“Yes.”
I’m a cowboy through and through, but I also know an ignorant shrew when I see one. Her comment was meant as an insult. But I won’t let it stand.
Max’s eyes widen before he bursts out laughing. Zeke elbows his husband, but when that doesn’t help, Zeke lifts Max’s hat off and smacks him upside the head. That immediately stops the laughter, and Max scowls at his spouse.
The blonde narrows her eyes at me, her hands on her hips.
“Honey, I’ll be whatever you want me to be if it will get you to leave me the fuck alone.” Yes, I’m being harsh.
“You’re an asshole,” she spits.
“If I say I am, will you take off?” I ask, not at all masking my annoyance with her.
With that last comment, the woman turns on her heel and stalks off. I picture her imagining my face under her boots with every little stomp she takes on the floor. But to my relief, she’s off to find her next victim.
“Did the famous Caine Montgomery just turn down his first buckle bunny?” Zeke asks. His eyebrows shoot up toward his hairline.
“She smelled like shit,” I say defensively, looking at my beer.
“Uh, huh. In the past, you would have just turned her around and bent her over in the bathroom,” Max replies.
“Fuck off,” I tell him.
“We will, but for now, why don’t you get us another drink,” he says sarcastically.
“Caine will deck you, and it will be your fault if you keep pushing,” Zeke says, shaking his head. “He’s an asshole on a good day.”
Max grins. But has the wherewithal to shut it.
After another beer, I make my way back to my hotel, alone. It’s so bizarre. Nothing makes sense about what I did, but I can’t even make myself want that woman. I just—no.
Chapter Eight
Caine
Two Months Later
“Goddamnit, Pat, get your shit together!” I yell at my brother as he pulls up to the barn an hour late for work… again. It’s six AM, and we all have shit we need to do. And I’ve already been working for the last hour.
Our ranch has a small staff, but each of us has his or her place, and he’s been slacking.
“You really are an ass first thing in the morning.”He slams his car door shut, and scowls at me.
“You’re late, so now you get to muck the stalls.” I point my finger in his face. I’m sick of his laziness.
“Get Max or Jeff or Zeke to do it,” Patrick complains, referring to our stable hands and trainers.
“They are exercising the horses or working with riders,” I say. “And they were on time.” My voice is firm and irritated, as usual.
No one wants to muck the stalls. It’s the worst; it’s disgusting, really. But it has to be done.
When our father ran this ranch, that was our punishment when we were misbehaving or if we were late for work. Why would it change just cause our dad’s retired?
Hugh doesn’t work on the ranch. He’s a local veterinarian. Tiffany is our bookkeeper—well, sort of. She keeps the books for the ranch, but she really is the Vice President of Finance for Montgomery Oil.
The ranch is just our family’s local business, but it’s not our primary source of income, though we do better than most with our diverse riding and training courses.
Tiffany works at our corporate office for the primary company and does our books on the side. She doesn’t work on the ranch itself. She can and does it when needed. She’s the brains of the family and keeps all our financial records in order.
