15. Chaos At Best
Chaos At Best
Colt
We arrived in Bozeman, got the horses settled for the night, prepped for the next day, and then it was off to dinner for steak at a pricey establishment.
“Compliments of Chris, a bonus for our hard work lately. Cheers,” Ash said and held up his beer bottle as a toast. “Speaking of our wealthy rancher, Chris has thrown his support behind Sheriff Patrick in the upcoming election, complete with hiring a team to put together an old-fashioned barn dance and campaign rally, right on our ranch. Over the next few weeks, a crew will construct a huge outdoor pavilion for it, grading a driveway off the main road with a parking lot, and more.”
“Sounds like chaos at its best,” I quipped.
“Yep. But Willow is coordinating it all with him. Trying to keep everything from interfering with our day-to-day ops.” Ash covered his wife’s hand, gazing on her appreciatively.
“Hope you all plan to vote for the Sheriff. But if not, if you’re a supporter of Trevor Brewster, then kindly refrain from attending this event. ”
“You won’t find any love lost for the Brewsters at this table, I believe,” Knox interjected.
“Good,” Ash huffed.
“If you don’t mind me asking, wasn’t there a situation that occurred between you and the Brewsters that created some bad blood between you?” Ivy leaned forward with her question.
“I don’t mind telling it. In the early days of starting the ranch out here, Chris bought up a few properties to create one big ranch, including your family’s land.” He nodded toward her and Daisy. “Well, Congressman Brewster had apparently had his eye on buying them, and wasn’t pleased.”
“Sounds familiar,” Daisy piped up.
“What do you mean?” Ivy cocked her head at her.
“While you were away, and I was trying to trying to keep the ranch and orchard running, I got even more behind in the taxes and bills than our parents did. Trevor Brewster paid me multiple visits on behalf of his father, with offers to buy us out. I turned them down, of course, but he became borderline obsessive about it, even threatening to have his father pressure the bank to call in our loans. Then one day Chris appeared out of the blue, with his lovely wife and kids, and offered to buy us out, but leave us the orchard and our family home. I liked him a lot better than the Brewsters, and of course, seeing how he intended to start the rescue ranch for horses, that meant something to me.”
Ivy reached her hand over her sister’s and squeezed. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t around, Daisy.” A tender moment passed between them.
“Our situation was dire, Ivy. I finally had to face facts: we couldn’t keep the ranch any longer. I’m grateful to Chris. He got us out of a tough spot.”
“Chris is an amazing benefactor, a giving man, big heart.” Ash continued.
“Well, we got the ODRR up and running. Some of the first guys I hired were local in town, just to start. We had some trouble with our initial supply of feed, which made some horses sick. I suspected someone had tampered with it, along with some other odd occurrences, like someone was purposely sabotaging our efforts. Sheriff Patrick came out to hear my complaint, see if I could get him to investigate, and immediately he recognized three men as troublemakers who worked out at the Brewster ranch. I fired them on the spot. Our troubles stopped. Since then, I’ve focused on hiring only military vets. ”
“So you think Brewster planted the guys to sabotage the ranch?” Ivy’s eyebrows raised to her hairline.
“Pretty certain. Either way, I don’t trust that family one bit.”
She and I shared a glance, tucking all of this away for later.
After that, we all fell into easy conversation, Knox making the table laugh, Daisy rolling her eyes at something he said but smiling despite herself. None of them knew the footsie game Ivy and I played under the table.
We headed back to the hotel, which connected to a bar called the Desperado Den, with a DJ, a dance floor, and ax throwing.
Ash and Willow conveniently disappeared to their hotel room after one beer and one dance, the way married people do.
Ash had confided in Knox and me recently about their desire to have a baby, so there was little doubt in my mind what they were planning to do all night.
That left the four of us to form teams for ax throwing—me and Ivy against Knox and Daisy.
We entered the next available ax court. I talked Ivy through her grip before her first throw, standing close behind her, arms surrounding, one hand adjusting her elbow.
I whispered in her ear, “Aim for the bullseye. Just picture that’s your ex’s head. ”
She laughed, but it worked when she buried it dead center. I whooped like she’d done it for me alone.
“Need the same personal instruction from me, Daisy?” Knox asked.
“I deal with plenty of tools in my job every day. I can handle this. An ax won’t hold me back.” She threw and hit close to the bullseye, and Knox went wild, cheering and whistling. “Don’t make it weird,” she complained, but she fought a smile anyway.
Back and forth like that we went for an hour. At one point Knox said something near Daisy’s ear, laughing, and she shoved him sideways by the shoulder, but the shove was the friendly kind, that seemed more like you’re impossible and not go away. I was just surprised they were getting along at all.
We’d wrapped up our game and found a table to drink at when three women materialized beside Knox. Young, probably college age, in dresses and heels, phones already out, they giggled.
“Oh my God, you look just like Maddox from the Montana Frostbite,” one of them said.
Knox blinked. Then the grin came, charming and disarming. “Guilty. He’s my brother.”
They enthusiastically cited Maddox as one of their favorite hockey players. A discussion ensued, sort of flirty among the three of them. One even touched his arm and asked if he’d pose with them for pictures.
“Why, sure, sweetheart,” he replied, standing to get between them, his arms draping across their shoulders, posing as much as they liked.
Daisy’s face fell fast and complicated. She stalked off toward the bar without a word. I glanced at Ivy. She’d seen it too. Knox didn’t notice her go at first.
When the women finally walked away, he saw us staring at him, and Daisy gone, clueless. “What happened?”
Ivy pointed over at the bar. “You should go ask her.”
He shot up from the table and joined her there, with a look on his face like he’d grovel on his knees for her. I couldn’t blame him; these Wylde sisters held us in a magic hold.
With one look at Ivy tonight, I couldn’t think beyond her tight red sweater and Wrangler jeans showing off every curve. Her sexy red boots had me wishing she’d wear them naked for me tonight. I stopped focusing on what was up with our friends and focused only on her.
The DJ broke out a ballad with a song called Ride It Slow. I knew the words and pulled Ivy onto the floor. This was perfect hold-your-honey-tight-and-sway music. I did that, one arm around her waist, the other holding her hand against my chest, and stared deeply into her eyes, singing the lyrics.
No calculation behind who was watching, what it needed to look like, whether we were selling the fake arrangement convincingly enough. Just her, warm against my abs, head tilted up toward me with an open and sultry expression. Like she’d take me right here if she could.
We weren’t faking it anymore.
I took my cowboy hat off, angled my head, and kissed the fruity and salty margarita from her lips, the last drink she had ordered. Her fingers curled against my chest, and the rest of the room went away until the end of the song.
“Take me to your room, cowboy,” she whispered.
“Anything for you.”
But then she went still and tense, her eyes catching something behind me. I followed her stare and caught the scene just in time—
Knox and Daisy were arguing, and then she threw her drink in his face. She set her glass down with the careful control of someone who was two seconds from losing it, said something to him I couldn’t hear across the music, and hurried away without looking back.
Knox stood there, dabbing his face with a little napkin, watching her go.
“Ah, fuck,” I said.
“Yep,” Ivy agreed. “Let’s go do damage control.” She went after Daisy, while I went to console him.
Knox was deep in a spiral at the bar. Whatever he’d said to Daisy, it hadn’t gone well. By the time Ivy came back, he had knocked back a few shots in a row and a beer, lamenting to me about love and what a farce it was and how he’d never find it.
Ivy took me aside. “She won’t come back. Won’t tell me what happened between them. She’s gone to bed,” she reported, side-eyeing Knox like they could never be friends after tonight.
“You know what’s great,” he said, swiveling and swaying on his stool.
“You two. I mean, you just stopped hiding. Decided one day to let the world know about it and went for it.” He made a gesture that probably meant something in his head, his eyes glassy, staring at me.
“Tired of being a coward about it, man. Should just say it. Walk right up to her and say it.”
“Say what?” I asked.
He opened his mouth. Then he looked toward the bar entrance, where Daisy had left, and whatever he’d been about to say stayed private. He shook his head. “Nothing. Doesn’t matter.”
It mattered. But that wasn’t my conversation to have for him.
“I need another round,” he blurted, words slurred, and motioned for the bartender, almost falling off the stool.
“Okay, I think it’s getting late and time to retire.” I got a shoulder under his arm, and Ivy followed. We walked him out to the lobby.
“So much for our romantic night,” Ivy said, with a quick glance at me.
“Oh, shit. I ruined it for everyone, didn’t I?” Knox blubbered. I’d seen him drink one too many before, but this was something else. Alcohol plus misery didn’t make good company.
“It’s fine,” I grumbled.
“Yeah. Fine.” Ivy rolled her eyes.