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She gave a little jump.
“Gi, come on. Your guest has arrived,” Rock said through the door.
“Coming.” She dropped her phone back on the vanity and took a step, but she caught herself. What if Carter wasn’t teasing? What if he was throwing out the line to see if she bit? What if…
She gave her head a shake to try and dislodge the niggling thought.
“You’re out of your mind for even considering this,” she whispered.
The magazine drew her attention again, reminding her how Sunny had so easily betrayed her and now he was living happily ever after.
An image of him wrapped in Vivien’s arms invaded her brain, souring the cells like spoiled milk. Remembering how Vivien had played the victim and Gianna became the monster. The scandal that made her want to hide away at her step-father’s villa where she’d moved after she left Sunny’s downtown condo.
The lingering emotions snowballed.
Chapter Two
“Damn.” Carter Dawson ran his hand down his whiskered jaw then rolled over onto his back on the squeaky bed. The resistance of the rusty springs sent a sharp pain through his sensitive temples. His stomach gurgled in protest. He should have known better than to drink so much, even if the celebration was in honor of him turning the big 3-0. His brothers had turned out the red carpet with a night at Corby Q’s and four shots of Jack, one for each decade he’d been alive and a fourth in honor of their late brother, Cade, who should have been celebrating with them.
“I’ve become a lightweight,” he muttered. What the hell? Four shots were just a warm up.
There was a point when everyone didn’t bounce back as fast as the twenty-year-old body did. He was there. He felt like he’d been run over twice by a semi and then shit on by birds like roadkill on a backroad.
Laying there and staring up at the swirly patterns on the ceiling for another few minutes, he debated whether he needed to vomit or not. He could practically hear the clock ticking from his watch on the bedside table. A rancher’s work was never done and if he didn’t start soon, he’d get behind.
Pushing himself up to a sitting position, he was glad that the queasiness had subsided some. He groaned when he glimpsed his fully dressed body. Good thing he’d made it up to his bedroom last night, but he’d been too drunk to bother with removing his clothes, or his boots.
Scooting like an elderly man to the edge of the bed, he dropped his feet to the planked floor with a dull thud, making him squint in regret. The throbbing in his head ricocheted around his skull like a pin ball. He swore he’d never drink again. At least not for a few weeks.
It took a five-minute pep talk to motivate himself into standing, and when he finally did, he had to balance a wobble. He should change his clothes, but he didn’t care enough. So what that his shirt was wrinkled and smelled like a whorehouse, not that he knew what one smelled like, but he’d heard his brothers talk about a trip they’d taken to Mexico during one summer. Anyway, he’d only get dirty with the grueling work of tagging and moving cattle.
Grabbing his hat off the hook, he slapped it on his head and, after brushing his teeth, he made his way downstairs, through the quiet living room and into the kitchen where Ma stood at the stove whipping up something that smelled incredible, although his stomach did gurgle. Nothing, not even a hangover, could keep a Dawson from eating. Growing up with six brothers, he’d learned to eat when a meal was provided otherwise there wouldn’t be any leftovers. He’d also taught himself how to cook to stay alive. With a working single mother, the Dawson brothers had little choice but to be independent when they were teens.
“Hey, Ma,” he said.
Candy turned and wrinkled her nose. “Do you feel as bad as you look and smell?” She grabbed a thermos off the counter and shoved it into his chest.
“Thanks,” he groaned. “Got any painkillers?”
She gave her head a disenchanted wobble and stepped over to the cabinet above the sink to take down a small bottle. “You and your brothers are too old for this.” She looked at him with narrowed grey eyes before shaking out two tablets into his palm.
“Thankfully a man only turns thirty once,” he mumbled and turned on the tap at the sink. Bending, he slurped up some cold water and swallowed the pills. Swiping the back of his hand over his mouth, he felt her disapproving glare still on him. He didn’t bother looking at her when he said, “Don’t worry, Ma. It’s only a hangover not a lifestyle. I’m nothing like him.” He referred to his father who’d stumbled in drunk most nights. Carter, or his brothers, were nothing like the man who abandoned them when they were kids. In fact, Carter was so young when Charlie left that he didn’t have any clear memories of his father.
“I know, I know.” She wrapped a sandwich in a paper napkin. “Here, eat this on your way to the barn. It’s sausage and egg, your favorite. The protein will make you feel better.”
“Thank you. I’ll see you later.” He kissed her on the cheek and left through the mudroom and out the back door. The morning sun beat down on his shoulders, making him feel a little unsettled again. He wasn’t sure why he felt so beat down. In truth, he wasn’t much of a drinker, maybe a beer now and then, but he’d never been this hung over.
Tucking the thermos under his arm and unwrapping the sandwich, he bit into it as he followed the worn path down to the barns. The warm, savory goodness hit the spot.
Cross, Channing, Coop, and Wales were already on their horses in the pasture, rounding up the cattle for tagging. He stopped for a moment to watch them while he finished his food. Seeing them all in one spot didn’t happen often these days. A lot of things had changed on the family ranch. He guessed the changes started back when Cade passed away, but now that Cross, Coop and Wales were married, the brothers didn’t spend as much time together as they used to. They were all branching out, and Carter had been thinking a lot lately on where his own path should take him.
Thirty wasn’t old, not by a long shot, but at some point, every man needed to think of his future—think of giving his heart away. He wanted to plant some roots, leave a legacy, and teach his kids how to ride a horse, run a ranch, throw a ball, take care of his or her family. He’d never had much of a biological father figure, but their Uncle Cleat and Grandfather Corbin had stepped up to the plate for the Dawson brothers. They’d had the best upbringing a kid could ask for. Although Ma had worked a lot to make ends meet, and probably a little to find her way in the world as a divorced woman, but she’d been an amazing role model. There was also Franny Maw, their grandmother, who rooted for and supported the brothers. She taught them a lot of what they needed to know about the facts of life. She and Corbin had been an exemplary example of what a relationship should, and could, look like. They’d had some ups and downs, some arguments, but they’d respected and loved each other. After Grandpa Corbin died, Franny Maw’s health started declining too. Recently, she’d taken a bad fall in her kitchen and had been placed in a rehabilitation facility until she recovered fully. It wasn’t the same not having her there at the ranch.
Pushing away from the fence, he tossed the soiled napkin into the trashcan on his way into the barn. He strolled down the aisle and stopped in front of the stall where his white horse, Zeus, scratched the straw floor in his usual greeting. He was a beauty. A true white horse because his skin was white too, with bright blue eyes. He’d been one of the first horses that Carter’s stud horse had sired and the admiration he had for Zeus went beyond how incredibly rare his breed was. The horse’s behavior and skills were flawless. A cowboy relied on his horse, not only to get him from point A to B, but to keep him safe in dire situations.
“Hey, fellow.” Carter rubbed Zeus’s nose. “We’ll have to take things nice and steady today.”
As if the horse understood, he brought his nose higher and flared his nostrils.
