by Lexie Ray
But that last question fell a little flat. “I’m just worried about Hunter,” Hadley said. “After the episode with Avery, he just kind of shut down. I’ve been trying to read up on PTSD and everything, but I’m nowhere near qualified to help him deal with this.”
“I don’t think you have to solve anything for him,” I said, sitting up and gathering my long hair back into its topknot. “Just be ready to listen when he’s ready to open up. That’s all you can really do — unless he can be compelled to see a professional.”
“He can hardly be compelled to do anything,” Hadley muttered. “Now, about your knee.”
“I’m ready. I can feel it.”
“I want another week with you resting it,” she said, making me groan in consternation.
“Another week? What’s seven more days going to do?”
“Make sure you’re completely healthy before running off and doing something stupid.”
“Seriously, Hadley, riding felt just fine. I can do everything I used to do. It’s the brace that’s holding me back.”
“I’m the physical therapist, not you,” she said, finally making a notation in my file and snapping it shut. “I know what’s best for you even if you don’t believe me.”
“It’s just that Chance needs me out there,” I said, trying to find the argument that would work on her. “They’ve been down a man this whole time. I hate the idea of people making up work I’m supposed to be doing. This place has gotten a lot bigger.”
“All I can do is make recommendations,” Hadley said, putting her hands on her hips. “Even if none of you Corbins ever listen to me.”
“Does that mean I can get back to work?” I asked eagerly.
“Would you at least do me the favor of waiting for tomorrow? Resting for the remainder of today?”
“Sure!” I exclaimed, never feeling as excited as I was to get back to work. I could forget about the horsing operation, drive the worrisome phone call from my mind, and maybe even run some Hunter reconnaissance for Hadley if I could just get back on a horse and out on the ranch.
“Well, get on out of here, then,” she said. “I’ve got people who need more help than you do.”
I exited the examination room as Hadley beckoned the old man with the bum elbow on in. That’s what I liked about Hadley. She was no-nonsense, no frills about her practice. Every time I came here for therapy throughout my recovery, she was always moving the patients through quickly, not wanting to keep them away from their various professions for too long. Of course, the majority of her clientele were ranchers. It was a hard life, getting beat up all the time.
“You look pretty happy,” the young man said, glum in his seat, foot still encased in the padded boot. “I’m guessing you’re good to go.”
“Practically,” I said, still carrying the knee brace in my hand. “Guess I won’t be needing this anymore.” I set it down on the countertop.
“I won’t mince words — I guess I’m pretty jealous of you,” he said, staring hatefully at his foot. “I’m just at the beginning of my road to recovery — or whatever.”
“What happened, if you don’t mind me asking?”
“Goddamn horse stepped on my foot,” he said, huffing an offended sigh and rolling his eyes a little. “Broke my damn foot, and it still hurts like a bitch.”
“That’s some tough luck,” I said. Horses were dreadfully heavy.
“You’re telling me. I wish I never had to lay eyes on another horse again.”
“You’ll have to avert your eyes, then. I rode my horse up to the clinic. She’s waiting outside.”
He sighed again. “Your horse doesn’t bother me. Hell, I shouldn’t be bothered at all. It would cost me my job if I decided I was serious about never having to look at another horse again.”
“What outfit are you with?” I asked, just to be polite. I was still too excited about my positive diagnosis to pay proper attention to what he was saying.
“The breeding operation at Dax Malone’s.”
And then my focus narrowed again. “Dax Malone, did you say?”
“I did, that mean old son of a bitch. Laughed himself silly when I had to hop to the truck to take myself to the hospital. It’s a living, I guess. Maybe things’ll be better when his kid takes over the place.”
“Good luck to you in your recovery,” I said, already striding out the door, feeling strong and confident and with a plan in place. It was all the better that Hadley asked me to save going back to work for tomorrow. I had business with Dax Malone.
I didn’t know why I hadn’t thought of it before. I’d learned from plenty of people around the region to build my knowledge of the horses, shadowing vets and folks who’d learned equine know-how from facts passed down from their ancestors. But I’d never stumbled upon the idea of actually going to Dax Malone and learning about a breeding operation from a breeder himself. Probably because he was a rotten bastard. And because I didn’t want it to get back to my brothers.
I put Sugar out to pasture after removing her saddle — she deserved a little fresh air — and commandeered a truck. We had three we juggled among ourselves, which was usually enough. They weren’t used for much more than Zoe making a supply run for groceries and toiletries, or Tucker going in to town to drink a little bit every so often. I wondered whether Chance was still poring over all the bills and cattle logs inside before hauling myself up and retrieving the keys from the sun visor.
Dax Malone’s outfit was a good 45-minute drive from the ranch. It was a bit of a haul, but that was just the nature of living in ranching country. You had to drive past everyone’s sprawling parcels of land before you could do any business face to face. The first thing I noticed, though, finally getting onto Dax’s land, was just how nice he kept his fence line. Our ranch was so big and our needs so immediate that we just had simple posts from mesquite or cottonwoods or whatever branches we could find, wrapped with barbed wire to dissuade the cattle from making a run for it. Dax had pretty four-board fences, all painted a perfect white. It confirmed to me that he was making more than enough money on his operation to keep things looking pretty good around his land. Wouldn’t Chance get a kick out of four-board fences? Maybe we’d paint them a crazy color just to mess with people.
I steered the truck down a winding gravel road kept neat and free from ruts and divots, bordered on both sides with that ubiquitous four-board white fence. It was almost too much, that fence, now that I was surrounded by it on all sides, but I had to appreciate the effort it had to take to keep it looking as nice as it did. On either side, the pasture lands rolled, and horses grazed on the grass. I wondered if he watered the fields, or had some kind of irrigation system rigged up. They looked like they hadn’t suffered at all with the drought plaguing everyone else in the area.
I stopped the truck at the first barn I came to and got out, feeling like a fish out of water, but strangely excited. What would my breeding operation look like once I got it up and running? Would my brothers take it as an affront if I portioned that area of the ranch off with four-board white fences?
It probably wasn’t a good idea, walking up to the old man’s barn announced. I’d heard legends about his penchant for shotguns and asking questions much later than he should’ve. But I needed advice and I needed it now. I’d waited long enough, doing all the research I could manage. There wasn’t a book I hadn’t read about horse breeding operations. Dax Malone was the horsing resource I required.
“What’s a Corbin doing away from his family’s cattle?”
I stopped short in my tracks, unwilling to provoke a man I knew — at least from town gossip — to have a volatile temper.
“I just wanted to have a quick chat with you, sir, providing you’re not too busy to,” I said, trying to look and sound as nonthreatening as possible. I took my hands from my pockets and held them down to my sides, palms facing outward.
“I’m busy all the time, Corbin,” he barked, peering at me from beneath the brim of his cowboy
hat. “And you should be, too. I know what kind of shit your ranch is in. Same as all the others in this area — minus the Billings place.”
“You could hardly call that a ranch.”
“He’s the only place turning a profit these days. I imagine he can call it whatever he damn well pleases.”
“I guess.” I shifted my weight from foot to foot, wondering if I’d fucked up by disrespecting the Billings operation. Who knew whether Dax considered Bud Billings among his friends?
“What is it you wanted to talk to me about, anyway?” Dax asked, an irritable edge to his voice. “Some of us have to work, you know.”
“I just wanted to pick your brain about your operation,” I said hopefully. Maybe I could appeal to his sense of pride. “They say you’re one of the best in the state.”
“You do know this is a horse farm, don’t you, jackass?” he snorted, deflating me thoroughly. “I don’t know shit about cattle, nor do I want to.”
“It’s the horses I’m interested in,” I said. “Call it professional curiosity.”
“You just came all the way over here because you wanted to talk about horses with me?” Dax seemed to consider this for a few long moments, taking his hat off and wiping sweat away from his red brow with the edge of his sleeve. “Are you an idiot, or what?”
“Excuse me?” I didn’t drive all the way out here to be insulted — that was for sure.
“Why the hell would I want to stand around all day, shooting the shit with you about my horses? What’s in it for me?”
This was certainly unexpected. “I — I’m not sure I understand what you’re getting at,” I stammered, feeling like the idiot Dax Malone had called me. “I just thought you might want to share some of your wisdom with me about your horses. I don’t know if you know this, but my family still uses horses on its ranching operation. One of my roles is to take care of those horses.”
“Feed them, shovel their shit, and keep them clean,” he said, speaking slowly, as if to someone he knew wouldn’t grasp his words. “That’s literally all you have to do to keep a horse alive.”
“I know how to keep them alive,” I said. “I do that already. I wanted to know more about your breeding operation. Out of curiosity. Nothing more.”
“You can take your curiosity and shove it up your ass,” Dax said succinctly. “Now get the hell off my property.”
“Mr. Malone, please —”
“If you think I’m going to give you pointers on the horse business when you Corbins already have one of the biggest plots of land in the state, you’re a bigger fool than you look.”
And, just like that, our casual meeting was unceremoniously ended, the breeder stalking back to the barn, and me getting back into the truck before he could decide to show me his shotgun to prove just how serious he was about his dismissal.
I guess I should’ve expected it. Ranchers were, for the most part, a gregarious lot, eager to help their fellow ranchers in times of need and doubt. When it was time to vaccinate or brand, life on the ranch turned into a big party. Families and ranch hands from adjacent operations would come by to help — with the understanding that we would always help them in the same ways, when the time came. Maybe breeders were a cagier lot. Dax Malone didn’t want to share any trade insights with me because he didn’t want me taking any of his business. He’d seen right through my lie about curiosity. All I could hope for now was that he didn’t go flapping his jaws around town about the middle Corbin who dreamed of something other than cattle ranching. That was the last thing I needed.
I drove in no particular direction, nowhere to be until bright and early tomorrow morning, painfully aware of the fact that I was right back at square one with absolutely no progress made on my dreams.
Chapter 2
So what if I went into town for one night of my life? Everyone did it, and my brothers took their pleasures there far more often than I did. I guess I just didn’t understand why I felt so guilty about it. I never drank to get drunk, not like the others were so prone to do. It was impossible to do a good job working the ranch with a hangover, even if it rarely stopped anyone else from trying. It just wasn’t what I was about.
What I craved tonight was some kind of company.
I didn’t go out seeking companionship. I just didn’t want to be in the trailer, alone again. I thought it would be better to be away from the tumult of the house, Toby underfoot, everyone coming and going. But all it left me with were my thoughts — my anger at my brothers, at the reality that they would never take anything I said seriously. Hunter and Avery already had what they wanted. Tucker and Chance were doing just fine, too. Why, then, was I the one who had to suffer all the time? I did the most work out of anyone, and the best work, if we were being completely honest, but that didn’t mean a single damn thing to any of them.
When were they going to finally listen? What was it going to take for my ideas for the ranch to get an opportunity like everyone else’s?
I didn’t know I’d been looking for Peyton Crow until I saw her at the table she always picked at the bar. I’d only had a drink and a half, but she looked like something I’d be willing to drink all night.
It felt strange to think of her that way, even if it was the way she preferred to interact with men. She didn’t go to the bar for companionship or for fun or even just for a drink. She went there to work. It was common knowledge.
She was dressed fairly casually tonight, at least by her standards. A low-cut top revealed the swell of her breasts, the dark line marking her cleavage even more pronounced in the shadow of the corner where she waited. A long silver chain traveled down between those sacred mounds, glinting against the light cinnamon of her skin, but if anything was on the end of it, I couldn’t tell. No one could — except, perhaps, for those who could afford to figure it out.
Though her shirt was white and simple, it made her look coolly elegant, her face illuminated by the display of her phone, her supple thumb dragging along the surface. Her dark eyes flicked upward from time to time, gauging the traffic in and out of the door, exchanging lingering stares at men gaping and laughing about her, never once breaking her emotionless facade.
She didn’t look a thing like her father.
How many men had been with her? No one could tell. That was how she made her living. But how many men wanted to be with her — to caress that dark length of hair falling down her back, to cup her shapely ass through her jeans, to draw those long legs around their waists and pretend she was theirs, if only for a night?
Every man in that bar had to have thought of it. Hell, I was thinking about it.
I was a lot of things, but a liar wasn’t one of them. I’d have been lying if I didn’t admit to myself that, walking over to that table in the corner, I didn’t wish I could toss a wad of money down in front of her and take her out of that bar for an hour or so. I’d seen it done before, Peyton Crow sidling back in, ignoring the titters and catcalls as she reclaimed her place at her table again, paging through her phone, glancing around, waiting for the next transaction. No one ever sat at that table except for her. No one dared.
I set my shoulders and did my best to ignore the gossip I was sure was raging around me, wondering if news would make it back to the ranch that I’d approached Peyton Crow at the bar. What would any of my brothers have to say to that? What if one of them had already discovered what was on the end of that long silver chain, or what those legs felt like clenched around their rib cages? Jesus. What was I even considering here?
I tried to rid myself of every impure thought as Peyton ever so slowly looked up from her phone, her eyes crawling up my thighs, lingering over my crotch, considering my waist and torso, and finally meeting my eyes in a gaze so searing I had to look away immediately, coughing and hoping against hope that I wouldn’t embarrass myself with a boner. It had been a long damn time since I’d so much as wanted to sleep with someone. That was how busy the ranch kept me.
But I wasn’t standing in front of
her expecting that. I had something much more important than momentary release in mind.
“Twenty for hand stuff, fifty for mouth stuff, a hundred for pussy, two hundred for —”
“That’s not what I want,” I said, my face coloring in spite of my perfectly innocent intentions. She hadn’t so much as batted an eye at me, leaned in close to impart this menu of what she was offering, or lowered her voice, preferring to make herself heard over the din of noise at the bar. We’d already gotten several raised eyebrows at her perfectly pronounced “pussy.” There was no way this wasn’t going to make the rounds in all the circles of gossip that kept this town interesting. Emmett Corbin needing to buy the comfort of a woman, and not just any woman. Peyton Crow.
Peyton stared at me for so long that the display on her phone extinguished itself.
“I’m not into weird shit,” she announced. “Not unless it’s the right price.”
I worked a finger under the collar of my shirt as if loosening it would help me breathe properly. It didn’t.
“All I want to do is talk,” I said, surprised I could speak at all.
She curled her lip. “What, like dirty talk? Twenty bucks for fifteen minutes. Say whatever you like.”
“It’s not like that,” I protested. Dirty talk? What in the hell would I even say? What was the extent of Peyton Crow’s experience in this business realm? Was it really that complete?
“You’re going to have to be very specific,” she said, glowering at me. “Otherwise, you’re wasting my time, and my time is worth a lot of money.”
“I wanted to talk about horses with you,” I said. “That’s all. Nothing … untoward.”
She wrinkled her nose at me. “Corbin, I operate in ‘untoward.’ Who even says that anymore? You’re such an old man.”