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“Or maybe he should just grow a pair,” Banks muttered darkly as he breezed into the kitchen, grabbed a beer from the fridge, and then plopped down at the table with the rest of them. “What’s for dinner?”
After repeating my menu for the third time in as many minutes, I got to work on dinner.
Conversation flowed around me, and I vaguely tried to pay attention to what was going on as I also tried to cook.
At some point, Colt and a few of the ranch hands had joined us. Remy, another of their friends that lived in the bunkhouse but also came over to eat, took a seat on the counter next to me and handed me spices out of the cabinet that I couldn’t reach.
I was seasoning the food when Callum finally made his way back into the room.
He frowned when he saw me staring.
“What?” I asked.
“He gave me this and then asked me if you could please return the engagement ring.” He rolled his eyes.
I looked at the black velvet box.
“What is it?” I asked.
“Apparently, it’s the engagement ring his father gave his mother, and he doesn’t want to use it. The bitch wants that one.” He pointed at the ring that I’d begun wearing around my neck via a necklace that Callum had purchased me.
I blinked, then blinked again.
“How does he know that I have it?” I asked. “And why did he want to give me that? Why not just give her that?”
“I asked him the same thing,” Callum shrugged. “He didn’t have an answer for me. Only that she saw you at the grocery store the other day with it around your neck and wanted it back.”
I shook my head. “Yeah, no. You can leave that on the counter, though. I’m meeting Malloy for lunch tomorrow. I’ll give it back to him then. From there, he can do what he will with it.”
Callum grinned and set the ring on the counter.
Remy hopped down and went to the table, and Callum took his place, only this time leaning a lean hip against the counter.
“Did he say anything else?” I wondered.
Callum tore off a piece of grilled cheese from the plate and shook his head. “No. Not really. Only that he thinks his dad has a ‘cold’ or something.”
I ground my teeth. “Malloy’s going to have to die before Mal even acknowledges that he’s sick. And Malloy won’t say a word to him because he’s worried that Mal’s gonna lose his shit. And he’s too weak to deal with it right now.”
It was true, too.
In the last two weeks, Malloy had literally gone downhill at the speed of light.
The last time I’d seen him, he’d had to use a walker to get in the damn restaurant.
I was scared shitless of what tomorrow’s lunch might bring.
“Is Mal named after Malloy?” Remy suddenly asked.
I shook my head as I pulled the pot of green beans back over to the stove and started stirring in the butter and seasonings.
“No, his real name is Malden, but he goes by Mal.” I paused and turned. “That’s a bone of contention.”
“Really?” Remy asked. “Why?”
“Malloy had two sons,” Ace answered. “Mal—or Malden—was born first. Mal’s brother, Malloy Junior, was born two years later. Mal hates Malloy Junior. So much so, in fact, that MJ moved when he turned eighteen and didn’t turn back. I think he hates Malloy just as much as he hates Malden. Malloy always condoned Mal’s behavior, trying to explain it away. I think, in the end, MJ just decided that it was easier to let Mal have his way—which was having his father’s undivided attention—and leaving it at that. I’ve seen him all of five times. Each time was at a funeral of some sort.”
Remy grumbled under his breath. “Mal just keeps getting worse and worse.”
“The name thing is odd,” Ace agreed. “But Mal’s always been an asshole. I’m just surprised it took me so long to catch on.”
“Me, too,” I agreed. “Me, too.”
Callum moved and lifted the pot for me when I was done, taking it to the large serving bowl he’d pulled out without me even asking.
I pulled the steaks out from under the broiler and walked the pans straight to the kitchen table where Georgia was already spreading out a couple of potholders for me to place them on.
Drinks, glasses, silverware, and paper towels were gotten by the rest of the crew, followed by the veggies.
We all sat down and started eating without another word.
It wasn’t until I was halfway through my steak that Georgia said, “Can I hire you to cook for us, too?”
I grinned.
“No!” Codie said as she came hustling inside. “Swear to God, there better be enough for me or I’m going to kick some ass.”
“Chill your tits,” Remy said as he pulled her chair out for her. “Ace guarded your steak and your plate with his life. Every time I eyed the piece of steak that looks like it was going to fall off your plate, he growled at me.”
