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“Nah. Soon as Wy and Ford get here, we’ll get into it.” A vein pulses in his temple. “Security system is down. Been trying to get it back up all day. Got a new one on the way.” He pushes back from the desk and looks at me. “Bigger and better.”
I sigh. It’s not a surprise. The ranch’s security has been shit ever since we got here. But we all decided together—only cameras on the lodge, the barn, and the gates. Spooking the guests or invading their privacy by having cameras aimed at the cabins didn’t feel right. And boxing us in with electrified fences strikes me as bullshit.
My back molars grind together as I sit on the edge of a desk and scan the space. The office looks like a bomb’s gone off. Unpaid bills scattered across the desks. Illegible chicken scratch scrawled on purchase orders that’ll make them a bitch to file. A box of ammo sits too close to a space heater. On one side of the small room hangs a dartboard used to settle arguments and divvy up chores no one wants to do.
“Who’s in trouble?” I ask, keeping a close watch on Davis. My play-by-the-rules brother is the definition of calm. But I’ve been around him my entire life, and I know when he’s pissed off. He’s got that Montgomery tick in his jaw that gives everything away. “Ford or Wyatt?”
“Who’s saying it’s not you?” he demands.
Before I can respond with words and not the middle finger I’m giving him, Wyatt lopes through the open door. “Hey, cocksuckers,” he drawls, greeting us cheerfully. He’s covered from head to toe in dust, having landed back in town today fresh off the Calgary rodeo circuit.
Wyatt, at thirty-two, is two years younger than me. While all the Montgomery men share the same tall height and broad shoulders, Wyatt and I resemble each other more than the twins do. Same crooked grin, same blue eyes. A two-time world-champion saddle bronc rider, Wyatt works at the ranch part-time training cowboys during the off season.
Davis runs a careful eye over Wyatt. “Anything broken?”
I snort. If broken bones or gored body parts bothered Wyatt, he would have stopped riding a long time ago.
“Just my last record.”
I roll my eyes.Cocky motherfucker.
Wyatt glances at me and whistles. “Good lord, Charlie, you look like a busted mule. Ain’t you took a break since I left?”
Defensively, I cross my arms and grunt. “I don’t need a break.” I fight the urge to remember the last time I left the ranch for fun and not going into town for supplies.
Wyatt drops into a chair and kicks his dirty boots up on the desk. “Can we get this over with so we can start drinking?”
My little brother hates any business talk. He’d much rather be out riding, or starting fistfights, but for me, that’s where I excelled. Despite the cowboy in me, during my time off from the rodeo circuit, I earned my business degree. Between negotiating vendor contracts and managing expenses, it’s come in handy more times than I can count.
“Get your fuckin’ boots off the desk,” I snap at Wyatt as I push a mound of papers his way. “And clean this shit up.”
“Charlie’s right,” Davis barks.
“Assholes. The both of you.” With a grumble, Wyatt yanks his boots to the ground with a heavy thud and half-heartedly stacks the papers in a neat pile.
A second later, Ford strides in, automotive grease all over his hands.
He grabs a chair, spins it around and plops down next to the desk. “You summoned?” he says to Davis.
Davis looks annoyed, and I hide a smirk. Pissing off Davis is always satisfying, and the one who can push Davis’s buttons the best is Ford, his fraternal twin.
Ford, a retired professional baseball pitcher for the Phoenix Renegades, has the same lean, ropy build as Wyatt. The same adrenaline junkie attitude. There aren't very many people in the world who love their job, but Ford’s it. When we give him a weekend off from fishing or riding, he’s mad about it.
The only brother missing from the ranch is Grady, the youngest and the baby of the family. Six years younger than me, he took off for Nashville last summer to try to make it in the music industry with a little help from our brother-in-law and Brothers Kincaid bassist Jace Taylor.
“Good,” Davis says with a curt nod. “You’re all here.”
They sure fucking are.
Ten long years now and I’ve never been able to get ‘em gone.
If it weren’t for my brothers, I’d still be losing my damn mind.
One by one, they came to put my sorry ass back together. And goddamn, I have my guilt.
They gave up their lives to rebuild mine. Now they’re stuck here.
Sometimes I feel like I made a mess of everything.
