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The air around the table is tense as we all evaluate our cards. The heavy thump of the band reverberates through the walls of the secret back room. The Rusty Spur on a Monday night is as rowdy a time as any weekend.

Finally, I set my hand down. Straight flush.

I look around the table at my brothers and shove in a stack of chips. “Raise.”

Poker was our mother’s game. When we were kids, she taught all of us how to play. It taught me strategy, math, and how much of a cutthroat Caroline Weston was when it came to winning quarters off her sons.

“I don’t know why I believe any damn thing you say as truth,” Wells drawls. “You fuckers told me jackalopes were real and they were coming to kill me at night.” A round of snickers fills the air. He chews his lips, evaluates his hand, then lays them down. “Fold.”

Ezra, saying nothing, lays down his hand.

River, sunglasses firmly in place, already out in the first hand, crosses his arms to watch the action.

“Bullshit.” Across from me, Warren leans into the round table. His long fingers stack the chips beside him. “I think you’re bluffing, Cole.” He leans back in his seat, finishes his whiskey, then smirks. “Call.”

Fuck. I don’t know how he does it. Every damn time.

On a groan, I show my cards. My brothers hoot when Warren shows his royal flush.

Warren grins. “Better stick to riding bulls, brother.”

“Cards aren’t the only thing he’s bluffing about these days.” River pointedly looks at me.

My shoulders tense as Warren casts the table a questioning look.

Wells collects the cards we toss his way and starts to shuffle. “Haven’t been on the ranch to see the blossoming romance.”

“I highly doubt Delilah wants to go out with you,” Ezra says as Wells deals, collecting his cards and smirking at me. Ezra likes to bust my balls when he’s found my weakness. It’s the little brother in him. “She’s way out of your league.”

“Jesus.” I rub my brow, shoot Ezra a glare. “There’s no romance.”

Gaze burning with interest, Warren refills his whiskey glass. “Cole isn’t the kind of man to get pussy-whipped.”

He’s right. I’m not.

I haven’t had sex since I left the circuit. Buckle bunnies don’t hold the same allure they used to in my twenties. And they sure as hell don’t come close to Delilah. The last few days I’ve felt fucking starved without her. Her cherry-red Pinto was gone when I left the distillery tonight. We keep missing each other at work. Not sure who’s staying away. All I’m sure about is I need to see her again. Soon.

“Most dangerous man to be,” Warren mutters, accepting the cards Wells deals.

“Not pussy-whipped,” Wells says softly, rubbing at the scar on his chest. I can’t tell if it still hurts or if it’s just an unconscious reflex by now. “Heart-whipped.” Jaw clenched, he stares at his cards. “That’s the most dangerous animal.”

Warren meets my eyes. Fuck.

I stare right back.

I wish I could get a better read on Wells. He lost Aurora after that fucked-up night at Sweetheart Falls. On the outside, he has it together better than any of us. But it’s the inside we worry about.

“Whatever you want to say about Delilah, she got us back on track,” Ezra says, saving me from further scrutiny. “Got us a new POS system, changed up the music, reached out to some whiskey magazines for the new release. She’s smart.”

Pride flares in my chest. Smart doesn’t even come close. That’s Delilah. Stubborn, sweet, independent. Damn if she doesn’t try to do everything.

“So you’re tellin’ me she’s good.” Warren rests an elbow on the table, cocks a brow that means trouble. “She could help me at the bar.”

My fingers clench around my cards. “She stays at the ranch.”

“One problem with the release, Ez…” River lifts his sunglasses. “It needs a damn name.”

Ezra grumbles, smearing a hand down his mustache. “I’m working on it.”