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She dropped to the floor, and Saint let out a quiet sigh as his arm circled her shoulders and tucked her closer.
“I’m flattered?” She didn’t know much about doggie psychology, but she figured they’d only guard things that were important to them. She liked Cookie too.
“It’s a stress response, usually,” he told her and then turned to glare at Wheeler, who’d just toed off his boots. He raised his voice, taking on the bark he’d had earlier. “I told you not to stress out the dog. He’s got anxiety.”
Wheeler returned his gaze, easy expression flickering.
Aaron’s knife hovered over the cutting board in a brief pause.
“Sorry, Saint, but tough shit.” Wheeler’s playful smile returned. “We all have anxiety. That isn’t an excuse to not let someone through the door. It’s bad hospitality—”
“He’s a dog,” Aaron said as he diced an onion into minute pieces. “And you’re loud.”
Cookie raised his head and let out a low bark. Wheeler jumped and turned back to Saint. “I’m trying not to stress him out.”
“Try harder.”
Saint gave Riley a squeeze before he went to talk quietly with Aaron, and she drifted out of the kitchen. Saint’s friends felt well-worn, like the leather couches she kept falling asleep on.
She took a look at Wheeler’s discarded shoes—legitimate cowboy boots—and her face lit up. He caught her look and shrugged, black fabric stretching as he moved.
“You can take the man out of Texas—”
“But you can’t take Texas out of the man,” she finished for him, sliding a bit of her cousins’ twang into her voice.
Wheeler’s mouth dropped open in amazement, and he stared at her like she’d just handed him the keys to a new truck.
“My dad’s family is Texan,” she explained.
Wheeler stepped forward and slung an arm around her. “Well, hell, darlin’, that makes us practically kin.”
She smiled at his cowboy charm, and he picked her up and swung her around with a whoop. Her stomach lurched, and a startled laugh burst out of her.
His blue eyes filled with joy and an edge of mischief. “Maybe even kissing cousins…”
“She’s not a fucking doll, Wheeler. Put her down.” Saint’s voice was quiet and hard, and Wheeler gave her a knowing grin before he set her down gently.
“Testy, testy,” he drawled, keeping his arm around her shoulders.
Saint’s gaze moved between Riley and Wheeler, his hands loose at his sides. He and Aaron leaned against the counter, shoulder to shoulder, in twin poses of watchful relaxation.
Wheeler reminded her of her cousins, the boys who manhandled anything smaller than them; friends, family, or livestock, it didn’t matter. They all needed reminders every now and again.
She smiled sweetly, channelling all her own country charm as she looked up. “You know what also comes out of Texas, Wheeler?”
Blond stubble framed his chin, a silver hoop through one earlobe. “What’s that, darlin’?” He didn’t even look at her as he spoke, tension between him and Saint increasing with each passing second.
“Rattlesnakes.” She wound up and jabbed him hard with stiffened fingers, right in the solar plexus.
He doubled over with a grunt and whipped his face to hers. His mouth opened and closed. No air moved.
“Don’t touch me without asking.” She patted him on the shoulder and left him doubled over, gasping.
“Understood, doll.” Wheeler dragged in an uneven breath. “Won’t happen again.”
Aaron’s lip twitched into almost a smile, and Saint gave her a look that made her knees weak. She joined them at the counter, settling between both men when they made room for her.
“Well played. Want a beer?” Saint knocked the top off a bottle and handed it to Riley, then clinked his bottle with hers. Aaron tipped his bottle in her direction before bringing it to his lips. The three of them watched as Wheeler wheezed his breath back. He carried on for a few moments, hands on his knees, huffing and puffing, and winked at her when he didn’t think Saint was watching. Riley was warm, leaning against Saint, Aaron standing almost close enough to touch.
