Page 20 of The One Who Never Left: Colter

Despite its name, the walls were a loud flamingo pink, with matching velvet booths and dainty chairs. Every drink arrived in a stemmed glass, delicate as if meant for a fancy tea party, decorative umbrellas optional but sometimes enthusiastically included.

Colter sat in the back booth with his brothers, an espresso martini in front of him, and ran a hand over the brim of his cowboy hat. He knew they looked absolutely absurd—three stoic, rugged cowboys sitting at a bar with toothpick-strung maraschino cherries and umbrellas in their frilly stemmed glasses.

In this town, Tuesdays, Thursdays, Saturdays, and rotating Sundays were reserved for the Drunken Rooster. The remaining days were spent throwing back a pint or a shot at the Tipsy Cow. It was the town’s way of avoiding an all-out bar-war in Bridlewood.

According to town lore, the feud between the Bukeford twins was less of a disagreement and more a municipal landmark. For decades, the town had managed just fine with a single bar—until the sisters had a falling out. They hadn’t spoken a word to each other in nearly twenty years and the feud was so infamous it had become tradition. Naturally, the assumption was that a man was involved, but the truth was far more personal and Montanan.

The breaking point came the year after their mother, Lucinda, passed. Both sisters entered the Summer Sunflower Spectacular chili cookoff, each claiming the same six-generation family recipe as their own, neither willing to concede ownership or alter a single ingredient.

The judges disqualified them both, and instead of letting it go, the sisters split the bar straight down the middle—each taking half the population with them. What followed was a full-blown, small-town civil war, with locals choosing sides and loyalties hardening over beer taps.

Eventually, the mayor intervened with a compromise: the sisters would alternate nights and divide holidays and Sundays evenly. Peace, Bridlewood-style, was restored, but the feud lived on, cooked permanently into town history like a chili no one dared judge again.

“Did you talk to the breeder?” Eli asked, referring to the female quarter horse they’d gone to see last week. He sat perfectly straight with his back to the wall, posture rigid, ballcap pulled backward and low, while his eyes scoped every entrance and exit in the place.

“Yesterday,” Colter said, already feeling a migraine coming on. He’d like to blame it on the sugary drink, but he knew alcohol had nothing to do with it.

Boone sat across the table, dressed like he’d just ridden a horse into town, which he probably had. Between rodeoing and ranching, the man was permanently coated in a fine layer of dust and spent so much time on horseback Colter was starting to suspect he legally qualified as part centaur. His cowboy hat was tipped just enough to suggest he knew exactly what kind of impression he made and didn’t care. Yeah, his big brother was built more for work than words.

“Who would have thought that a year ago we’d be talking about expanding the ranch to include a breeding program?” Boone asked.

Eli picked up his drink. “We went from near bankruptcy to bank in just a year.”

“Part of that success goes to my lovely fiancée,” Boone said with pride.

Last year, Vivi had breezed into town and turned the ranch on its head. Not only had she solved the inflating water price problem, she’d masterminded turning their old bunkhouse into a rental for city folks looking for a ranch experience, which was bringing in enough money to help with their ranch expansion.

“When will we have the first mares on the property?”

Colter ran a hand over his forehead, tension knotting in his shoulders. Between his vet practice and the new breeding program, it felt like he was trying to juggle too many horses at once.

The new horses would need constant care, the schedules had to be precise, and any slip could cost them more than just money. The thought of falling behind gnawed at him, a quiet worry he didn’t often admit out loud, even to himself. And he sure as hell didn’t want to voice it to his brothers—not when they were looking at him to make this a success.

“We can’t rush this,” Colter said. “Quality matters. You want a bloodline that lasts, you train them, feed them, manage them right. And you wait until we find the right one or our plan is worthless. Plus, we need to put in the new corral before we even think about bringing in the new mares.”

“The fence in the new field will be done by the end of next week,” Boone assured him, making Colter feel like a grade-A asshole since he couldn’t share that same assurance in pulling off his part of the expansion.

“We need a concrete schedule. And don’t forget the new employees.”

Eli looked at Colter. “I thought you were handling the interviews.”

“I am, but finding the right trainer is just as important as the right horse. Which is why I need you two to give me space and time to work it out,” Colter said.

“Speaking of employees,” Eli said. "I hear your new intern is a dead ringer for Jessica Chastain.”

Jessica Chastain with the body of Ashley Graham.

Colter had never been into the girl-next-door type but, Christ almighty, there was something about Sutton that drew him in. Which was why he’d gone on a Sutton-free diet: No Sutton thoughts. No Sutton Dreams. And absolutely no Sutton talk.

“She’s my employee so she’s off limits.” This was said to Eli. “Understand?”

Eli chuckled. “To who? Me or you?”

“Both.”

“Never thought I’d see the day when my brother blushed over a woman.”

“A young woman and I’m not blushing. I’ve had one too many.” He held up his frou-frou martini glass with a sugared rim and realized that he looked like an idiot. Fitting because he felt like one too—especially right then when he was breaking rule number one on his Sutton-free diet.