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“Good,” Ford says and I bristle. “Because you shouldn’t get involved with Dakota.”
Our gazes clash. “Mind your own fucking business.”
There’s silence for a second.
Curiosity and worry war in the depths of Ford’s amber eyes. “Why are you doin’ this, D? Kindness of your heart?” He gives me a crooked grin. “We’re gentlemen, but we’re cowboys, too.”
I glare at him. “Ford. I don’t have time for this.”
“Fine, you fuckin’ lockbox. Keep that shit to yourself. Like always.” His eyes meet mine, smug. “Come find me when you put her name on your boot.”
I grunt. He doesn’t need to know it’s been there since the first time I met her. Dumb, horny Davis was an idiot. But he wasn’t wrong.
With a weary sigh, my brother reaches into his pocket and uncaps a small bottle of pills. Reaching for the whiskey, he takes a swig and swallows a handful down.
I frown. “What’re those?”
He wiggles his brows. “A stash, man.”
I make a fist on the desk. Ford may act like the sunniest guy in the world, but years ago, my brother fought his own battles with anxiety and depression. They’re either the good kind of pills, or the bad, but I can’t get a clear look at the bottle to see.
I shake my head and loosen my jaw to say, “You’re the last person who needs a stash.”
Poking the past is a risk, but Ford doesn’t take the bait.
“Secrets, man,” Ford drawls, but his eyes are dim. “You got yours, I got mine.”
“Don’t fucking quote my own goddamn self to me, asshole.”
It’s what I told him and my brothers when I got home from the Marines and they asked about the bullet in my shoulder.
With a grin, Ford stands and heads to the door. He pauses on the threshold and nods at the computer. “If you’re wondering, Dakota’s a 36D.”
“Christ.” I glare at him. Ford’s lifelong superpower is being able to guess a woman’s bra size. “I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that.”
He cackles and disappears into the dark.
I stare out into the falling snow and the darkness that surrounds the ranch. Shadows crowd my head.
Dakota. My family. The ranch.
I can’t afford weakness. Can’t afford to fail.
Eyes on the security monitors, I reach for the whiskey and take a long, stinging gulp.
For the first time in a long time, I’m suddenly unsure about it all.
An anguished cry pierces the air.
I crack my bedroom door. Listen.
Another shout comes from Davis’s room.
Softly, I pad down the hallway. When I reach the closed door, the whimpered moan that follows has my heart dropping.
After a second, I slip inside.
Davis, twisted in the sheets, cries out. I freeze. The sight’s so familiar to me.
