We end the call with our I love yous and I shove my phone in my purse. I grab my bag and backpack and make my way inside and get a room for the night.
Chapter Three
Caine
I love Texas. Call me crazy, but where I live, I get all the seasons. What I don’t love is the fucking humidity. I’m sweating my balls off, and it’s only seven o’clock in the morning.
“You ready to get on the road?” My brother Patrick asks after he finishes a bottle of water.
“I was ready an hour ago,” I answer with a little annoyance, okay, maybe a lot.
I prefer to get my shit done early in the morning. And that includes getting on the road for an auction that’s six hours away. I don’t know if we’ll pick up anything, but we need a few new mares. But since we breed andtrain what some refer to as bucking broncos, we look for a specific temperament. I can’t just go to any old auction and pick whatever looks pretty.
Patrick is in charge of picking out the best mares and stallions, and I focus on training. I used to ride when I was younger, and I did well for myself. But now I’m focused on training riders and horses and that suits me just fine.
“What took you so long?” I ask gruffly. Patrick gives me a smirk and a side-eye. “Fuck you.” I hit him in the back of the head.
Did I mention that my brother got himself a wife two months ago? Rabecca. How he won her over is a mystery to me, but she loves him. I really don’t need to picture them fucking in the morning.
I’m the oldest. My brother Patrick is the baby, at twenty-seven. After me is Hugh. He’s thirty-eight, Lance is thirty-six and Tiffany, our only sister, is thirty-four.
Patrick was a “surprise,” as Mama likes to say, though I’m pretty sure he was a mistake since our dad had a vasectomy after Tiffany was born. Apparently, my dad was part of the one percent of failed vasectomies. My mother made sure the doctor removed her tubes after Patrick was born.
“You asked.” The fucker laughs at me. “Don’t be a little bitch just because you’re not getting laid.”
I quirk a brow at my brother. If I wanted to get laid, I could. I choose when to fuck around. I didn’t once, and I got burned. Bad. I’m not going to make a mistake like that again.
When I was twenty-five, I was dumb enough to marry a buckle bunny, then found her in bed with another man I was riding against. We’d been married for two years, and it took two years to divorce her. I learned my lesson right quick. Finding love wasn’t for me.
I retired from riding five years ago. At forty, married life and a family just aren’t in the cards for me. And we aren’t exactly swimming in new pussy up here in the Crystal Falls area.
The ride through to New Mexico is a pretty easy one. And the auction pans out well. Patrick found two mares that fit our needs and by this time next year or the year after, we hope they’ll be ready to start breeding.
It’s already dark, which means the ride will be more comfortable for the horses, so we load them up on the trailer behind the truck and get back on the road.
“I’m hungry,” Patrick says as we drive past a restaurant.
“Why didn’t you stop there?” I ask, pointing my thumb at the passing strip mall.
“I’m not eating at a chain.” He grumbles. “I’m going to Shirley’s,” he says as he exits the freeway.
That damn steakhouse is twenty minutes out of the way, but Patrick is the one driving so fighting about it would be a waste of breath.
We pull up to the small house that’s been converted to a steakhouse and parkthe truck along the side of the building. I complain about the distance, but we always come here when we’re in town, and the food’s delicious. Plus, they don’t give us shit for the trailer.
“Jack, I’m fine.” I hear a young girl say over her cell phone. “Yes, I’m here, thank you. It is. I’m excited. I’m getting some dinner now, and I’ll call you later.”
“For how many?” the hostess asks her.
“For one, please,” the young girl says.
Why is she alone? I can’t help it. She’s a woman and I’m a man with eyes. And, fuck if she isn’t the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. Jean shorts frayed, giving me a nice view of her thick thighs and ass, a black t-shirt that hugs her in all the right places. She’s got long mahogany waves that fall down her back. The color is a mixture of dark and light browns and reds. And it looks so soft and shiny. I have to remind myself that we don’t touch random people’s hair. That would be weird. And pervie.
“The wait will be about thirty, thirty-five minutes, is that okay?”
I frown. There’s a table for four open and available. I know this because this restaurant doesn’t take reservations. The two tops are all taken.
“Of course, thank you,” the young woman says.
