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“In love with you.” I lay her down on the bed and devour her mouth.
She gasps out a laugh and winds her arms around my neck.
At the ping of my phone, I growl impatiently.
Charlie again.
Dakota arches a droll brow. “The ranch calls.”
Groaning, I fall to my elbow beside her. Kiss her lips. “It does. I have to get back. Straighten out some things.”
“Like what?”
A muscle pulses in my jaw. “My brothers.”
Dakota rolls her eyes. “You know, you could bark at your brothers, Hotshot, or you could try to listen for once.”
A chuckle vibrates in my chest and I blow out a breath, considering it. With Dakota, she makes everything sound so easy.
My hand drops to her belly. “Could be good practice.”
She leans into me and smiles. “The best practice.”
Charlie’s in front of the stables saddling up Winslow when Dakota and I pull into the drive. With laughing eyes, she mouths,Listen, and disappears into the lodge.
Gritting my teeth, I stalk up to my brother. “What’s the damage?”
Charlie squints into the morning sun and loops the rein over the saddle horn. “Caught Wyatt puking in the bushes this morning. Kid tied one on last night.”
“Shit. Where is he?”
“Bullshit box. Working his way through a bottle of bourbon.” Charlie drags a hand down his beard. “Ford’s in the garage. Took him to the ER last night. He’s got twelve stitches and a fucking attitude.”
“Christ.” I feel like a goddamn high school principal as I run an assessing eye over my brother. Cut eyebrow. Bruised jaw. “You okay?”
“Got Ruby out of there in one piece, so that’s all I care about.” He hitches a broad shoulder, a smile ghosting his face. His dark blue eyes scan my rumpled appearance. “Looks like you’re doin’ better than me, man,” he says, punching me in the arm.
I reach out and squeeze his shoulder. “I appreciate that. Listen, we gotta talk later,” I say grimly. “I know the motherfucker’s name.”
Charlie’s face turns to stone. “You got it.”
Temper and concern fueling me, I stomp to the Bullshit Box. I had my confession with Dakota. Now it’s time for a come-to-Jesus with my dumbass little brother.
Wyatt sits at his desk, his head in his hands, a half-full bottle of Jim Beam beside him. Clear as day, my brother’s licking his wounds.
“Wyatt,” I boom.
“You don’t have to yell. Decibel levels, man.”
I snort when he lifts his head. On his face, a pair of sunglasses with one lens missing. “I feel like shit,” he groans.
I pull out a chair, sit beside him. “Don’t think it’s the bourbon that’s got you hurtin’, brother.”
Wyatt squints real hard at the bottle, then with a sigh, takes off the sunglasses and rubs his eyes. My little brother has that same lovesick look on his face I only associate with the McGraw women.
I decide to cut to the chase. “You and Fallon?”
“No. I don’t know.” He holds his head in his hands. “I fucked it up. It’s my fault,” he says mournfully. “Using Sheena last year to make her jealous. That’s why she’s doin’ all this.” An unhappy growl rolls out of him. “I bet this guy she’s seeing is just some average fuckhead who doesn’t give a shit about her.”
