had become tradition.
Naturally, the assumption was that a man was involved, but the truth was far more personal and Montanan.
The breaking point came the year after their mother, Lucinda, passed. Both sisters entered the Summer Sunflower Spectacular chili cookoff, each claiming the same six-generation family recipe as their own, neither willing to concede ownership or alter a single ingredient.
The judges disqualified them both, and instead of letting it go, the sisters split the bar straight down the middle—each taking half the population with them. What followed was a full-blown, small-town civil war, with locals choosing sides and loyalties hardening over beer taps.
Eventually, the mayor intervened with a compromise: the sisters would alternate nights and divide holidays and Sundays evenly. Peace, Bridlewood-style, was restored, but the feud lived on, cooked permanently into town history like a chili no one dared judge again.
“Did you talk to the breeder?” Eli asked, referring to the female quarter horse they’d gone to see last week. He sat perfectly straight with his back to the wall, posture rigid, ballcap pulled backward and low, while his eyes scoped every entrance and exit in the place.
“Yesterday,” Colter said, already feeling a migraine coming on. He’d like to blame it on the sugary drink, but he knew alcohol had nothing to do with it.
Boone sat across the table, dressed like he’d just ridden a horse into town, which he probably had.
Between rodeoing and ranching, the man was permanently coated in a fine layer of dust and spent so much time on horseback Colter was starting to suspect he legally qualified as part centaur.
His cowboy hat was tipped just enough to suggest he knew exactly what kind of impression he made and didn’t care.
Yeah, his big brother was built more for work than words.
“Who would have thought that a year ago we’d be talking about expanding the ranch to include a breeding program?” Boone asked.
Eli picked up his drink. “We went from near bankruptcy to bank in just a year.”
“Part of that success goes to my lovely fiancée,” Boone said with pride.
Last year, Vivi had breezed into town and turned the ranch on its head.
Not only had she solved the inflating water price problem, she’d masterminded turning their old bunkhouse into a rental for city folks looking for a ranch experience, which was bringing in enough money to help with their ranch expansion.
“When will we have the first mares on the property?”
Colter ran a hand over his forehead, tension knotting in his shoulders. Between his vet practice and the new breeding program, it felt like he was trying to juggle too many horses at once.
The new horses would need constant care, the schedules had to be precise, and any slip could cost them more than just money.
The thought of falling behind gnawed at him, a quiet worry he didn’t often admit out loud, even to himself.
And he sure as hell didn’t want to voice it to his brothers—not when they were looking at him to make this a success.
“We can’t rush this,” Colter said. “Quality matters. You want a bloodline that lasts, you train them, feed them, manage them right. And you wait until we find the right one or our plan is worthless. Plus, we need to put in the new corral before we even think about bringing in the new mares.”
“The fence in the new field will be done by the end of next week,” Boone assured him, making Colter feel like a grade-A asshole since he couldn’t share that same assurance in pulling off his part of the expansion.
“We need a concrete schedule. And don’t forget the new employees.”
Eli looked at Colter. “I thought you were handling the interviews.”
“I am, but finding the right trainer is just as important as the right horse. Which is why I need you two to give me space and time to work it out,” Colter said.
“Speaking of employees,” Eli said. "I hear your new intern is a dead ringer for Jessica Chastain.”
Jessica Chastain with the body of Ashley Graham.
Colter had never been into the girl-next-door type but, Christ almighty, there was something about Sutton that drew him in. Which was why he’d gone on a Sutton-free diet: No Sutton thoughts. No Sutton Dreams. And absolutely no Sutton talk.
“She’s my employee so she’s off limits.” This was said to Eli. “Understand?”
Eli chuckled. “To who? Me or you?”
“Both.”
“Never thought I’d see the day when my brother blushed over a woman.”
“A young woman and I’m not blushing. I’ve had one too many.” He held up his frou-frou martini glass with a sugared rim and realized that he looked like an idiot. Fitting because he felt like one too—especially right then when he was breaking rule number one on his Sutton-free diet.
“Then there isn’t anything there?” Eli asked.
“Nope.”
“Good. Because a woman fitting her description just walked in and is headed straight for Jo and Vivi.”
Colter froze mid-breath, a jolt running through him before his gaze even found her.
That familiar pull—the one that had hit him like a punch the other day at the market settled low, making him aware of every nerve ending—including everything below the belt buckle.
Which bucked and twitched on its own accord.
Game face firmly intact, he turned in his chair and—Sweet mother of god.
In a simple sundress and flats, hair casually pulled back, Sutton radiated a kind of approachable grace that somehow made her impossible to forget.
Then there was the way her sundress hugged her curves, especially her hips which swayed in a feminine rhythm that had half the bar hypnotized.
Not that Colter could blame them. Sutton wasn’t just beautiful, there was this quiet magnetism about her inspiring a pull that made it impossible not to look.
“You’ve been holding out on us,” said Eli, sipping his 007 martini while ogling every delectable inch of Sutton.
“Holding out?” Colter set his glass down so hard his drink spilled over the rim. “She’s a single mom, way too young, not to mention too sweet. And that goes for every man in this bar.”
“You forgot hot as hell.” Eli tilted his head. "So it's the kid that's the problem."
"It's not a problem," Colter said. "It's a fact. Single moms come with history and complications and a whole other person whose needs come first. That's not a life I know how to fit into."
"Sounds like you've thought about it," Boone said.
"I haven't," Colter replied. "Which is the point."
Eli leaned back, rocking his stool against the wall, a smug grin on his face. “And here I felt bad for you, spending your days acting as a mentor to some fumbling intern when you are already stretched thin.”
“I’ve been looking for a new vet tech for months,” Colter defended, and while it was the truth, he had to admit, even though he was stretched thin, he looked forward to spending his days with Sutton. Which broke every restriction of his new diet.
Ever since he’d taken over the practice from Dr. Porter, finding someone to assist with the endless parade of animals had been a nightmare.
Most young interns didn’t want to give up city life to move to a small tumbleweed-of-a-town.
Also, he was the only small and large animal vet in the county, so the patient flow scared most of his past vet techs off. Not Sutton, she’d dove in.
He was coming to learn that running a clinic was one thing. Owning it was another entirely.
“You’re deployed eleven months out of the year, and she doesn’t strike me as a military wife,” Colter said.
“Who said anything about wife?”
“Leave it,” Boone said. “From what Vivi told me she’s in a vulnerable position. So she’s off limits. To both of you.”
Colter blinked. “Like I said, she’s my employee, end of story.”
Eli chuckled. “Really? Then why are you straddling the line between eye-fucking her and ignoring her?”
Colter turned his head again and, as if sensing his eyes on her.
Sutton’s head slowly lifted, and their eyes locked.
There was a look of surprise and then a charged pause where neither looked away.
The longer they stared at each other the harder it became to remember why he’d agreed to the damn diet in the first place.