Page 71 of The Cowboy and the Stray

I wiped beer off my chin. “Please tell me there are photos.”

“I’ll do you one better,” Ash said. “He’s now my cousin by marriage.”

Sloane fell out of the chair, still laughing. I started to get the giggles, too. For a solid minute, none of us could breathe.

Eventually Sloane calmed down, wiping her eyes. She took a long pull from her beer, then looked right at me. “You know, you remind me of myself. Before I figured out that I didn’t have to impress anyone.”

I didn’t know what to say to that.

Ash made a face. “Don’t get sentimental, güey. You’ll ruin your rep.”

Sloane ignored her. “It’s true. I spent half my life trying to be the best at everything. School. Work. Family. Didn’t help. People either liked me or they didn’t.”

I nodded. “I’m used to being the weird one.”

Ash raised her beer. “To the weird ones,” she said.

We all clinked bottles. It was the kind of dumb, perfect moment I never had before. I wondered how many I’d get, if I didn’t mess it up.

The sun dipped lower, and the porch light came on. A moth the size of my palm started throwing itself at the bulb. Calder walked by, shirtless, toolbox in hand. He looked even more impressive in the low light, like someone had Photoshopped his whole life and then dropped him on my porch.

Ash stared after him, then whistled. “Girl. That man is a walking heatstroke.”

Sloane shot her a look. “You realize he can hear you, right? And he's my brother, and I'd rather not hear that mess.”

Ash shrugged. “He should take it as a compliment.”

I tried not to watch him, but it was impossible. He didn’t look back, but I knew he’d heard every word.

A minute later, Buck poked his head out the door. “Anybody seen my whiskey flask?”

Ash grinned. “Check the tack room, old man. Last time you lost it, it was in the hay.”

Buck scowled. “If it’s in the hay, it’s your fault.” But he didn’t leave. He looked at me, then the empty cake pan, then at me again.

It was time to see what wild story he'd give about his leg this time. “Hey Buck, what really happened to your leg? The truth, not the story.”

Buck groaned like he’d been asked to relive a tragedy. “Tightrope walking accident,” he said. “I was auditioning for Cirque du Soleil. Wind shifted. Trapeze artist sneezed. The rest is history.”

Sloane snorted. “You’re a damned menace.”

Ash clapped. “He’s got a new one every time. It’s an art.”

I eyed Buck, who was now smiling. “How many stories do you have?”

He winked. “Seventy-three. And counting. Don’t worry, I’ll teach you some.”

He left. We all watched him go, then fell back into silence.

Sloane was the one who broke it. “We should go out,” she said. “Like, actually out. Not just the feed store or hardware.”

Ash perked up. “I’m in. Where?”

Sloane looked at me. “There’s a bar in town. Music, dancing, decent food. You ever been?”

I shook my head. “I crash-landed on this ranch and haven't left.”

Sloane finished her beer and set the bottle down. “We’re doing it. Tonight. Ash, Tess, find a shirt that doesn’t have blood or stained food from your kitchen disasters on it.”