Rough Edge

by Landish, Lauren

  I put a pin in that idea as she starts walking again. We look at some newer model cars, ones I can mostly identify. Mustang, Camaro, and a few Corvettes.

  A mullet-haired blond kid in baggy jeans, probably no more than twenty, judging by his smooth jawline, waves at Erica, and she gives him a friendly smile. I’m already directing her that way, knowing she’ll want to talk to the guy, but she puts a hand on my chest. “Hey, would you mind grabbing me a Coke?” She points at a vendor on the far side of the line of cars. “I’ll meet you right here, by Todd’s Challenger. That’s the purple one.” She winks as she says it, teasing me.

  I look from her to Todd, trying to get a read. “Yeah, sure . . . be right back.”

  I use the full breadth of my strides to get to the drink vendor, not shortening them for Lil Bit’s stride the way I’ve been doing the rest of the day, and get back with a cold can of Coke in record time. Not that there’s a record for that, but if there were, I’d have just beaten it because I was damn fast.

  Erica and Todd are deep in conversation. I try to judge if it’s personal. Hell, I don’t know, maybe she dated him too? Or he’s Reed’s little brother? I don’t know, but I’m standing here like a chump with her drink, feeling a little too much like Reed, I reckon.

  But when Erica points Todd to the driver seat and dips under the hood, I can see there’s something more professional going on. Or at least I hope there is. She leans over the engine and he revs it loudly. Erica doesn’t even flinch, listening closely.

  She’s like the Engine Whisperer, I think proudly. I have no reason to be proud of that. It’s definitely not my doing, but I like that she’s someone other people seek out for her brain. That she’s got this whole thing going on that she’s in control of.

  I had that once with the farm. Ran it and myself to the ground, but she’s thriving with it. That much is obvious from today.

  Todd gets out from behind the wheel, feet spread wide and hands crossed over his chest, a stance I know well. He’s pissed. He frowns as he says something I can’t hear, and Erica shakes her head. Todd kicks the tire of his fancy car, saying something again. Erica shrugs and shakes her head. I can see the no on her lips as I approach with her Coke.

  “Here you go, Erica.”

  Todd’s brows jump together. “Who’s Erica?”

  She elbows me in the gut, not hard, but I wince anyway. “Me. You don’t get to call me that,” she tells the kid.

  “Whatever, Rix. You sure you can’t do it? Just a little more.” He’s needling her, though I haven’t the foggiest idea what about.

  “Nah, I’ll do a little research to confirm. But I think you’re maxed.” She takes my hand this time, pulling me away. “’Bye, Todd.”

  The kid looks even more pissed as we walk away.

  “What’s that about?” I ask, curious and not the least bit jealous. That’s my story and I’m sticking to it. And really, the kid wasn’t even looking at Erica that way. Dumbass doesn’t see what’s right in front of him, but I do.

  “Nothing. Just car shit.” I hear the ‘drop it.’ “I think I’m good. You ready to head to the other side of the mountain?”

  I nod. “Yeah, take me home, Lil Bit. Maybe if you’re lucky, I’ll feed you dinner too. Fair warning, though. All I can make are pancakes, so I hope you want them again.” She laughs, shoving at my chest.

  I think she’s feeling me up again, so I flex a little for her. She grabs my nipple again, twisting and laughing. “Come on, Cowboy.”

  At the same time, she’s nearly brought me to my knees. “Shit . . . stop. You want me to do that to you? And I don’t mean in sexy way.” The threat holds no heat since I’m rubbing my chest soothingly.

  “Go ahead,” she dares, pushing her tits up at me. I know she doesn’t have a bra on because I watched her get dressed earlier. But when she does that, I don’t want to give her a purple nurple. I want to cup and suck those nipples until she begs me to give her more.

  And with that evil thought, I promise her, “Later.”

  Chapter 11

  Erica

  The drive out to the ranch is never-ending, but scenic, at least. I’ll admit to staying in my little corner most of the time, rarely even venturing to the mountain, much less the other side. But we drive through Great Falls and Brody points out things of interest . . . the corner where he had his first fight—he was nine, he says, and of course it was about a girl. The feed store, ‘Buy supplies for the critters there, other than hay, of course,’ like I would know that, and his favorite restaurant, a honkytonk named Hank’s that has meatloaf to kill for.

  “Meatloaf? Worth a life? I doubt that,” I say skeptically. “Meatloaf is pretty much the fuck-it-all of dinners. Oops, not enough meat? Throw some breadcrumbs in it. Taste like shit? Cover it in ketchup. I’m not buying it.”

  “You’ll see. It’ll change your life,” he says with a smile. An actual one, with light in his dark eyes and his white teeth showing between those full, kissable lips.

  Not too long ago, I’d thought he simply never smiled. There’d always been something behind it, a little bit of mischief or challenge, something at least. But now, he looks happy. Pretty sure I did that with my pussy. Okay, maybe my personality a tiny bit too. The thought is exciting. Somehow, so is eating dinner at some future date with him, even if it’s meatloaf.

  We leave the small town that honestly looks quite picturesque with its rural, comfy vibe. I can imagine tourists who come to the resort taking a quaint getaway day trip to Great Falls when they need a break from skiing. But for the locals, it’s home, with a cute downtown Brody says is where they have festivals, playgrounds teeming with kids, and an old-style movie theater with only two screens. It’s different from Morristown on the other side of the mountain for sure, which is mostly commercial in contrast. We have a downtown and locals, and it’s home to me, but it feels more businesslike all the time. Not the same welcoming warmth Great Falls has.

  I should’ve come over here more often. Not just the occasional farmer’s market trips with Emily.

  Maybe I will come over more often with Brody here, I think. I meant it when I said I don’t have time for anything serious, but a little part of me isn’t ready to drop him off and drive away. Not today, at least, when the garage is closed and the day is mine to do with as I please.

  The road becomes more deserted, only an occasional truck passing us, and Brody directs me well beyond the outskirts of town. “There’ll be a break in the fence on the right.” I see it and turn in carefully, feeling the bumps of metal beneath the truck. “Cattle guard,” he explains. “Keeps them from just waltzing out the front gate.”

  “You leave it open?” I ask. I don’t know why, but that worries me. Like I know shit about taking care of cows, but that doesn’t sound safe. Is cattle theft still a thing? If so, a thief would just need to back up to the front door and rob ’em blind. Okay, maybe that’s an overreach, but I’m a total city slicker and proud of it.

  Brody shakes his head. “No, I texted that I’m incoming so someone rode out to open it because I don’t have an opener with me. I’ll close it after you leave so we’re secure for the night.”

  Relief washes through me. That the cattle are safe or that he is? As if he needs protection. I internally roll my eyes at my protective streak. It’s just habit. Protect Emily, the garage, Mom and Dad, the whole damn country.

  We pull up to a two-story country house, white with black trim that matches the barn set off to the right. There are several trucks parked outside, and I can’t help but mentally take their measure. Mechanic’s habit.

  “Shit.” Brody’s murmur is under his breath.

  “What’s wrong?” I look around, looking for . . . something?

  Two men appear in the doorway of the barn. I can see the grin on one from here, it’s that bright. The other guy looks thunderous, murderous.

  “Who’s that?” I ask, on edge as I switch out my feet to put my left on the brake and right hovering over the ga
s. Old habits die hard, and if we need to move quickly, I’m fucking ready.

  “My boss, Mark. His brother, Luke.” Brody’s voice has a tinge of affection to it, but I suspect he doesn’t realize it. “Come on, I’ll introduce you.”

  The adrenaline coursing through my blood evaporates to be replaced with fizzy nerves as I throw the truck in park. I hop down and meet Brody at the back gate. Neither of the Barn Door Boys moves. That’s what I’m calling them because in my head, they’re a boy band and therefore the least intimidating guys ever, not that I’m scared of anyone, ever. Usually. Mostly.

  You know how mirrors have that warning, ‘objects are closer than they appear’? Perspective is like that as we walk closer to the Barn Door Boys too. Only as we get closer, they get even larger.

  Dear God, what the hell do they feed these guys out here? I know I’m small, have dealt with that disadvantage my whole life, and Brody’s big. No doubt about that. But I’d figured he was a one-off. Nope, there are at least two more just like him—tall, broad, muscled, with a healthy dose of asshole. Different versions of it—one cocky, one mean—but different sides of the same coin. Been there, done that with a veritable buffet of options when I got my uniform. Military guys all have a good streak of asshole-itis. Me included. You have to if you want to handle even a single enlisted day. And that thought makes me stand a little taller and face the Barn Door Boys head on with my own five-foot-nothing version of a swagger.

  Brody makes introductions. The mean one is Mark and the cocky one is Luke. “Good to meet you, Rix.” Luke holds out his hand.

  It definitely did not escape my notice that Brody introduced me as Rix, though he’s never called me the name everyone else does. I know it started as an easy way to irk me, but I like that he calls me Erica. A little. Fine, a lot.

  “Mama Louise set an extra plate at dinner.” Mark’s simple statement is heavy with meaning.

  Brody turns to me. “You are absolutely welcome to stay, but don’t feel like you have to. She’ll understand if you want to run. I sure as fuck did when she first got her claws into me.”

  Luke snorts. “We were stuck with her from birth. You could’ve run. You chose to stay around.” Mark clears his throat, which could mean nothing, but I’m pretty sure he just subtly told Luke to ‘shut the fuck up.’

  Brody’s eyes flash something dark and pained, but it’s gone quick as a blink so maybe I’m wrong because his answer is light and teasing. “Don’t let him fool you. Mama Louise is the scariest thing on this ranch and no one stands a chance against her.”

  All three guys nod like that’s the God’s honest truth, and I’m curious as can be about a woman who has these monsters damn near quaking in their boots. “I could eat before my drive back, I guess. Though I’m a vegetarian. That gonna be a problem?”

  Mark and Luke lose their foreheads to their eyebrows. Brody’s lips quirk in amusement without giving away that I’m fucking with them. He knows I’m full of shit since he saw me pack away a huge corndog at the car show today.

  “Just kidding. Take me to the beef show.”

  The Barn Door Boys breathe a sigh of relief as Brody chuckles. But they quickly set him right, Mark telling Brody, “Shay made a pot roast today.” Again, such simple words, but everything Mark says seems to have three more meanings, each deeper than the last.

  “Shiiiit.” Brody’s horror doesn’t equate with the dinner menu, and that confuses me until he asks the guys, “What’s she been up to?” Mostly, he’s giving a hairy eyeball to Luke, and I remember Brody said that he’s married to Shayanne.

  “Little bit of this, little bit of that. Ranting about you quite a bit. But don’t worry, I distracted her for you.” Luke’s grin is back in full force as he offers a wink to go along with the day’s report.

  I elbow Brody, sensing his torture and piling on the way only friends can. “Cowboy, I think that means he was dicking your sister to shut her up.”

  Blink. Blink. Blink.

  Three cowboys look at me blankly for a long, slow heartbeat as they process whether I actually said what I said.

  Brody, used to me already, unfreezes first. “Damn it, Erica. Don’t say shit like that about my sister.”

  Mark snorts and Luke points at me. “I like her, Brody.”

  As we head into the house, the Barn Door Boys stomping their boots to get the dirt off, Brody whispers in my ear. “I like you, too.” The sweetness is tempered when he nibbles my earlobe a little hard, a nip for my own biting words.

  I take a steadying breath as we walk in the back door, ready to face down the monster inside if the guys’ description of Mama Louise is accurate.

  From behind the wall of the Barn Door Boys, I’m invisible because I hear a woman’s voice say, “Well, where is she?”

  Mark and Luke step apart like curtains opening for a great reveal, but it’s just me. I swear a record scratches in the air as I get a glimpse of Brody’s family and they get a first look at me. Shayanne is doing some fist-punching, boot-kicking air fight thing from her chair that looks to be a celebration at my arrival. There’s a blonde woman holding a big bowl of mashed potatoes, another blonde at the sink, and a brunette holding a baby with crazy pigtails. A child that small should not have enough hair for pigtails, but this one does. A young boy is making faces at the baby, who laughs in delight. There’s also another edition of a blonde Barn Door Boy, a threesome then, and two more tall, dark, and handsomes who must be Brody’s brothers. Each and every one of them looks from me to a petite blonde woman standing by the stove with a spoon in her hand.

  Mama Louise.

  That has to be her. I know who the commanding officer is in any room. It’s not by size. It’s not by age. It’s purely by presence. And she’s the fucking Commander in Chief here.

  “Nice to meet you, Rix. Come on in and have a seat. First-timers don’t have to help.” The implication is that next time, because she’s already deemed there will be one, I’ll be expected to help with dinner. I’m not sure how I feel about that yet.

  Brody guides me to a chair and sits down beside me. Everyone else falls into what seems to be their usual places. Brody goes around the table, giving me everyone’s names, and I make a joke that there’d better not be a pop quiz later, but really, I learned them all. Barn Door Boys plus one are Mark, Luke, and James. Their wives are Katelyn, Shayanne, and Sophie, who is holding Cindy Lou. The other kid is Cooper, and his mom, Allyson. Brody’s brothers are Bobby and Brutal. I don’t ask about the nickname, but Shayanne has no such filter.

  As soon as grace is said and food starts passing, she asks, “Why Rix? I’d get Ric or Ricki from Erica, but Rix? What’s the story?” She’s plopping mashed potatoes on her plate, never missing a beat as she passes the bowl to Luke and takes the plate of pork chops from Sophie.

  I swallow a bite of cinnamon apple chutney, testing it alone before adding it to my pork chop because I don’t even know what a chutney is. Cooking is definitely not my strong suit. It’s pretty good, though, so I spoon it over the meat. “It actually was Ric when I was a kid, but I went through a grabby mine-mine-mine phase when me and my sister were around four. Anything Emily got her grubby little hands on, I wanted it and would rip it from her, saying ‘Ric’s.’ Apparently, toddlers tend to talk about themselves in the third person?” I shrug at the memory and the story I’ve told several times before. “Before long, ‘Ric’s’ became ‘Rix’ and here I am.”

  “Cute,” Shay decides. “I like it. But I’m pretty sure I like that Brody calls you Erica even better if everyone else calls you Rix.”

  She’s looking from Brody to me and back again like we’re going to declare our undying love for one another at any given moment and she doesn’t want to miss a thing.

  Suddenly, this whole thing feels ridiculously awkward. I mean, Brody and I explicitly said that we’re not doing serious. Just hanging out and okay, fucking. And yet, here we are, doing family introductions after one night of crazy-awesome sex and one spontaneous dat
e.

  Is a car show a date?

  I think yes. I think Brody thinks yes too.

  So yeah, one night and one date.

  And now, family dinner.

  What the hell have I gotten myself into?

  As much as my brain is thinking this whole thing through and trying to sound the alarm, my body is warm and fizzy thanks to Brody’s fingers tracing soothing circles on my thigh. He’s not even high, closer to my knee than anything naughty, but any skin on skin contact between us feels intimate. His touch is purposeful, like he knows I’m about to bail and is telling me it’ll be fine.

  Luckily, the not-quite interrogation ends as conversation turns to cattle, something I know zilch about. But their worries are clear—cattle prices are falling and it’s almost market time. That’s straightforward enough.

  “You gonna be good without me here?” Luke asks Mark. Shayanne’s face goes anxious, a new expression for the seemingly always bubbly and biting woman.

  Mark grunts and lifts his chin toward Brody. I take it to mean he’ll be fine with Brody’s help. A movie plays out in my head, Mark and Brody astride horses, working the cattle one way and then another. I’m not sure that’s even what they do since Brody said they use ATVs and a Gator too. But it’s my mental movie fantasy, so I can choose anything I want.

  Like a shirtless Brody, with the sun reflecting off his bare chest. And oh, yeah, he’s pouring water over his head, the droplets running in rivulets I want to chase with my tongue.

  Errrk. Definitely a mental movie I need to save for later. Not at Mama Louise’s dinner table.

  “We’ll have to get in a night out before we go. Celebrate the start of market season with fried food, good music, and friends.”

  Oh, shit. Shayanne’s looking at me as she says that. Normally, I’d throw up a middle finger and tell her to fuck off. I don’t do things I don’t want to do. Or at least I like to think that’s true. But with every eye at the table on me, including Brody’s, I’m finding it hard to be that crass. Mom would be proud that some of her manners and politeness did wear off on me. She’s had serious doubts over my mouthy nature.