The Guy in the Middle (The Underdogs Book 3)

by Kate Stewart

  Lance

  I walk past Harper’s bedroom and see it’s empty. It’s the suitcase in the corner of the room that has my heartrate evening out. The kicker is, I’d be surprised if it wasn’t packed. Half of my problem with her is that it’s always seemed easy for her to leave. The longer she stays, the harder it is to admit to myself she might be serious, but if that’s the case, what’s changed? I reach the kitchen to see my dad sitting in his chair, sipping coffee through a straw, and staring out the window.

  “Morning, Dad.”

  “I think we’ve got one missing,” he says, eyeing the pasture.

  “There’s no way you can know that.”

  “Test me. I heard the coyotes last night. It’s my body betraying me, not my eagle eyes.”

  “Motherfucker.” I know he’s right. He’s been doing this longer than I’ve been alive.

  “You’ll find ‘em. You always do.”

  “I don’t need this today. We have a delivery at three.”

  “Better make good time then.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Dad never minces words when it comes to the ranch, so when he smiles, I follow his line of sight to see Harper…dancing in the middle of the pasture.

  “What the hell?” I say, stepping toward the window to see Harper doing a fucking ballet in the middle of the herd. She’s prancing around like she’s in a field of lilies. I scrub my hand down my face. “She’s insane.”

  “She’s a hoot. That’s for sure. She’s been at it for the better part of an hour. I’m willing to bet she’s covered from the knees down in cow shit.” He chuckles, and I can tell he’s smitten with her. Another one down. I roll my eyes and sip my freshly poured coffee.

  Dad keeps his eyes trained on Harper. “She’s good for you.”

  “She’s young.”

  “Your mother was younger.”

  “It doesn’t work anymore the way it used to. She doesn’t fit in this life.”

  “She seems to be doing a good job.” He looks up to me. “Go talk to her, I swear she just carried a conversation on with one of them.”

  “I’ve got shit to do.”

  “Talk to her.”

  “Like you have all the answers.”

  Dad lets out a harsh breath. “Son, I know I messed up—”

  “Is that what you want to call it?” He looks over to me with guilty features. “Forget it.” I scrub my hand down my face. “I have work to do.”

  “Does that hurt?” Harper’s voice sounds out as I tag the cow.

  “A lot less than making it a steak.”

  “Jesus, Lance.”

  “Just another reason you wouldn’t make it out here. Too much empathy for dinner.”

  “I’m making it just fine, thank you. I got my coveralls today. Amazon Prime. Gotta love it. They deliver everywhere.”

  Straddling the fence, I glance down to see her in faded pink coveralls, her hair in braids. She looks fucking adorable and gives me a wink when my gaze lingers on her a bit too long.

  “Don’t you have something to do?”

  “I’m doing it.”

  “What’s that exactly?”

  “Observing the angry bull in its environment.”

  “There are no bulls in here.”

  “Says you.”

  I roll my eyes. “Make yourself useful and hand me that tag.”

  She lifts on her toes and manages to get it in my hands.

  “You want to tell me what you were doing this morning?”

  “Cow shit ballet. It’s something I’m testing out for the future. What did you think?”

  “You know there was a cleaner pasture, not a hundred yards over.”

  “Yeah, but I like the cows. They’re chill creatures. What are you going to name this one?”

  “I don’t name hamburger meat.”

  “Okay, okay,” she shakes her hands at me. “Well I’ll name her. Channah-nan-na-nan.”

  I pause, peering over at her. “Any specific reason why?”

  “Seems like as good of a name as any. You like it?”

  “Not particularly.”

  “Seems to be good meat.”

  I lift a brow. “You have something you want to ask me?”

  “Nope,” she pops her glossed lips and leans in. “But your ass looks amazing perched on that fence.”

  I hang my head. “Harper.”

  “What?” She drawls out. “I’ve been invited on an expedition, a date, you’ll have to save all that negativity for later.”

  “A date? With who?”

  “With me,” Trevor says, sauntering up and handing Harper a loaded rifle. “We’re going to catch that ‘yote.”

  “The hell you are.”

  “You know I know what I’m doing,” Trevor says, indignant.

  I kick back on the fence. “This girl couldn’t shoot to save her life.”

  “I resemble that remark, fully.” She turns to Trevor. “Really, I do, I was raised in a tutu.” I can’t help my smirk. “But I’m also a Texas woman, educated in football, nursed with beer and other manly shit, so, have some faith, Lance. I’ll kill your cow eater.”

  “No.”

  She wrinkles her nose. “This isn’t up for debate.” She checks the chamber of the gun. “I know the basics.”

  “And I’m saying, no, fuck no, and no way.” I glare at my brother, making my way down the fence. “Your crush is cute, but you don’t hand a lady a gun when she doesn’t know how to use it.”

  “Back off, dick, I know enough for the both of us.”

  “No, and no,” I say to each of them individually in an attempt to make my point.

  Harper lifts her rifle. “You’re outnumbered. That concludes this debate.”

  Cursing, I charge toward her. “Give me that.”

  “No.” She turns away from me as I glare at Trevor, who’s smiling like Alice’s Cheshire cat. “I may be in love with her. I think this is the only woman who has ever said no to you.”

  “Interesting,” Harper says, her cheeks heating.

  “Trust me, none of them had him tied up the way you do,” Trevor says, jutting his chin toward me.

  “Good to know. Channah-nan-na-nan,” she cocks her rifle, eyeing the cow with disdain, “enjoy your Lance since your days are numbered.” And with that, she leaves the barn with Trevor hot on her heels.

  “They aren’t working, damnit, they aren’t working. It’s like tunnel vision. I can’t see shit,” She whisper-yells next to me. I take the goggles from her and flip them over before switching them to night vision. “Oh. Jesus. How did I miss that? Blonde moment, for sure.”

  “Shhhh, lady love, not so loud,” Trevor chuckles, and it grates me. I know he’s doing it just to screw with me, though some part of me does think he’s smitten.

  “So, what are the signs?” Harper asks.

  “Well, that would be a ‘yote coming into view,” I say under my breath. I’m supposed to be doing a hundred other things aside from entertaining this bullshit.

  “Smartass,” she spouts, lifting her night vision goggles to scan the herd. “I just meant, is there anything in particular to look for?”

  “A coyote,” Trevor and I say together.

  “I’ve always wanted to do this,” she ignores our sarcasm. “And shoot pool. I’ve never done that.”

  “We’ve got a hall up the road,” Trevor says. “Lance use to stomp around up there. He’s good.”

  “How good?”

  “Really good,” Trevor supplies.

  She nudges me. “Will you teach me?”

  “Don’t have the time,” I say, imagining her bent over the table for a shot, her long legs in a short skirt. I hate every minute of this. This conjured image just another I’ll need to wipe, along with the one of her in those coveralls. She’s pressed against my hip, laying on her stomach with Trevor on the other side of her. She’s on watch while we each have a scope on the herd.

  “You bring the hooch?” Trevor asks.

 
“Yeah, you have hooch?” Harper mimics. You would think they are related.

  “No, because this isn’t a party.”

  “Could be,” Trevor quips. “God, you used to be so much more fun, brother.”

  “I can’t drink that shit so close to a fight, and oh, you’re sixteen.”

  “That didn’t stop you from giving me that moonshine not too long ago,” he smarts.

  “It was two shots, enough to shut you up, which you two apparently can’t do now. If we have any chance of catching them, it won’t be due to this circus.”

  “I think we’re doing a fantastic job,” Harper says, her binoculars up.

  “You are,” Trevor says.

  Harper scoots in closer to me for warmth, and I allow it. It’s freezing tonight, but clear, clear enough that we have a real shot of catching the culprit responsible for the dead heifer I found today.

  “I see it,” Harper whisper-shouts. “There’s two, three of them.”

  “Bullshit,” Trevor says, looking through his scope.

  “About fifty yards away from the barn.”

  Trevor chimes in. “Yep, she’s right.”

  “Damn,” she pipes up, “they look like dogs. I was expecting something a little more epic.”

  Trevor chuckles, and I sigh. Three is the worst possible number. He reads my thoughts.

  “Three,” he says, “if we take two of them out, it may solve the problem, but you never know.”

  “Damn.” I train the scope on one of them and look over to Harper, who I know has a waiting smile on her lips.

  “Did you want to ask me something, Lance?”

  Harper

  “We got ‘em, Dad,” Trevor announces proudly as the three of us enter the living room. “And our girl here got the third.” Trevor and I share a grin.

  “Good job,” Jack nods toward me as I take off my jacket.

  “To be fair, Lance took my aim. All I did was pull the trigger.”

  Lance removes the gun from my hand and Trevor’s and locks them up in the cabinet next to the fireplace before securing the key in his pocket. He and Jack share a look I can’t decipher from where he sits in the recliner as Rip picks up a guitar on the couch next to him.

  “Where’s Mom?” Trevor asks.

  “She picked up another shift,” Jack replies before taking a sip from his tumbler.

  It wasn’t until I got to the ranch that I found out Jeannie went back to work years ago to help out with the bills. She bartends at the only hotel in town. Not one person in this house ever stops, even retired, Rip comes out to help with the workload. He lives on the edge of town with his wife but is over almost every day. On the Prescott ranch, everyone is considered family. Rip’s talent takes me by surprise as I watch him run his fingers effortlessly along the strings.

  “Wow. You’re good.”

  “That’s nothing,” Trevor says, hanging his coat next to the roaring fire where I heat my hands behind me. “You should have seen him and Dad when they used to play. We have videos.”

  “Yeah?” I look down at Jack.

  “We used to open for Lynyrd Skynyrd,” Rip says.

  Lance sighs as if he’s heard the same story a thousand times. He told me when we were dating that when his dad was younger, he played in a band, so chances are, that’s the case.

  “Why did you stop?” I ask, knowing it doesn’t have anything to do with Jack’s Parkinson’s diagnosis. It was too long ago.

  “Jeannie got pregnant,” Jack says as Lance looks over to me. “And we played when we could, we just never got anywhere. I wanted to settle down anyway, and no one was beating down our door to sign us.”

  “Good times,” Rip says, clinking glasses with Jack before they both take a sip.

  “Lance, pour yourself some,” Jack gestures to the bottle of whiskey on the table.

  “Can’t. Training.”

  “One drink, son,” he insists.

  Lance shakes his head. “Got shit to do.”

  “Bullshit.” Jack stands with his drink in hand and moves toward Lance before he loses his footing, falling to the carpet as though he’s been tripped, his tumbler spilling over.

  Lance curses and is at his side in an instant, helping him up.

  I feel the embarrassment, the tension, as Trevor looks on frozen, while Rip keeps picking his guitar. And then I’m on Jack’s other side as we secure him back in the recliner. Unable to handle another second of the tension, I pipe up. “Jack, that was the absolute worst Cupid Shuffle I’ve ever seen.” Lance’s head snaps to mine as I dig in. “You have a dance professional living under your roof, the least you could do is ask for help.”

  Lance’s eyes bulge as Jack looks up to me speculatively before he starts to laugh. Rip joins in as I pick up the empty glass and hand it to Trevor, who’s smiling at me. “Get him another one.” Trevor doesn’t hesitate, he pours two fingers of the bottle in the glass and hands it to his dad. I look over at Lance and see him repeatedly swallowing before he turns and makes his way down the hall.

  “Will you play for me when I get done changing?” Rip nods, and I turn quickly, making my way down the hall to catch Lance.

  “Lance.” I’m at his back at his bedroom door. He pauses with his hand on the knob. Without a second thought, I wrap my arms around his waist and lean in, inhaling his scent. He smells like evergreen, and I become instantly addicted. He doesn’t pull away from my touch, he just lingers there with me.

  I’m sorry. I love you. Please, give me another chance to prove I mean it. But I don’t say it out loud, words seem pretty useless these days. Actions speak a lot louder. And he needs actions, he needs solidarity because he’s always waiting for the other shoe to drop. It’s clear to me he’s gotten to the point where he believes in trade. That in order to be successful in one area of life, you have to let go of another. He believes that all things can’t go well at once. And that’s the most heartbreaking part of it. I too thought that at one time, but I’m here to prove it’s simply not true. Warm hands cover mine as he finally speaks.

  “Thank you for your help.”

  I squeeze him tighter, willing him to open up, to give me something, anything.

  But he releases me.

  “I’m going to go help Trevor with dinner,” I whisper at his back.

  I’ve been in the kitchen for hours, making Jeannie’s apple pie. I pulled it from an old recipe box after I did the dinner dishes and just got to work. Lance ate in his room—to avoid me—I’m sure. I got close today. I can’t remember a time in our whole relationship where he resisted me so damned much, even when we’d had an argument.

  It’s not about you.

  It’s not about you.

  It’s not about you.

  But it feels personal. I fucking love him. I deprived myself of two years without him, the whole time unsure if he felt the same ache. Him coming to New York was affirmation. And now the space is killing me. I don’t want to sleep down the hall from Lance. I want my place at his side. A couple of years ago, he made love to me all night long in that bedroom he’s holed up in. Now it seems like a lifetime ago. I’m close to cracking after just a week.

  I need him. I want him so badly I’m aching, limbs heavy, my center a constant throb. He brought that part of me back to life.

  The need is debilitating. It’s all resistance to us. I’ve made him smile, laugh, and that’s been no easy feat. Even with those leaps, it feels like he’s sinking further into himself. I pull the second pie out of the oven just as Jeannie walks in the kitchen after her shift.

  “Hey, you,” I say, pouring her a cup of coffee. “I borrowed apples, cinnamon sugar, butter, flour, an egg, and some electricity. I’ll pay you back.”

  She grins at me, her posture showing her fatigue as she takes the coffee and kisses my temple.

  “Thanks, darlin’. And I’ll settle for a slice.”

  “Coming up.”

  “How was today?”

  “I did a ballet for the cows, killed a coy
ote, and baked two pies.”

  Jeannie throws her head back with a laugh. “Bet you never thought that would ever be your day’s summary.”

  “It’s different,” I grin. “That’s for sure.”

  “Do you like it?”

  “For the most part, yes.”

  She smirks into her coffee. “But not at night.”

  I bite my lips. Do I really want to be talking sex with Lance’s mom?

  Hell to the no. “You could say that, yes. It’s a bit lonely.”

  “Hang in there. He loves apple pie.”

  I grin. “I know.”

  “It’s another of the few things he can’t resist.”

  I quirk a brow. “Are you telling me to go seduce your son with apple pie?”

  “Whatever gets me a grandchild.”

  I set a piece in front of her. “I need him speaking to me first.”

  “He’s good at hiding.”

  “Tell me ‘bout it.” I sigh, wiping the counter before rinsing out the dishrag.

  “He comes alive with you around. It might be hard for you to understand because you haven’t watched him from the beginning. He spent the first two years of his life covering our mouths to shut us up. He didn’t like the noise. Matter of fact, his first words were Mama and shut up.”

  “Funny, shut up were his first words to me too.”

  We both laugh as I pull a seat at the table.

  “But when that child cracked a smile, he lit up the room. When he laughed, he laughed hysterically. I was so in love with my little boy.” She sips her coffee and sets it down. “He didn’t play with other children well and isolated a lot until Trevor came along. He claimed his brother the minute we brought him home. He’s always been quiet. Always, until he started getting in trouble at school. And it wasn’t words he was using that got him in hot water.”

  “Fighting?”

  “Yeah.”

  “He likes his own noise, communicates in his own way. He seemed to blossom some in college, but when he came back, it’s like he went into himself again. Over the last few years, I’ve watched his smile fade and heard many more shut ups. But with you, it’s as if he’s picking up a conversation that he’s been having his whole life.”