AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Good point.” Michael had briefly entertained thoughts of moving into the fifth wheel himself, but until Dad was up and mobile again, he needed to stay close. And that meant in the house, sleeping in his old bedroom. Another grizzled old-timer passed their table and tossed them a sour look. “I guess it can’t be easy. Being out around here.”
Brand grunted. “It’s not, but folks know better than to mess with us now.”
“Yeah? Sounds like a story.”
“Short story.”
“But a good one,” Hugo added. “After the coin thing with Elmer, Brand and I came out here for a drink. Three guys got in our faces. We kicked their asses inside, and then again later in the parking lot, because those knuckleheads needed the same lesson twice.”
“It was definitely a night,” Brand said with a smirk. “Things aren’t as uptight as when I was a teen and Colt left in order to be himself, but we also don’t go courting trouble. Helps that we’re growing a reputation for amazing organic beef.”
“True story.” Hugo clinked the lip of his glass to Brand’s.
The nachos arrived, delivered by Ramie herself. “You boys aren’t gonna start any trouble in the bar tonight, are you?” she asked as she set down appetizer plates.
“Not on purpose, sweetheart,” Brand replied. “We just came out to celebrate Michael’s first week at the ranch.”
“Uh-huh. You celebrating Jackson’s first week ended in a brawl with two broken tables and a lot of beer on the floor.”
“Really?” Hugo perked up. “How do I not know this story?”
Brand sipped his beer while Ramie headed back to the bar.
“Why on earth did you and Jackson get into a bar fight?” Michael asked. The quiet cowboy was the very definition of cool, calm, and collected. It was difficult to imagine him throwing a punch in any direction.
“Someone gave him shit about his hair,” Brand replied.
“His hair?”
“Yeah, when he first started working for us, he wore it long. And not like mullet long, or anything, but in a ponytail, maybe to just below his shoulder blades. Used to say it honored his ancestors, but I never asked about his ancestry. First night we came out together, he got some racist shit thrown in his face, but Jackson took them down fast. No one messed with him after that, but he still cut his hair short about a week later. Hasn’t worn it long again in the couple years he’s been here.”
“Huh.” Jackson had the kind of tan skin and rugged appearance that could lend itself to any variety of ethnicities, from Indigenous to South American, and Michael wasn’t the guy to ask that kind of personal shit. It did pique his interest in the man, though.
Michael grabbed a tortilla chip laden with seasoned beef, cheese sauce, pico, and lettuce, and he took a big bite. The slightest kick of jalapeno warmed the back of his throat, so he chased the bite with a second, nearly naked chip and a swig of beer. Delicious. They forwent conversation in favor of devouring the nachos. Hugo went up to the bar and came back with a small bowl of Ranch dressing, which he dunked some of his chips into.
Weird but whatever.
His cell rang, and Michael’s pulse jumped, worried it was Josiah with an emergency. But the name on the screen made his stomach twist up tight and regret all that cheese. Kenny Wilde.
He stared at the phone, thumb hovering over the screen, unsure if he was going to hit the red or green button. Deny or accept. Part of him still missed Kenny and wanted to hear his voice again, especially now. Part of him despised the man and all his manipulations.
The former won, and he accepted the call. “Yeah?”
“Hey, babe, I’m glad you picked up,” Kenny’s syrupy-sweet voice said, all charm and kindness. The kind of voice that’d soothe you right into a nap and then stab you in the back the second your guard dropped.
“What do you want?”
“I wanted to see how you are. I heard about your dad through the grapevine. I’m so sorry he’s sick.”
Michael angled away from the table and the curious gazes of his two companions. “He’s getting better. I’m coping. Happy?”
“You sound upset. And what is that noise?”
“I’m in a bar with a few friends. And if I’m upset, it’s because you dumped me, stole my trademark, took most of my money and my dog, and I’m now living at home with my dad like a college dropout. Care to fuck off, Kenny?”
“Hey, Mikey, don’t be like that, I’m calling because I still care about you. Fifteen years of feelings don’t go away overnight.”
“Yeah, I’m sure it took at least two nights of fucking someone else for your feelings for me to go away.” And because he couldn’t help himself, Michael asked, “How’s Rosco?”
