Page 19 of Ride or Die

“I ain’t takin’ no for an answer,” he says, and my mind is a blank because he’s suddenly furious again, and all up in my face. “Pack your shit,” he seethes, his voice low, gruff, borderline threatening. “And if you’re not packed by the time I come back here in the mornin’, I’ll pack it my damn self but I doubt I’ll be as careful. Don’t fuckin’ test me, Clara.”

I rear back, shocked by his tone, but even more shocked by the fact that I don’t feel threatened or unsafe, not even in the slightest. If anything, the no-bullshit look in his eyes, combined with his words and the sound of my name rolling off his tongue is doing something to me that it absolutely should not.

As if satisfied by my silence, accepting it as submission, Cole nods once and turns, walking back to his truck. Or his friend’s truck he stole. I don’t even know anymore. And as I watch him back out of the parking spot before tearing off, I stand here, stillfrozen, wondering what just happened, and what the hell kind of mess I just got me and my kids into.

CHAPTER 7

COLE

The headlights illuminate the darkness as I navigate my way through the overgrown redbuds that line the dirt drive. I’ve been meaning to get rid of them, but Mama always loved when the buds flowered in spring, said it brought a little color to the panhandle’s permanent sepia tinge. I never knew back then what she meant. Funny how as we grow older, things our mamas told us as kids suddenly start to make sense. I haven’t found it in me to cut them down yet. One of these days, though. Pretty as they are, they’re a goddamn pain in my ass. Hell, the pretty things usually are.

When I make it to the clearing, I find Wyatt waiting on the porch steps, my truck parked up next to the house where it belongs, trailer secured by the barn in the back.

Pulling up to a stop, I hop out, dreading the inquiry I’m about to face, but when Wyatt meets me, handing me my keys, all I get is a casual, “Everythin’ alright?”

“Yeah.” Clearing my throat, I nod, handing his keys back. “You wanna beer?” I point to the house.

“Nah, I gotta pick Darcy up from The Saddlery,” he says, nodding to his truck. “You know what she’s like when she’s drunk and left to wait.”

I can’t help but laugh, because I do know. Darcy is Wyatt’s girl. She was once my girl, casual basis only. But one day she stopped wanting to hang out. She wanted more, more than I could ever give her. Didn’t matter though because turned out she didn’t want more with me, she wanted more with Wyatt, and that sappy son of a bitch has been wanting to be someone’s fella for as long as he’s had hair on his balls. Turns out Wyatt and Darcy are the perfect match; same people in different font.

“See ya tomorrow,” I say over my shoulder.

“Hey, Cole?”

I turn, looking back as Wyatt pauses by his truck. And I don’t know why, but he looks nervous, almost scared as he rubs at the back of his neck, doing all he can to avoid meeting my eyes.

“What’s up?”

Finally, he looks at me, steadying me with a long, hard imploring stare. “You’ll tell me if you’re in trouble?”

My brows knit together because honestly, I have no idea what the fuck he’s talking about. But the longer I stare at him, trying to make sense of his words, that’s when I see it. The same flash of concern he had in his eyes earlier at the rodeo, and my heart drops into the pit of my ass. Did Bailey say something to Darcy. Does he know something’s up?

Swallowing hard, I nod again. “I’m fine, man. Swear.”

He watches me for another long moment, and just when I think he doesn’t buy it for one second, he nods and hoists himself up into his truck. Then, with a three-finger salute, he drives off, disappearing beyond the redbuds.

When it’s just me and the quiet, I release the breath I didn’t know I was holding, heading up the porch steps and inside.

I bought this place last year. It ain’t much. Two bedrooms, a small living room, a tiny eat-in kitchen with a stove that don’t work half the time, and a bathroom I can barely turn around in. Wood floors in dire need of a sand and polish, tacky wallpaperthat’s half-peeling off, and a rusted tin roof I don’t think has another storm season left in it.

I got it dirt cheap: a deceased estate. The plan is to knock it down and rebuild, or at the very least renovate it. I might even buy a couple more acres off the Willis family who own the neighboring ranch. Jed Willis is getting a little long in tooth, and all his kids have moved on so, sadly, he ain’t got no one to pass it onto. Better me than some developer lookin’ to build a mini-mall Summer don’t need.

I toss my keys onto the kitchen counter and pull open the fridge, grabbing a beer. Cracking the can, I take a long pull, finishing almost half of it in one chug.

It’s almost one a.m. and normally, if I’m not at the bar with the fellas, I’d be dragging my sorry ass to bed after a rodeo, but not tonight. Tonight I’m too wired. I can’t stop thinking about her. Clara. The pretty girl, with the pretty name. And that harrowing look in her pretty eyes when she was about to tell me the truth.

I’m almost certain I have it figured out. From the bruises she was trying to hide, to the way she flinched when I got closer to her, the heartbreaking way she pleaded at me not to hurt her. Fuck, it made my heart ache.

I carry my beer through the doorway to the living room and lift the lid on the old record player sitting in the corner. Lining up the needle, crackle fills the void of silence before Waylon Jennings starts to play through the house, keeping me company while I get the place tidy enough for Clara and her kids to arrive in the morning.

I don’t normally work weekends with my rodeo schedule, but during the spring months, I try to help out where I can. After a couple hours sleep, I head on over to the ranch before sunrise, ready to muck out the stalls and feed the horses. As I’m hopping out of my truck, Austin walks out of the bunkhouse and stops, his eyes spearing me through the dim light of dawn. I can tell by the way that muscle’s ticking in his jaw, he ain’t happy.

“My office,” is all he says, turning.

Huffing a resigned sigh, I follow him to his office, which is really just the hood of his truck, where many a scalding has occurred.

“What’s up, Boss?” I ask, trying to keep it casual.