Page 9 of Wrangling Wade

"Well, goddamn." Walker smacks the table hard enough to jostle the silverware, practically chortling. "She finally called it in, huh?"

"You know your wife likes me more than she likes you, right?" I ask, staring at him levelly.

His smile slips into a scowl. "Keep talking about my wife, and I will murder you in your sleep."

"Jealous bastard."

He just shrugs, not ashamed of it. He's possessive as hell when it comes to Letty, and every cowboy on the ranch knows it. Honestly, good for him. It's good to see him happy.

"How'd your favor end up with you all beat up?" he asks after a moment, motioning toward the cut on my cheek.

"Got in a fight," I mutter.

He startles slightly, like he wasn't expecting that answer. Even Bishop tunes back in, eyeing me sideways.

"What the fuck?" Walker finally asks.

"Danny Palmer was at the bar, running his mouth. I handled it," I say with a shrug, biting into a piece of bacon. "You know how he is."

"Yeah," Walker grunts in response, eyes narrowed. "And I know he'd be less like the way he is if you'd take your ass over to the station to have a conversation with Dillon about the shit that went down when you worked on his ranch."

"It's six in the morning, Walker. Can we not?"

We've had this same argument a thousand times. Frankly, he's right. I should have gone to Dillon when I quit, but men like Danny have a habit of walking away from the shit they do while men like us—the ones doing the work—take the fall. I'm not interested in sending a bunch of innocent cowboys to prison because their boss is a lying, thieving prick.

My older brother grinds his teeth, reluctant to let it go. "Yeah, fine," he finally relents with a curse, settling back on the bench. "But next time you hit the bastard, you better call me."

"I'm not five," I say with a grin, shaking my head. "Besides, it wasn't even about any of that. He was making a nuisance of himself to the bartender. I didn't appreciate what he had to say about her, so I handled it."

Walker stares at me for a long moment before a slow grin spreads across his face. "Well, goddamn," he says.

I know that look. I wore that same look when he met Letty.

"Don't even start."

"You've got a thing for the bartender."

"I'm doing a favor for Morgan," I grit out. It's not a lie. It's also not the entire truth. But I don't even know what the fuck is going on with Harlow. All I know is that I dreamed about her. I want to see her again. And the thought of her being at the bar alone is driving me up the fucking wall.

Am I ready to tell my nosy-as-fuck brother all of that? Absolutely not. He'll never shut the fuck up about it. And I do notneed him up my ass right now, not when I've got more important shit to do—like figure out how I'm going to convince Harlow that shewantsme at the bar with her every night, at least until Redd gets back into town.

"Uh-huh," Walker says, grinning ear-to-ear. "You just keep telling yourself that."

I bite off a big hunk of bacon, scowling at him. He just smirks at me, making Bishop chuckle.

"You want to talk about the favor you're doing for Morgan?" I ask him pointedly.

His eyes go wide before the motherfucker actually gulps. "Nope. Definitely not."

Walker glances from me to him, clocking the look on his face. His loud laughter booms across the mess hall, loud enough to draw the attention of damn near every cowboy in the room. "Oh, this is fucking great," he says, smacking the table again.

I briefly consider stabbing him with my fork, but quickly decide Letty would probably kill me for it. I think she wants to be the first one to stab him on purpose. Honestly, don't blame her. I've known him my whole life. I'd cover for her. "Does he annoy the fuck out of you, too?" I ask Bishop.

"Every goddamn day," Bishop growls, glaring at my brother.

Walker just laughs again, hard enough that he chokes.

"Serves you right, you big bastard," I say, amused when he reaches for his coffee, wheezing. I eat my bacon, enjoying his misery. If he dies, he dies. Not my problem.