Page 9 of Beg for You

She squeezed my hand. “Good girl. I’m proud of you.”

“I think…I actually think it’s going to be…beautiful. Cal, the man doing the work, is so talented.”

“I can’t wait to see it.”

After my mother died and my father emotionally checked out, my grandmother became my and Chris’s rock. She’d never been interested in society, in the airs and graces my father loved so much. I wasn’t sure what I would have done without her. Without her encouragement, her unconditional love. Without her fun-loving spirit and wicked sense of humor.

When I thought I might spiral completely, she’d been there for me. She’d held me up. And I’d do that for her now. I’d do whatever I had to do to make the rest of her life a happy one. To make sure she spent it here, the place she loved most, and not in some retirement home or hospital like my father had suggested.

“Now,” she said, eyes bright with excitement. “Tell me about Monte, what you have planned for him and these new mares you’ve brought in.”

I’d told her many times before, and I didn’t think her asking me the same question almost every night had anything to do with her memory. Talking about the breeding program we’d come up with, carrying on what my grandfather loved, gave her joy.

I’d tell her every day, all day, if that’s what she wanted.

To see that smile on her face.

I started talking, and she clapped her hands with excitement, her entire face lighting up.

Yes, I would do anything for her. Anything.

Chapter Three

Cal

Anticipation had been a tight fist in my gut for the last two days, and I’d been clock watching all damn afternoon.

“Heading to the bar.”

So deep in my own thoughts, I hadn’t even heard Logan approach. For a big bastard—his nickname wasn’t Bull for nothing—he was fucking quiet.

My cousin—though he was just as much a brother to Dane and me as we were to each other—had worked and trained here as well. All three of us were artistic, could draw, which lent itself well to this line of work.

Bull had introduced me to Harvey, the guy who’d owned this place, after my accident. My cousin was a damned good tattooist and he still helped out around here part time, mainly looking after his existing clients. Since he’d bought The Lucky Mule, the bar across the street, a few years back, he didn’t have time for much more than that.

Bull leaned his massive bulk against the doorframe, crossed his inked arms, and lifted his brows in question. The guy wasn’t much of a talker but was observant as fuck, which meant he hadn’t missed that I was on edge.

“What?” I said, playing dumb.

He rubbed his hand over his beard. “What’s up?”

“Nothing.”

“Woman trouble?” he guessed, ignoring me.

I shook my head. “No trouble, just waiting on a client.”

Bull grunted in that way of his that managed to say “you’re full of shit” without actual words and pushed away from the door, shrugged, and walked out.

He never pushed because he knew if it was important, I’d talk to him. That’s how we did things.

Not this time, though.

I got back to cleaning up after my last client, and I’d just finished wiping down my chair when I heard a knock at the shop door. It was locked since I didn’t want any walk-ins, especially not tonight.

I forced myself to take my time and not stride to the door and yank it open. Cassy had been in my head since she walked out of here. It pissed me off. I’d spent more time than I should thinking about getting under those tight skirts and silk shirts, something that was never gonna happen. I’d regressed into a goddamn horny teenager.

I unbolted the door and pulled it open.