Collared By The Cowboy (Bad Boys)

by Susan Arden

  “Hold him steady,” Rory requested abruptly.

  “You want to take a look before I clean his hoof?”

  “You always said to lay eyes on something. Never assume. The more I learn about horses, the better. Right?”

  Brandon nodded and hooked a finger inside the bridle. “You sure are changing. I’m breaking a rule. All assuming isn’t bad.”

  “How’s that?” Rory snorted. “Or is that a joke.”

  “No joke,” Brandon replied. “Assuming leadership, I mean.”

  His brother flashed his light blue eyes, a slight frown line appearing between his brows. “I’m trying,” Rory muttered, rubbing his hand down the horse’s leg and lifting his hoof. “I’ll get some of the liniment to rub on his ankle down to his hoof. Carolina can get us some more for after the soak.”

  Brandon ran his knuckles across the horse’s forehead, mulling over his brother’s deepening interest in the equine side of Evermore. “Find out where she orders it from, we need to stock up.”

  “She doesn’t order it. Carolina makes it and told me to let her know if we needed some more.” Rory pushed up his hat. “Better take a look.”

  Brandon removed a pick from his back pocket and exchanged places with his brother. He cleaned out the underside of the hoof, examining indentations along the frog. He grimaced, palpating Rebellion’s hoof and ankle. “Here’s a soft spot. We need to get on this. He’s in pain. Go ahead and rewrap his ankle, and better tape his hoof. As long as we can get the abscess to keep draining, he should be fine, come spring.”

  “I’m on it.” Rory nodded. “You telling Matt about your trip? He came round yesterday looking for you. Something about the stock and wanting to know what your plans are for next year.”

  “We’ll meet him together.” Brandon said, already chafing under the constraints of living two entirely different lives. The equine part of Evermore didn’t equate to that of the cattle, but they had developed a steady client base. He’d already gotten a slew of requests for horses for the coming year. It was time that either Evermore hire someone for that area of the ranch’s business, or slow down its growth. Rory had stepped up, but he wasn’t ready to take over making major breeding decisions just yet. His sister-in-law, Carolina, Matt’s wife, had just given birth to twins a month ago and wouldn’t be ready to come back as the ranch vet for another six months, at least—and only then, if Matt agreed.

  “We should map out a plan for next year and decide who's doing what.”

  “Why? What’s gonna change?” Rory asked, his usual wisecracking face firmly in place.

  “You never know,” Brandon muttered.

  “Naw. Not a hope in hell. Things don’t change around here. Or hadn’t you noticed?”

  Brandon spun on his heel. “Ain’t that the truth, for the most part.” He rolled his eyes, yanking open the gate. “I’ll be in the office.”

  “Well, hello to you, too,” Stephen called out as Brandon tossed him the coil of rope.

  “You still getting married?” Brandon snapped.

  “In two weekends. Thank you very much for your concern. Have you gone to get your tux fitted?”

  “It’s on my list. I’m not the one you need to press.” He jerked his thumb over to Rory.

  “Pardon me, Professor Know-it-all, but you are. The last person, matter of fact.”

  Brandon peeled off his gloves and tossed them onto the bench. “How is it that a Harley-riding rancher decides to go for a black-tie wedding? Isn’t that going overboard?”

  “Speak to my fiancée. I was given a set of directions, and instead of standing around arguing about every goddamn detail, I did what I was told, and got back to living my life. How about you go with the flow this time? I’m only doing this once, so buck up.”

  Brandon gritted his teeth. “Don’t start.”

  “Before you have a meltdown, Gillian said she didn’t get your RSVP. You bringing a date?”

  He thought of Mia. Then he thought of his family, and frowned. “Maybe,” he barked.

  “It was meant as a joke.”

  “Why? Is it so funny that I’d bring a date?”

  “You laughed when I said I might, to Matt’s wedding.”

  “It was in Miami and I couldn’t imagine you on your Harley with a girl. Remember, you weren’t exactly settled like you are now.”

  “You mean, like you. You’re not the only McLemore going stag.”

  “Great, Cade and me. Who else?”

  Stephen cut a glance at Rory, but neither one of them was about to mention Rory’s single state. No one ever knew if his relationship with Sommer was on—or off.

  Based upon the number of caustic comments Rory flung about, both he and Stephen knew that was a surefire sign to gauge if their younger brother was currently single or hooked up.

  “That sums it up.” Stephen tossed the loop of rope onto a hook on the barn wall. “Three stubborn mules.”

  “Not so fast, Sherlock,” Brandon growled, his gut tightening as he considered the shitload of ribbing he'd receive from his brothers if he decided to bring Mia. “Oh, fuck. Count me in. I’m bringing a date. Should I call Gillian, or can you deliver the news?”

  Stephen broke out into a smile, which hovered between a choke and a belly laugh. “No whips and chains,” he warned.

  “Fuck you and the Harley you rode in on.” Brandon strode past his brother and into the barn office.

  He picked up the computer tablet and mashed the start button, doing a few neck rolls to loosen the tension in his shoulders while he waited for the damn thing to turn on. He scrolled through their list of breed stock. His eyes snapped to the line containing Nat Santero's name. The idea of this being a conflict of interest flashed in his mind and he understood, in part, how Mia might feel conflicted about sleeping with him and struggling to keep things objective with her schoolwork. He sure was having trouble keeping his head on straight. But confused or not, he wasn’t doing anything unethical by calling Santero, and Mia wasn’t doing anything wrong in his bed. Without warning, his memory shifted to her underneath him, and his chest convulsed. Stop mooning over her!

  Breeding horses! That’s the subject of the moment. It was time to start the ball rolling on the lines they’d breed next year. He hadn’t considered palominos. If they were a hot item for horse trading—why not? It would be worse if he’d gotten the info and gone to another breeder. That would suck. At least he was throwing business in Santero’s direction.

  “Heard you were back.” Matt sunk into a chair in front of the office desk.

  “In living color.” He stared back across the desk at his brother.

  Matt propped his boots up. “Well? How goes the big city?”

  Brandon exhaled. “You got something to ask…or say?” Matt didn’t shoot the shit. He was the most close-mouthed of all his brothers, second only to their father. “Already got an earful from Stephen.”

  “Hey, well. What’d you expect? Stephen doesn’t know if he’s coming or going with his wedding on the horizon.”

  “Can’t believe it.” He shook his head and leaned back in the chair. “Fuck. Where’d the time go?”

  Matt took out his cell phone and held it out over the desk. It had a montage of baby pictures. Brandon flipped through them, floored at how in only a month his brother’s infant twins, a son and a daughter, had grown like weeds.

  Matt sighed, “As long as you minimize the regrets, it’s all good.”

  “I expect so.” He tapped his fingers along the desk, a hollowness welling up in his throat. “Another married brother.”

  “We’re the happy crowd, need I remind you?”

  “Don’t.” Brandon tossed the phone back. “Catch.”

  Matt wasn’t lying. In a couple of weeks, there’d be only two unmarried brothers left, him and Rory. And Rory was moodier than a woman, getting wound up tighter and tighter, or so it seemed.

  “Come over for dinner.”

  Brandon sat forward. “I will. How about next w
eek?

  “Text me a date.”

  “I’ll let Carolina know. You might forget, like the time I showed up and you two were naked in bed.”

  “With my mother-in-law in residence, that’s not likely to happen.”

  “Don’t shit me. All the more reason. You’ll have her pregnant again next year.”

  Rory wandered in. “We meeting now?”

  “Might as well,” Matt said, pulling at his collar self-consciously.

  Brandon caught the gesture and wasn’t about to let an opportunity to rib Matt go by. “Asshole. She already is. Isn’t she?”

  “Don’t start on me.” Matt flipped him off.

  “What’s going on?” Rory asked, looking between them.

  “Our brother is meaner than a hornet,” Matt grumbled.

  Brandon waved Rory inside. “Insofar as stock—I've heard talk about palominos gaining popularity.” He tossed the idea out, waiting for Rory or Matt to say something.

  “We haven’t done them. Ever.” Matt steepled his fingers. “Where’s this info coming from?”

  “Enough to say I have a reputable line on the info. It’s more than good.”

  Rory chimed in. “You sure sound confident.”

  “If there’s a run, you want to be ahead of the pack or following behind?” Brandon asked.

  “That’s not a question. It’s a set-up,” Matt snorted. “I’ll leave the horses to you two to decide what direction to take. It’s the cattle I’m concerned about. We’ve just about recovered from the loss from a couple years back. More pressing are our uncles, along with some of the cousins. They’re talking about separating the land. Again.”

  “What’s got them going this time?” Brandon asked, already seeing the issue at hand. Selling was never an option. Evermore LLC absorbed the land when anyone wanted out or just left. Recently two of his uncles had been sending up smoke signals with talk of selling their ranch land to outsiders when the time came. Went so far as to threaten to break up the business partnership, and those two didn’t care if it was McLemores or polka-dot zebras who bought when the time came.

  “They’re soliciting support,” Matt replied.

  “They don’t live here full time. Why do they keep causing problems?” Rory asked.

  “Sometimes it’s a question of money.” Matt adjusted his hat. “Dad said something about possibly partitioning and selling. Don’t know.”

  Brandon leaned back in his chair. This would be interesting information to know well ahead of the inevitable. His uncles and cousins were moving away in droves, as of a couple of years ago. It was only a matter of time before talk of selling the land came up again.

  “We don’t meet for a vote until spring.” He glanced from Matt to Rory. “Or has that changed?”

  “Meeting hasn’t changed.” Matt flexed his jaw. “Why you asking?”

  He met his brother’s fixed stare. “Don’t worry, I’m not thinking of selling.”

  Matt rubbed the stubble over his chin. “You do have other interests. Settling down doesn’t seem to be one of them.”

  His diaphragm constricted and his thoughts ran to Mia. That might not be the God’s honest truth anymore. “You assume,” he muttered, picking up the tablet. From his peripheral vision, he noted that both Rory and Matt stopped fiddling around. “Shit, you two are staring a hole in my fucking head.”

  “Nope. But you’re on edge.” Rory took off his hat and wiped his forehead on his sleeve. “I already asked if you had anything to share. Want to rethink that?”

  He clamped his jaws together, pursed his lips, and didn’t have an answer. “I got nothing to say.”

  “Doubtful,” Matt said. “But we won’t push.”

  “Back to the land discussion.” Brandon peered up from the tablet screen.

  Matt exhaled loudly. “Just keep in mind that whatever decisions we’re up against might require that we all tighten our belts. We might be forced to buy out whoever the hell wants to say sayonara to the ranching business.”

  “Shit. That means being liquid.” Brandon decided now was not the time to discuss that he had other plans for his liquidity tied to opening a restaurant in the spring. He set the tablet down and rubbed his hand across his brow, tugging on the brim of his hat that had suddenly become way too tight.

  “Like water,” Matt echoed the sentiment. “You have nothing to worry about. Being single and flush, except for your small investment.” His older brother gave Brandon a knowing look, which he chose to ignore.

  “What about for people like me?” Rory asked.

  Brandon understood that his brother, being just twenty-one, wouldn’t have much saved to reinvest.

  He and Matt traded a glance, and Matt nodded. In their silent exchange, they had agreed they had their younger brother’s back. They would cover him financially, so Rory would have equal power in casting a vote, which ultimately required the money to back it up. Same as in poker, those family meetings required everyone to come to the table and do more than talk.

  Matt turned to face their younger brother, lowering his boots to the floor with a loud thud that reverberated in the office. “We vote as a block on this side of the ranch. You’re with us, Dad, Miller, your sister—”

  “Better include me in this mess,” Stephen interjected, leaning on the doorframe.

  “That’s how we were born and bred. We McLemores stick together,” Matt replied, getting out of his seat, grinning, and bumping fists with his brothers.

  SITTING in front of the desk, Brandon sipped a beer and sent out emails to breeders, including Nat Santero, inquiring about specific stock lines. It was well past ten and he wondered if he’d finally waited long enough to call Mia. A thousand times during the day, he had picked up his phone, but each time he dialed her number, he stopped before pressing ‘Talk.’

  This time his gut tightened; the tension had become unbearable and he swore as he pressed the icon to connect the call. He listened to the phone ring and then her voice mail picked up. Ten o’clock, and things got rolling around the S & L. He rubbed his thumb along the side of the phone, contemplating how far his head was up his ass if he was considering calling Pen and asking if she was there.

  “Fuck!” he swore.

  “She must be something,” Rory said, walking into the office. “Man, even I can call a girl.”

  “This ain’t any little girl,” he muttered.

  Rory went to the refrigerator and pulled out a beer. “Is she the reason you’re cutting out early this week?”

  “Might be,” Brandon said. “What about you?” He didn’t know what to make of Rory, except that he was pigheaded.

  “Sommer and I are taking a break.” Rory pulled back on the tab of his beer can, holding it away as the spray flew. He raised it to his mouth, tipping it upward for a long swallow.

  Rory’s turbulent romantic history with one young lady made talking about sex difficult. He was the brother who didn’t kiss and tell. Hell, Brandon didn’t know if he kissed at all.

  “Another one. Well, that’s commendable, I guess,” Brandon remarked.

  “I’m not trying to set any records. It would be impossible, anyway. To be the youngest McLemore badass isn’t a place anyone should want to be,” Rory said wryly.

  “May I remind you, Matt Jr. is next in line? You’re no longer the youngest, bro.”

  Rory glared back at him. “I am from this generation. Every cousin, uncle, brother—even our father has a frigging reputation in this town. I’m not going to compete to see who can fuck the most women.” Two pink dots fanned out along Rory's cheeks.

  “You gotta be your own man.” He let that sit for a moment as Rory did something on his phone. Brandon got up and went to sit behind the desk, reaching for the piles of papers. For a moment, he sat there and organized the paperwork that had accumulated in his absence.

  “I keep hearing that.” Rory finished his beer, then crushed the can and tossed it into the garbage. He returned his unblinking gaze to Brandon. “What
am I supposed to do?”

  Brandon scratched the side of his cheek, wondering if he had the answer, and just said what he thought. “Do more than listen to folks. Do what feels right and the hell with what anyone says. It’s between you and whoever is on your mind. No one else should come in between a man and his woman.” When Brandon glanced up and pressed his lips into a tight smile, he added, “Hey, I thought we were talking about my woman problems, anyway.”

  “You asked.” Rory tilted his head. “What’s got you going?”

  “A girl like no other. I’m screwed if this keeps up.” He rubbed his eyelids, his skin tightening at the image of Mia sitting inside the S & L. Alone.

  Rory stood up and walked to the door, grabbing his jacket off a peg on the wall. “Aren’t you the person who is always telling everyone to be honest with who they are?”

  “I hear you. Shut the door. I’m about to make a call.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Mia entered the club by the front door, wearing the wine-colored cloak and mask Brandon had given her. Underneath, she wore a conservative wool skirt and button-down blouse, and had tied the cape so tightly it nearly strangled her. Her sub collar winked at the base of her throat, but was visible only if someone really took notice. She touched the platinum band several times, seeking comfort to squelch her nerves. Each time she ran her fingers over the surface, she heard Brandon’s deep voice. “You’re not going to weasel out. Are you a quitter?”

  She’d never been one to back away from trouble, and she’d proven that nicely by climbing into Brandon’s bed. No matter how many times she reminded herself of that, the second she stepped into the foyer her stomach knotted.

  Mr. Keller nodded to her. “Good evening. Thanks a heap for your help last night. I heard you worked a miracle.”