Page 153 of Nothing Special X: The Last Stand

Syn’s mouth twitched. “Maybe I just had a shitty teacher.”

Furi glared at him before he shoved him in the shoulder. “I know your ass didn’t just say that.”

Syn climbed out of bed before he could lose whatever thin hold he had on himself. He washed up, brushed his teeth, and got dressed in jeans, a plain white T-shirt, and a pair of worn boots Fox had loaned him.

Furi stayed sprawled in bed gazing at him with one tattooed arm tucked behind his head, a toned leg bent and splayed open on top of the quilt in obvious invitation.

Syn glanced over. “I know what you’re doing.”

“Mmhmm.” Furi’s eyes moved over him slowly. “I’m just enjoying the view before you get on a horse, get bucked off, and I have to spend the next two weeks messaging your hurt back.”

Syn pulled the shirt down over his stomach. “I love how much confidence you have in me.”

Furi’s expression shifted, a flicker of humor in his eyes.

“Come down when you’re ready,” he said.

Furi nodded before he turned over and buried his face in Syn’s pillow.

Syn forced himself to walk out before he climbed right back into that bed and told Fox and his riding lessons to go to hell.

Noise reached him halfway down the stairs.

Voices overlapping, drawers opening, plates clattering, Amelia’s sharp command slicing through male nonsense, Bull’s low rumble, Fox laughing at Walker bitching out the interim sheriff, and the game show on the little kitchen television blaring loud enough to qualify as another family member.

Syn smiled, shaking his head, wondering what it’d be like to wake up to this every day at the crack of dawn.

Umm, no thanks.

Fox was insane.

The kitchen was alive and pulsing with fresh-brewed, strong coffee. Plates were loaded with bacon, sausage, fried potatoes, fluffy scrambled eggs, and biscuits split open and glistening with butter.

Fox and Bull better be glad they did manual labor all day, otherwise they’d each be three hundred pounds.

“Morning,” he said gruffly.

Every head turned.

Fox and Bull watched him first, grinning like fools.

Syn stopped beside the coffee pot and pointed at them without turning all the way around. “Shut up.”

Fox grinned wider. “I didn’t say a word.”

“But you’re thinking it.”

Syn filled his mug so full it nearly kissed the rim, then took a long drink before fixing himself a plate. He piled all the fixings on and sat across from Dale and Rid, who were already in the middle of an argument.

“I’m telling you, I’m booked solid,” Rid said, stabbing at his eggs with his fork. “Morning stall rotations, I got a vet check on Grover, tack inventory due by one, and you want me to help move hay?”

Dale didn’t appear impressed. “You’re the stable’s manager. The hay is for the goddamn animals in the stable.”

Rid opened his mouth, closed it, then pointed his fork at his boyfriend. “That is manipulative wordplay. Get some of the yard hands to move it.”

Syn hid a smile behind his coffee.

At the end of the breakfast bar, Walker sat with his actual newspaper spread open. He was a strong man gone older, with a silver beard, a few wisps on his head, brown skin weathered from years of sun, and hands that looked as if they’d built half the buildings on the property.