by Kennedy Fox
“That’s ‘cause you are the village bicycle.” He chuckles at my expense, and I groan. He’s damn lucky my hands aren’t free at the moment to slap that shit-eating grin off his face. He clears his throat and tips his chin up. “Everyone with a tight pussy and big rack step right up!” he hollers, raising his arms up for emphasis. “Come and get a ride on the Wild Stallion, Alex Bishop! Six-foot something, dirty blond hair, and a smart mouth to boot! He may be a cocky son of a bitch, but don’t worry, his mama taught him right. He’ll wine and dine you before fucking you till you forget your own name! Now ladies, who’s first?”
I snort at his pathetic performance, shaking my head but not entirely disagreeing with his words. “Yeah, well, everyone knows a stallion can’t be tamed.” I smirk, lifting my cowboy hat and repositioning it on my head while Dylan rolls his eyes.
We get back to work, and that’s when I remember his announcement earlier.
“So, asshole, what’s your news?” I ask as we continue to work.
“Oh so, remember that big giveaway contest at the fall carnival last month?” he asks with a knowing grin on his face.
Narrowing my eyes, I think back on it. “Yeah, the romantic Key West getaway?”
Dylan continues to nod. “That’s the one! Guess which lucky bastard won?” He gloats.
“Don’t tell me that bastard is you?” I mock.
“Fuck yeah, it is! Two weeks all expenses paid! As long as the boss lets me take off, I’ll be packing my bags to set out into the sunset with all the beer I can drink.”
“That sounds like the most pathetic country song I’ve ever heard.”
“Sorry I don’t have a line of women waiting to jump my saddle, so I’d rather go alone than miss out on a free vacation.”
“Ya sure you don’t want to call Mallory?” I tease him again.
Dylan drops his shovel, and as soon I glance over at him and realize he’s charging at me, I start running in the opposite direction. He has the same look on his face like the time he tried to kick my ass in seventh grade when he caught me kissing his longtime crush, Summer Sanders. What can I say? She came onto me first.
Luckily, the only thing he has on me is speed. As he tackles me to the ground, I’m quick to put him in a headlock before he can throw the first punch. Struggling to get out of my grip, we both freeze when the motor of the pole digger stops. Seconds later, Evan pulls me up by my collar and glares at me.
“Dylan might not be able to take you in a fight, but if you don’t get to work, I’m going to kick your ass from here to San Antonio and back,” Evan threatens before I push him out of my way. Considering we live in Eldorado, that’s a three-hour ass kickin’, and I don’t fuckin’ think so.
“Just because I’m your little brother doesn’t mean you’re my boss. So, pull out the stick that’s wedged in your ass and worry about yourself,” I snap at him, walking back over to the metal pipes and cement mix.
Looking over my shoulder, I see Dylan is curled over laughing his ass off.
“Shut up, asshole!” I yell back at him.
He quickly runs and catches up with me. “You started it by bringing up Mallory.” He slams his shoulder into mine.
I smile, not denying it. I live to give him shit about her. Mallory’s the epitome of a snobby, rich girl who thinks she’s a Southern belle who’s above being nice to anyone who works for a living. Yeah, I didn’t exactly like her, so I bust his balls about her every chance I can. Getting tackled and caught by Evan? Totally worth it.
“Well, you know how cranky Evan can get sometimes. He’s probably gonna tell Dad we were fucking around again. Asshole,” I say. “Maybe if he got laid every once in a while, he wouldn’t be such a prick,” I mutter under my breath, shaking my head.
“Mr. Bishop doesn’t care as long as we get our work done. You know that,” Dylan reminds me, and although he’s right, Dad won’t think twice about putting me in my place if he thinks I’m not doing my fair share around here.
“So anyway, before I was rudely interrupted.” Dylan snickers, glancing back at Evan as we pick up another bundle of pipes. We carry them across the way before dropping them on the ground, causing a loud clang.
“Since the trip is for two, I thought you could come with me,” he says, shaking out his arms from carrying the heavy iron.
“Wait, hold up,” I say, stopping him from continuing and furrowing my brows. “You want me to go on a romantic two-week getaway with you?” I ask, glancing over at Evan who’s painfully holding back a smirk. I narrow my eyes at him, then turn my attention back to Dylan.
“Well, it won’t be a damn date, cowboy hotshot, because honestly, you ain’t my type. However, considering the trip is free and bound to be crowded with single girls, I thought we could go together. Plus, I ain’t got nobody else to take, so if anything, come be my wingman. Help me find a woman.” The corner of his lips curls up, and I know exactly what he’s thinking. “Partaaaay,” Dylan adds, confirming my thoughts as he waves his cowboy hat above his head and dances in place.
Shaking my head, I laugh at his antics, but before I can give him my answer, Evan clears his throat.
“You two ain’t going nowhere till this fence is built. I can promise you that,” he snaps, adding himself to our conversation.
“Worry about yourself. Dig your holes and mind your business,” I snap. “Shouldn’t you be at the hospital saving some lives or somethin’? You’re slowin’ us down anyway.”
Evan huffs, knowing he hates when I bring up his job at the hospital. It’s a reputable career, and I know he’s worked hard to become a doctor, but he’s the first male Bishop in decades to pursue something outside of the ranch life. I wouldn’t be doing my Bishop duties if I didn’t feed him shit about it every chance I got.
“Keep runnin’ your mouth, I’m going to be takin’ a life today.” He directs his eyes toward Dylan. “Maybe two.”
The rest of the afternoon passes by quickly. As I drive us back to the main house, my shoulders tighten from driving poles into the ground and dumping cement nonstop for hours. Dylan and I are exhausted, but we’ll be working on that damn fence for the rest of the week. Quite honestly, I’m still salty that I have to work on it in the first place, and it’s all because of Jackson.
A few months ago, he threw a huge party, which quickly got out of hand when he started driving around in his Jeep. He’d been drinking and being more of a dumbass than usual when he decided to go off-roading and lost control, slamming straight into the barbwire fence. The next day, we spent the whole damn morning rounding up the cattle that escaped. Jackson was the only one amused by the whole situation, said it was the best one-eighty turn he’d ever done in his mud-covered Jeep.
Dumbass. Although according to Mama’s gossip, he got plastered because of a girl. I highly doubted it because Jackson Bishop didn’t do serious relationships—or relationships at all—but then she mentioned Kiera’s name. It all made sense once I heard that, and I forgave him just a little.
Kiera Young and Jackson have known each other since preschool. Her parents and ours were friends, and we’ve spent a lot of time on their ranch just as much as she has on ours. She was like an older, annoying sister to me, but not to Jackson. He’s always had a thing for her but never grew the balls to admit it or even tell her. We all know she feels the same, but she continues to date other guys, pissing Jackson off and causing him to drink and act a damn fool. They’re both too stubborn and continue this vicious cycle of denying their feelings.
After months of planning, Dad decided to replace the barbwire fence along the county road. If someone crashed into it again, only their vehicle would get damaged, and we wouldn’t risk losing our cattle again.
Dylan’s excitement brings me back to our conversation. “I’ve never been to Key West before, so as soon as I won, I did some browsing online. If it’s half as fun as it looks, I might never come back! The nightlife, the beaches, the views,” he rambles on. “You’re gonna thank me that I dragged your ass along.�
� Dylan beams as we head back to the main house.
“I haven’t agreed to go yet,” I remind him. “Depends if we can get off work or not. Might need to smooth talk Dad a little first,” I say, knowing that if we don’t get ahead of schedule, we’ll never get approval to both take off for two weeks. “Or maybe a lot. Duties have to be done rain or shine, and if I’m not there, that means someone else has to do it.”
“I’m gonna go buy him a bottle of Crown Royal Reserve.” Dylan chuckles.
“To butter him up or get him wasted?” I laugh.
“Both,” Dylan tells me.
I park the truck in the driveway and see Mama unloading groceries from the back of her car. Dylan and I rush out to help her.
“Mama, you shoulda called me,” I scold. “I would’ve come sooner.” I reach into the trunk, trying to grab as many bags as possible. Dylan stands next to me, doing the same, so we don’t have to make a second trip.
“I knew you were busy. It’s no big deal,” she says sweetly, walking ahead of us to hold the front door open.
As soon as I enter, I see Jackson sleeping on the couch with his boots on, snoring loudly. After I set the bags down on the kitchen table, I walk quietly into the living room, and Dylan follows behind silently.
I get real close to his face, watching his chest rise and fall and wait for just the right moment before yelling, “FIRE!”
His body jolts up, his feet kicking in the air. With beet red cheeks, his eyes gaze over the living room. “What the fuck, Alex?” he barks, scrubbing his hands over his face.
In no time, Mama comes storming from the kitchen with a wooden spoon in one hand and glares down at Jackson.
“I’ve got a bar of soap with your name on it if you keep using that language in my house, young man,” she scolds, fearlessly.
I cross my arms over my chest and smirk.
“Mama,” he begins, but she’s quick to shut him up.
“Hush. Get your boots off the furniture, too.” She walks away before Jackson can argue some more.
“Wakey, wakey, asshole,” I whisper, just loud enough for him to hear.
As soon as Mama is out of sight, he brushes his fingers through his hair, trying to process what just happened. “You bastard,” he mutters to me. “You nearly made me shit myself.”
I scoff. “Good. That’s payback for me having to work on replacing that damn fence today. You should be out there fixing your own damn mess,” I tell him.
“Oh sure, then you can be the one to train the horses and do all the guided tours for the guests at the B&B.”
I grimace at the mention of the Circle B Bed and Breakfast that he helps manage on the ranch.
“That’s what I thought,” Jackson mocks. “Be glad you were building fences, little brother.” He says the words with venom laced in his tone. I know Jackson loves working on the ranch, but there’s working with horses, and then there’s working with people. In Jackson’s case, he’s better off working with the horses.
As soon as he stands up from the couch, Evan comes bursting through the front door with a scowl on his face. “I owe you,” Evan hisses with a finger pointed directly in Jackson’s face. “Do you have any idea how much work replacing that damn fence is?”
I clear my throat, satisfied to see Jackson getting what he deserves. I glare at him, but all he does is smirk.
“Both of you need to chill out,” Jackson says with a laugh, not taking either of us seriously.
“Boys!” Mama yells from the kitchen, breaking the tension in the room. It’s like she has a sixth sense about us and tends to break up fights before they can truly begin.
Evan rolls his eyes before walking toward the kitchen. Dylan and I follow closely behind him, leaving Jackson in the living room, unharmed—this time.
As soon as we round the corner, I see Mama throwing the breaded chicken into a pan, then placing homemade cornbread into the oven. Before speaking, she rinses her hands, dries them off, and then wipes her blonde hair from her eyes with the back of her hand.
Looking directly at us, she puts both hands on her hips as she always does when giving an order. “Now listen, I don’t want to hear no bickering tonight, ya hear?”
“But—” Evan tries to interrupt.
“No!” She’s quick to cut him off. “I don’t want to hear it. Your father will be home any minute, and I want us to have a nice dinner together,” she states sternly, then turns back around to give the chicken in the hot sizzling pan her attention.
Quietly, the three of us help unpack the grocery bags. We set everything on the table before Mama directs us where to stock it all. After growing up in this house, I know where most things belong, but she has a “system” that she makes us abide by.
Just as she’s mixing the homemade mashed potatoes, John—Jackson’s twin—and Dad walk through the back door. I hear the clomping of his boots against the wood floor before I see him. Once they’re in the kitchen and see us all, he places his hat on the table before glancing over at Evan. “Y’all finish placing the poles?”
“All are set with cement. Just need to paint tomorrow,” Evan tells him.
“Good,” Dad says, walking to the fridge and filling a cup with ice and water.
As Mama tells us to set the table, Dylan tells everyone bye.
“You sure you don’t want to stay? I got plenty for you too,” Mama tells him.
“I’d better get home. If I miss dinner again this week, my mother may disown me,” Dylan explains, shrugging.
“Yeah, we know how mamas can be.” I look over at Mom with an overly sweet smile on my face.
“Yeah, you’d better get going then.” Mama gives him a side hug, and he leaves.
Mama finishes up dinner while John and I set the table. We carry in the dishes of chicken, potatoes, and cornbread and set them on the long wood dining table that’s a family keepsake.
Once everything is ready, we all take our seats and sit around the table like a big, happy family. Dad says grace as per tradition, then Mama plates his food. Once everyone has what they need, John makes small talk about the B&B and how booked it is for the next eight weeks. Dad then informs us about the hay bales that need to be picked up from the fields on the east side of the property and stored in the barn. This is how most dinner conversations go when I stay. The Bishops are workaholics and talk shop all day and night.
I’m nervous about asking Dad for time off, but I know that if I’m going on that trip in a couple weeks, I need to tell him in advance. That’s the only bad thing about working for your parents. They aren’t afraid to say no.
“Dad,” I mumble over all the voices. As the table quiets, I continue. “You think it’d be possible for me to take a few of my vacation days soon?” I ask. It’s so still in the room, all I can hear is Jackson’s loud ass chewing.
“Hmm,” he says, barely looking up at me. “When’re ya thinkin’?”
I glance at Mama for a moment, wondering if she’ll back me up or not. “About two weeks from now.”
He nods as he continues shoveling food onto his fork. “For how long?”
I clear my throat, swallowing hard. “Um, well. I’d need two weeks.”
“For what?” John asks, but his question gets ignored.
Dad shakes his head without even taking a second to think it over. “You know we still have things to do before the holidays and—”
“Scott,” Mama interrupts Dad by using his first name, which always means business. “I think it would be perfectly fine for you to take off, son.” My brows shoot up into my hairline, shocked at her words. “Alex works hard and deserves a break. Besides, Jackson can rearrange his schedule so he and Dylan can take care of your daily chores till you get back.”
“Seriously?” Jackson groans, glaring at me.
“Well, actually…” I swallow hard before continuing. “Dylan needs off, too. There’s a trip we’d like to go on.”
“Absolutely not,” Dad snaps, taking a sip of sweet tea. “Tha
t’s far too much to rearrange. I can’t have two men out at the same time.” His words are final, and I know there’s no point in arguing.
Mama clears her throat, an obvious signal for Dad. He looks over at her, and they hold a silent conversation as Mama purses her lips and raises an eyebrow. When she gets that look on her face, we all know it’s her way or the highway, even when it comes to Dad.
He clears his throat before taking another sip of his drink. “We’ll handle it,” he finally mumbles, but I can tell he isn’t happy about it.
Jackson mouths a, “You suck,” to me when I look at him, and all I can do is smile because I’m going to Key-motherfucking-West for two weeks, and there’s nothing that asshole can do about it.
Can’t remember the last time I even had a vacation, and at this moment, I make a vow to myself that this trip will be one to remember.
After we help Mama clean up the table, I pull out my phone and see Dylan’s already sent me a text.
D: Well? Any news yet?
* * *
A: Hope you’re ready to be my ride-or-die!
* * *
D: Seriously?! We can go?
* * *
A: Yep! Pack your bags because we’re about to give Key West some Southern cowboy hell!
Chapter Two
RIVER
“River!” My name is called as I rush down the hallway toward the blaring sound of the beeping alarm. As I round the corner, I realize it’s coming from room 448. McKenna Black’s room. Mrs. Black is screaming my name, urging me to hurry. My aide, Jenny, is already inside the room waiting for me.
I memorize all my patient’ files word for word. I know their personal information and their medical history. It’s part of my job at Milwaukee Children’s Hospital where I treat sick kids in the PICU—pediatric intensive care unit. No matter how long they’ve been here or how short their stay is, my photogenic memory allows me to remember every detail of their conditions and treatment plans.