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Before Butch could get another word out, the door opened and the ranch hands came in, along with the guests.
Teague greeted them with a smile. “Did you have a good time?”
Ian’s eyes shone. “It was great. I’m just sorry we’re leaving tomorrow. The rest of the weekend looks great too.”
Jake chuckled. “Yeah. I wanted to go to the open mic session on Labor Day, at the—what was the name of that pub?”
Zeeb grinned. “The Fainting Goat. There’s another session at the Bunkhouse Brewery too.”
“And over at the Emerson Center, they’re having a variety show,” Walt added. “Kind of a mix ofAmerican IdolandAmerica’s Got Talent.” He buffed his nails on his shirt. “I was thinking of having a go. I’ve got a pretty good singing voice.” Paul, Matt, Zeeb, and Teague erupted into laughter, and Walt glared at them. “Hey, I can sing.”
“Sure you can.” Zeeb wiped his eyes.
“Walt, you couldn’t carry a tune in a cracked bucket,” Matt told him.
“I’m not that bad,” Walt protested.
“Maybe heshouldsing,” Zeeb suggested. He waggled his eyebrows. “Just think of the entertainment value.” That earned him another glare before Walt rolled his eyes and gave up.
Mike smiled. “Now I’mreallysorry I’m leaving.”
“Don’t go planning too much,” Teague told the men. “The boss says everything’s in hand for Monday, as usual.”
“What happens here on Labor Day?” Ian asked.
“Boss throws a party for us, and any guests who are stayin’,” Zeeb informed him. “A cookout with a ton of food, beer…”
“And these guys get to show off their skills in the paddock,” Paul added. “Who can bring their horse to the fastest stop, jumping, roping a metal steer…”
“Sounds like fun.”
“It is—as long as they do all thatbeforethey get their hands on a beer.”
Zeeb chuckled. “We know the rules.”
Butch wasn’t really listening. He was too busy thinking about what Teague had said. His pulse sped up, his heart pounded, and he was trying not to grind his teeth.
“Butch?” Teague’s voice cut through. “Can I have a word with you outside?”
“Sure.” Butch followed him out of the bunkhouse. No sooner had he closed the door than Teague launched.
“What’s up?”
“What makes you think something’s up?”
Teague arched his eyebrows. “You went from being excited about Sol’s return to looking as if someone had shoved poison ivy down the back of your jeans.”
“And what if I’m not allergic to poison ivy?”
Teague gaped. “For the love of God, stop prevaricating and tell me what’s wrong.”
Butch could’ve made a quip about Teague using them big words again, but his heart wasn’t in it. He paused to take a breath. He didn’t want the others hearing this.
“Sol… He said he wasn’t into that.”
Teague frowned. “That’s not what he said at all.”
“Hey, I was there, okay? I asked how come he knew about all that stuff, and he said he’d researched it for websites.”
