Page 3 of Westin

I like the way he looks, maybe more than I should.

He’s a large man, broad shoulders and big hands. His jaw is covered in a short beard, and it’s tensed hard. He has good features, a strong, straight nose, low brows.

I can’t tell how old he is, but I know he’s too old for me, probably thirty-two or three. There’s no gray in his hair, but he has light laughter lines around his eyes.

Those could just be from the elements. I can tell he’s a wrangler, that he works a ranch. There’s something about the confidence it takes to live in that world that runs like the blood in their veins.

His black hat is off, hanging by his thigh. I tilt my head, trying to see the symbol on the crown.

Avery yells something. Jensen shoots into the earth, and everyone calms the fuck down. There’s something about a gunshot that induces either panic or sudden good behavior.

“Shut the fuck up,” Jensen barks. “Back off.”

He pushes up against Avery, their faces inches apart. I can see they’re arguing, jaws tense. Jensen gestures with the gun still pointed down to the earth. Then, Avery throws his hands up and steps back, shaking his head.

He takes his hat off and wipes his face.

David releases a short sigh. “I have to be able to do business, Avery,” he says, loud enough that I can hear. “I got grain to sell.”

“Fuck it,” he says. “You do what the fuck you want, David. It’s your farm.”

Three more trucks pull up the drive, and I recognize them as some of the men who work on the Garrison and Carter ranches. They’re all the same: big, loud, and handsy when they get drunk. After I finish dinner, I’m going to make myself scarce.

I’m not foolish enough to stick around after dark.

The truck doors open, and more men than can legally be inside tumble out. Some, I’ve seen around, some I haven’t. I step back through the screen door and watch from the safety of the house as they gather by the barn.

They do this every year after David gets a feel for how much feed he can sell. The surrounding ranches meet, talk it over, and place bids. This year, there are more men than usual. The spring has been unusually hot, and they anticipate a hard winter.

Clearly, some of the new wranglers know the man in the black cowboy hat. They start talking, and I see the situation diffusing slowly until they finally break apart and head towards the porch.

Heart pounding, I duck into the kitchen and pull a jug of iced tea from the fridge. Their boots clatter down the hall. I gather glasses from the cupboard and carry them to the table. The men enter the room, talking and laughing so loudly, it makes my ears ring.

I keep my eyes down, but it does fuck all. It’s seconds before I feel someone brush against my hip. I know it’s probably one of two people, and they’re both named Garrison.

“Why so shy?”

I glance up, meeting Avery’s gray stare. A little part of me hoped that, despite how much I hate Thomas, he was the one standing beside me. Avery makes my blood run cold, the kind of man who definitely bullied everyone growing up. He spends so much time torturing anyone who isn’t big enough to hit him.

Part of me thinks he won’t put his hands on me.

The other part thinks if he got the opportunity, he would.

“Hi, Avery,” I say, pretending my mouth isn’t dust dry.

He bumps me with his leg, like he’s trying to flirt. I glance up again. He’s handsome with those steel gray eyes and shock of blond hair, but the expression on his face is always meaner than a snake.

“You make all this?” he asks, leaning in until the side of his body touches mine.

I try to bite my tongue, but I can’t.

“No, Avery. It just appeared this morning,” I say tartly.

He laughs, but he’s not amused. “Better watch that mouth.”

I made a mistake sassing him, so I go quiet. He’s up against my body now, but no one notices in the crowded room. They’re all standing around with their arms crossed, feet apart, talking among themselves. I try to shift away, but there’s a chair blocking me.

He sees I’m trapped, and he likes it. It glitters in his steel eyes.

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