Page 33 of Kicking Up Dust

“Gave you the day off, if I recall,” Maddie says as he wipes the sweat from his forehead with the bottom of his shirt.

I nod. “Yeah, but Blair’s napping, so I figured I could help out for a few hours if you needed extra hands.”

Maddox’s chin jerks toward a group of ranch hands still working on the fence.

“Got hands,” he says. I’ve got the strangest feeling he doesn’t want me around. Even less than usual, I mean.

Before I can ask about it, Jamie asks about Blair. “She settled in alright then?”

“Yeah, after Mama wore her out with her chattering,” I joke with a grin. “She seems to sleep a lot.”

Maddie snorts. “She’s pregnant, Colt. Should’ve seen how much Mama slept when she was pregnant with you and Bailey.”

“Yeah.” It’s the only thing I can think of to say, trying and failing to hold back a dopey grin at the reminder of Blair carrying my baby.

“Jesus Christ, I’m going in for lunch,” Maddox says, dropping the post hole diggers he’d been leaning against. They clip the edge of Tyler’s boot, but he makes no move to right them as he storms off toward the Big House.

“Wish he’d take the stick out of his ass,” I grumble as Tyler props the tool against the tree instead. Jamie calls out for the hands to come up for an early lunch too. No point in all of them working away under the hot sun when the goddamn ranch boss isn’t even out here. One of them immediately lights a cigarette, and I shove my hands in my pockets and turn my head so I don’t ask to bum one. Quitting hasn’t been as hard as I thought it’d be, but it sucks nonetheless.

“He will, give him time,” Jamie says diplomatically. “He’s still worked up over Austin leaving.”

“I tried to tell him that would happen.”

“Wouldn’t recommend you reminding him of that,” Tyler warns.

I wave him away. I’m not a fucking idiot and I won’t pick fights just to pick them anymore.

“Did I do something specific to piss him off, you think?” I ask Jamie.

“Nah, not really. He got cagey earlier when Tate and Tyler were being cute, too. It’s relationship shit he doesn’t want to be around for, I think.”

Tyler rolls his eyes. “Tate and I weren’t being cute.”

I make a show of rolling mine as well. “I wasn’t even here to see it and I know you were. When are you gonna man up and lock that down, by the way?”

“Are you seriously asking him when he’s going to bag our sister?”

“I mean, sure,” I say with a shrug. It’s all semantics anyway. I’ve never seen two people more fit for one another in my life. “Not like… the exact date or time or anything. I feel like that’d be weird to know. But a general idea of when I should expect to get fitted for a tux for their wedding or something.”

Tyler huffs. “Cricket chooses all of that. I’m just biding my time until she does.”

“Boring.”

Jamie grabs the post hole diggers and starts toward the house, obviously far too mature to be a part of this conversation. Tyler and I follow.

“I’d think you’d be a fan of me respecting your sister’s timeline.”

“I mean, I guess, but the Tate and Tyler Show’s getting a bit old without any new drama.”

Tyler claps me on the shoulder. “Good thing we’ve got a spin-off now then, huh? The Colt and Blair Show.”

We’re a bit too rambunctious when we go through the squeaky kitchen door, apparently, because Mama’s shushing us immediately. Maddox, Jamie, and all of the ranch hands are sitting at the table in complete silence. “What in the hell?”

“You boys are always coming in here all loud and rowdy! There are people in this house who are resting and don’t need all this commotion waking them up!” she hems and haws, placing two more plates at the table for Tyler and me.

I tuck away a smile before I get swatted with her dish rag again. “Sorry, Mama,” I tell her.

Tyler isn’t as smart. “Sorry, Mama Whittaker.”