Page 7 of Slow Burn

Chapter 4

Beck

I crack my eyes open, my senses still muted and my mind still fuzzy from my night of drinking. I only had three–okay, maybe four–beers, and another when I got home. At the ripe age of thirty-three, the hangovers hit me harder than ever before. They last longer, too. I’ll be in a murky cloud of brain fog for days after this one.

But there are no days off on the ranch, but Austin told me he’d get a head start on the morning chores, making sure the cattle have stock water, and giving Kenny Rogers some fresh hay, too. Kenny is a three-legged goat that wandered onto the property some years ago now. He got into a tussle with a tractor and he’s lucky he only lost a leg.

It was my dad who named him. He used to listen to all the great country stars while he worked in the barn—Kenny, George, and Willie—but it was always when Kenny Roger’s voice came on the stereo that the damn goat came hobbling over.

Now, he’s made himself my problem and refuses to leave, and he gets pissy whenever breakfast is late.

I roll over, rubbing my eyes with one hand and pinching the bridge of my nose. When I sit up, a wave of nausea ripples through my gut, and I’ve never been more grateful for a morning off in my life.

Austin might be the only one who sees how much the responsibility of running the ranch weighs on me, and how tiring it is trying to keep it afloat. I appreciate him, even though I probably don’t tell him enough.

As his thanks, I’m here thinking about his fucking sister.

Lyla has been the only thing on my mind since I saw her in that stupid t-shirt, stretched across her tits and showing a sliver of the smooth, tan skin of her waist.

Fuuuuuck. My morning wood is fully cocked and it’s not going to get any better if I keep thinking about Lyla Morgan.

I get out of bed and stumble into the bathroom where I turn the shower on cold. I hiss as the water hits my skin, and I let it run down my face–self flagellation for the way I’ve been thinking about Lyla.

Austin would fucking kill me. He’s been known to throw a few punches in the bar when someone has so much as looked at him or anyone he cares about wrong. And there is no one on this planet he’s more protective of than his sister.

Rightly so. He’s been the only one she’s had looking out for her since their parents died. That did a number on both of them. Austin was always a trouble-maker, but once there wasn’t anyone left to keep him in check, he went off the rails. I think it’s his way of coping. Dealing with the pressure of making sure Lyla is okay. It’s his release.

Lyla on the other hand, I don’t know how she copes. What I do know is that before the accident, Lyla was… she was something else. Bubbly, loud, energetic, bright, a fucking spitfire.

So goddamned beautiful.

She’s still beautiful. There’s just something else there now too, something sad behind her eyes. Her eyes had a sparkle in them at the rodeo, like there were whole galaxies in her irises. But later at the bar the sparkle had faded.

I shut the water off, get out of the shower and dry off. I’m starting to feel more awake now that I have some blood returning to my brain as my hard-on subsides. But I need caffeine.

My dad isn’t in the kitchen when I get downstairs, and the relief of that helps loosen the knot in my stomach. I was late getting in from the bar last night, and he was already in bed, so it’s given me extra time to figure out how to tell him about my loss yesterday. Not to mention the fact that I’m going to have to make budget cuts elsewhere to make the necessary fixes around the property.

He won’t be overly disappointed in me, he knows what a fucking shit show this place has become. Hell, it’s his own doing. But I’ll feel the heaviness of disappointment every day if I don’t manage to turn it around.

This is our family’s legacy, and I made a promise to my dad that I’d take care of it. I wasn’t handed the best cards to begin with, but I’ve sure been doing a shit job with them anyway.

Austin is already hard at work in the barn, but he comes outside to greet me when he hears my boots crunching on the gravel drive.

“I told you to take the morning off,” he says. It’s still early, but he’s getting back from counting heads, and riding the fence.

“I am off,” I answer, putting my hands up in a show of innocence.

At the sound of my voice, Willow trots over to the fence, and I reach up a hand to scratch her ears.

“Takin’ this girl out for a ride,” I say. “I think she’s still a little down in the dumps from our loss. Needs to blow off some steam.”

Horses are intuitive, and she loves competing at the rodeo as much as I do. She feels the losses as much as I do, too. And I could use a ride to release some of the pent up tension I’m carrying, and forget everything I’ve been thinking about Lyla Morgan.

“I talked to Lyla.”

Off to a great start.

Austin’s dark brown eyes are drilling through my back.