Page 103 of Roped in Rawhide

“Can you blame me when you’re making ridiculous statements that I don’t comprehend? I’m beginning to feel like this is an interrogation.”

He grins but the expression is cold and detached. “Glad we’re finally on the same page.”

My mind gallops to uncover the reason why his anger targeted me. Our only other interaction was when I tried to offer him comfort and he swiftly dismissed my attempt. Considering the circumstances, I shrugged off his cruel words easily enough. It seems like grace might still need to be granted. That’s reasonable to a certain extent.

Silence stretches and expands while I study the fury curling off Brody like wisps of smoke. This guy recently lost his mother. Marion Benson was the center stone that kept everyone else settled. Since she passed, her family has been scattered about and forced to reassemble. This new normal is badly broken but trying to mend. There’s more strength in that than they give themselves credit for.

I’m not a therapist or an expert in grief, but it’s obvious that Brody is struggling. Maybe this is how he copes. He lashes out when the pain demands a release. I just so happen to be conveniently located, and I’m willing to handle his temper for a few rounds. But I don’t dare voice that offer aloud.

The main reason being that his attack feels personal. More than suppressed mourning. I’m not volunteering to be his doormat.

Bandit nudges my arm and knocks me from the spiral. I drift my palm down the slope of his head, taking comfort in the familiar motion. The palomino’s gentle shove reminds me that he’s at my side and I’m not alone. It also gives me the courage to stand taller.

“I think we’ve gotten off on the wrong hoof,” I joke. “Regardless of what you believe, I’m not trying to overstep. Your sister hired me to do a job, and I plan to do it well. There’s nothing for us to fight about.”

Brody bends until our faces are level and the brim of his hat almost thumps my forehead. At this distance, I get a tantalizing whiff of crisp pine and mayhem. It’s too tempting. My concentration buzzes and blurs at the edges. His clean scent has me picturing him fresh from the shower, only a towel wrapped around his waist. The visual of stray droplets trickling along his muscles doesn’t pass the current vibe check. I scold myself and decide to take Bianca’s advice about going on a date.

That resolve gains momentum when Brody’s glare narrows into sharpened blades. “This is a family matter, and you’re not family. You don’t belong here.”

Want more of this enemies to lovers, marriage of convenience, grumpy cowboy billionaire romance? Keep reading Buckled in Barbwire today!

Have you read the other two standalones in the Cloverleaf Meadows series?

Saddled in Secrets is Colton and Bianca’s story. Read this older brother’s best friend, morally gray bodyguard, grumpy x sunshine, he’s been yearning for years romance here!

Tangled in Trouble is Byron and Frankie’s story. This is a grumpy single dad, morally gray reluctant nanny, forced proximity, opposites romance. Read it here!

Want another friends to lovers romance? Check out this excerpt from Yours to Catch!

“Hey, you.” I wiggle my fingers at Garrett.

But he doesn’t remove his hostility from Brent. There’s a fire in his glare that only needs a tiny spark to set the entire building ablaze. “Can I get you something to drink?”

“Miller Lite.” Brent places the order without taking his eyes off me, completely unaware of the danger facing him.

“Tall or short?” There’s an unmistakable growl in the formerly friendly bartender’s tone.

“Tall. I have a feeling I’m not going anywhere for a while.” He winks at me.

A peek at Garrett reveals his jaw clenching into stone. If he grinds much harder, his molars will crumble into dust. He blindly whips a glass fresh from the washer and fills it with beer from the tap. Then he slams the Miller Lite on the counter. Golden brew sloshes over onto the wood surface from the agitated motion. Brent doesn’t notice.

“Anything else?”

“Nah, man. We’re good.” Then he proceeds to shoo Garrett away with a flick of his wrist.

My jaw drops at the dismissive action. Even if I’d been hanging on this dude’s every word, that disrespectful jab would’ve slaughtered my piqued intrigue. As it sits, I’m prepared to tell him off in Garrett’s defense.

But, as it turns out, my noble sheroism isn’t necessary. Water shoots out from seemingly nowhere to soak Brent’s lap.

He leaps off his stool with a stream of curses flying from his foul mouth. “What the fuck, man?”

Garrett has the audacity to appear very satisfied, his familiar smirk returning in stunning clarity. “Whoops. The gun got away from me. Finger slipped on the trigger. Faulty pipes. You know how it is. Right, man?”

I barely stifle a laugh as he swings the handheld soda dispenser by the hose like a floppy dick. “Simple mistake.”

Brent swipes at his drenched jeans. “Complete bullshit. I want to speak to your manager.”

“You’re looking at him,” Garrett drawls. “Unless you’d rather deal with him.”