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Only, when I looked into these gray eyes, there was no smoke.
There was a storm inside of them, raging, destroying everything in its path.
“Mason,” I greeted.
A ghost of a smirk teased his lips, and that’s when I knew. Mason Langston, gorgeous like his older brother, was trouble.
“Denver around?” he clipped, his voice deep.
Bite your tongue, Val. Don’t say anything.
I stared, not saying a word.
He sighed and hopped down from the tailgate. Goodness, he was tall, too, towering over my tall frame, making me feel small. He slammed the tailgate shut and stalked towards me. The sleeves of his Henley were pushed up, revealing warm, tan, toned, forearms. There was a tattoo peeking out from the inside of his left arm, but I couldn’t make it out.
“I asked you a question, darlin’,” he said, softer this time.
“And she won’t answer it.”
Oh, no.
Denver.
Mason’s eyes snapped up, looking over my head. I saw pain flash in his raging storm like a lightning strike. Just as quickly as it came, it was gone. His jaw ticked. “Denver,” he bit out.
“Mason.” Denver’s voice wasn’t angry, but it was stern—cautious. “Valerie, come here,” my cowboy ordered. Mason looked back down to me, and I backed away from him. When my back hit Denver’s front, he pulled me to his side.
“What are you—”
“You son of a bitch!”
Oh, shit. That was Lance.
Before I knew it, a body rushed to Mason and a fist connected with his jaw. Denver moved immediately, yanking his man off away from his brother. To my right, I saw movement; the rest of the boys were here, clearly enjoying the show.
Jigs was shaking his head.
Mags, Beau, and Lawson were smirking.
Heaven, grant me the strength.
Mason rubbed his jaw, glaring at Lance. “The fuck?”
Lance was fuming, his eyes wild. Denver pulled him back and released him, standing between the two men. “Lance,” my cowboy warned.
Lance shook his head. “No. No. Told myself if this sorry son of a bitch ever stepped foot on this ranch again, I’ll—”
“I’m not here to cause trouble,” Mason deadpanned, walking back to his truck. For a second, panic shot through me, worried he was leaving. No, he went for the passenger door. He looked back at all of us.
“That bounty hunter you sent after me told me about Moonie,” he explained, his eyes on Denver. I stepped up to my cowboy, wrapping my arm around his waist, hating how tense he was. When I looked at his face, his stone-cold mask was on, the one he used to give me.
“What’s it to you?” Mags asked, his voice hard.
Mason looked to the five cowboys behind Denver, the ones who showed up, put in the work, and kept Denver from falling apart for the last decade. When his stormy eyes met Denver’s again, there was no mistaking the pain within them.
My heart ached.
They didn’t hate each other.
