“What was that?” she asked, craning forward.
I shook my head. “Nothing. Just talking to myself.”
Lennox tutted, taking her seat. “Heard that happens with old age.”
“Lennox Rose!” her mother scolded. “Where are your manners?”
“When has she ever had them?” Cleo asked, taking the seat beside her sister. “She’s always been a little rough around the edges.”
Lennox swung her arm around Cleo’s neck, pulling her close. “You love my rough edges. Admit it.”
Cleo laughed, pushing her away. “Never said I didn’t.”
“Never said she did, either,” Josie chimed in, dropping down beside Lincoln. She jumped, looking Lincoln’s way before rubbing her thigh. “What was that for?”
“For instigating shit,” he said, reaching for a cherry tomato from the bowl. He popped it into his mouth, wiggling his eyebrows in taunt.
“Like you always do?” she shot back.
“I’m an angel,” he said, holding his hands above his head in a gesture I thought was supposed to be a halo.
As the group continued to bicker while piling their plates, I couldn’t help but smile. Grateful didn’t even come close to covering how I felt to have a seat at their table. It was like this every week—same shit, different day.
“Is that a smile?” Lincoln asked, pointing a finger my way.
“Fuck off,” I said, leaning forward to knock it away. “I don’t do that shit.”
“Oh, we know,” the table said, damn near in unison.
“Everything ready for tomorrow, Bishop?” Doug asked, pouring a glass of sweet tea. I was almost positive that wasn’t on his prescribed list of shit he could drink, but I was willing to bet Doug would rather die than cut it from his life.
“Sure is. Lincoln and I are going into town in the morning to pick up a few last-minute things. I checked with Cook earlier, and he has all the food prepped.”
“Great,” he said, looking down the table at his wife. “Don’teven think about limiting me tomorrow. If this is my last rodeo, then so be it.”
She rolled her eyes, but nothing but love was shining back at him. “It won’t be your last, so just stop that, Charles Douglas Hayes.”
“Oh shit, Daddy. You just got government named,” Lennox snickered. Doug hated his full name. Thought it was too stuffy for a cowboy, and that he didn’t look like a Charles.
“And I’ve already done it to you once, young lady,” Ruby warned.
Tomorrow was Doug’s birthday. Usually, when the girls tried to make a big fuss out of it, he shut it down pretty quick, but this year was different. He’d fully embraced the mayhem they’d planned. He only had one condition: it was used to show the workers how appreciative he was of their work.
Every hand was off work tomorrow except for feeding the horses and mucking stalls. Doug said it was the least he could do, seeing as their workload often tripled during the four months or so that made up the workshops.
Doug was making a real show out of it, too. I hated to think about the cost of it all. Everyone could bring their friends and family to celebrate with them. Events were scheduled all day, which meant a quick way for the hands to make or lose some of the money they’d earned. Cowboys liked betting as much as they liked beer. He’d bought enough food to feed a small army and hired a band to play that night.
Honestly, Doug and Ruby had put these things together before, but I’d never seen anything this scale. It made me wonder if maybe Doug was really scared he might not live to see another birthday roll by. His health had been a point of concern for the past six months, and the girls had been worrying themselves with his care.
Doug brought Lincoln to Texas and offered him a permanentposition because he wanted to ensure that all aspects of his legacy were covered.
“Yeah, I can’t wait to kick Bishop’s assandtake his money,” the man in question said, leaning back in his seat. He was like a goddamn puppy—so full of energy and jokes. It was exhausting sometimes.
I kicked his foot beneath the table, earning a chuckle. “I’d like to see you try.”
“I’ll do more than try. Be sure to have your wallet ready. Maybe pull out some extra cash when we’re in town tomorrow just to be safe.”
We ate through the rest of our dinner much the same, ribbing one another until our sides hurt from laughter. There was only one rule at the dinner table: no talking business. It was a welcome reprieve for all of us, knowing we could walk in, sit down, eat a damn fine meal, and not have to worry about talking about the same shit we dealt with every day.
