Page 121 of Married with Mayhem

“I love him, Nico.”

Sympathy floods his handsome face and he looks so much like his brother. “I know. He loves you too.”

He reaches for a paper napkin and hands it over when I start sniffling.

Note to self: Lack of sleep leads to embarrassing displays of emotion.

I dab at my nose with the scratchy napkin. “Are you planning to keep following me until Monte returns?”

“Probably,” Nico admits.

“In that case, I’ll just give you my schedule so you don’t need to camp out in the lobby. Tomorrow, I’m sleeping in and cuddling with my sister. The next day, there’s an exhibition at the game design school all afternoon. The day after that, if Monte is still out of contact, I’m flying to Wyoming to break down the door of these Tempesta creeps and rescue him.”

He forces out a chuckle. “That would be a sight worth seeing.”

“Don’t laugh. I can make it happen. I’m marginally strong when I’m angry.”

“I’m not really laughing. I’ll be helping you break down their door.”

I gnaw at my lip. “You’re worried too, aren’t you?”

Nico tries to smile and doesn’t quite pull it off. “Monte knows what he’s doing.”

“That wasn’t a no,” I point out.

His mouth tightens and there’s a flicker of unease in his eyes. “You’re right. It wasn’t.”

27

MONTE

My phone is gone and my fucking pants are wet.

At least this camping trip from hell is almost over. We’re on our way back to Storm’s Eye, towing along three of the escaped cattle. So I guess I was wrong about the mission being a ruse. But I’m not wrong in saying that Getty Tempesta deserves the Asshole of the Year award.

Yesterday morning I began scouring the creek for my phone at the first hint of dawn. Maybe I was out of my mind thinking it could be salvaged after hanging out in murky water for an extended period of time but there’s no harm in hoping for a miracle.

Fort was the only one who helped me search and we didn’t get to look for very long before Julian started barking that it was time to go. The second night of camping out was less eventful than the first, mostly because I didn’t give any of them a chance to fuck with me. With my ass sore from sitting in the saddle all day and my temper high, I didn’t speak to the four bastards at all. This morning we found the three bulls wandering around ina meadow. They were all grumpy but Fort and Julian got them under control and tied up in no time.

On the way back, we passed right by the spot where Getty tossed my phone in the creek and I couldn’t resist jumping out of the saddle for another look in the water. No luck. But Getty cackled like a maniac when I waded right in up to my knees had to finish the rest of the ride with wet jeans.

Now, as we clear the last tree line and get a look at the valley, the first thing I can spot in the distance is the black helicopter squatting in an empty field beyond the main house. This probably means my uncle is home.

If I felt like speaking to any of my cousins then I’d ask them. Instead, I just slow walk the horse the rest of the way in silence.

When we get close, a trio of dusty, cowboy-hatted ranch hands trot over to take custody of the cattle. Fort jerks his head at me and points to the stable. I follow him with no objection.

With my uncle back, I’m hoping to be on the road within the next few hours. My sleep for the last two nights was shit and I’m tired as hell but I won’t stay here a minute longer than necessary.

After jumping down, I grab a couple of carrots from a burlap bag hanging on a wall hook inside the stable and offer them to the horse. She gobbles them up and I run my hand gently down her neck as a gesture of thanks for not throwing me off.

Still, it’ll be a while before I’m willing to get back on a horse. The last few days have given me more than enough time in the saddle.

Fort watches me closely and then takes the reins. “You better go. He’ll be waiting for you.”

Sure enough, Cassio Tempesta stands outside the house looking like an evil version of Johnny Cash, dressed head to toe in black, from his button down shirt to his boots. He’s my father’s age, but unlike my dad there’s hardly a hint of grey in his helmet of black hair. His sons all inherited his formidablebuild and it’s fair to say that there’s no sign of my gentle aunt in any of them. All four are their father’s sons, Tempesta replicas. The only variable between my cousins is which piece of their fearsome father’s personality won out.

Fifty yards away, he’s listening with his head cocked to whatever Julian is telling him. I just left Fort behind in the stables and there’s no sign of Tye and Getty, not that I miss them.

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