Total pages in book: 28
Estimated words: 26221 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 131(@200wpm)___ 105(@250wpm)___ 87(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 26221 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 131(@200wpm)___ 105(@250wpm)___ 87(@300wpm)
It's quiet this morning, everyone too preoccupied with their food and their thoughts to say much. God knows, mornings are the only time there's any peace around here.
I grunt at Walker, flipping him off. I'm too tired for his shit. I didn't even get to bed until three.
"That's because he didn't get in until a few hours ago," Bishop drawls from Walker's left, one massive, tattooed arm planted on the table, a fork clutched in his other hand.
I scratch the side of my face with my middle finger, which only makes him chuckle. The bastard.
"Oh, really?" Walker arches a dark brow at me.
For a minute, I consider ignoring him. Where I was and what I was doing is none of his business. But I might actually need his help.
"I was at the Spur," I mutter, tucking into my plate of eggs and bacon. "Doing a favor for Morgan."
Recognition flares in Bishop's green eyes, his fork pausing midair for a moment before he slowly lifts it to his lips, glancing away. Interesting. Just what kind of favor does she have him doing for her?
"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 not need 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 she wants me 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.