Page 72 of Peaches

Colt’s back is so full of tension it might snap, but he still finds a way to stiffen further. “Maverick,” he says coolly.

The old criminal smiles, crooked and mean. “Good to see you again, young Colt.”

Colt’s eyes narrow. At nearly thirty, he’s hardly the scrawny teenager he once was, but instead of taking Maverick’s bait, his eyes move to his sister. “What’s she doing here, Ellis?”

Ellis scoffs, clearly annoyed about something as he keeps his eyes trained on her. “Dealing.”

Wylie makes a show of rolling her eyes. “So much hostility with you boys, I swear. Good thing I’m here to show our friends some southern hospitality.”

“These aren’t friends, Wylie Jo,” Colt chides through clenched teeth.

“Then why are they on our property, Colt?” Wylie’s eyes move to me, and she has the audacity to wink.

Ellis catches the movement and angles a deep frown in my direction.

Jesus.

Maverick chimes in from his seat with a smile. “I heard you’re a mommy now, Wylie. My sincerest congratulations.”

Colt flinches. That Maverick is keeping up on the Rustler family is . . . not good. I press a hand to his shoulder and hope to god he doesn’t do something stupid.

“Don’t talk to my sister,” Ellis bites out.

“Quit bossin’ people around,” Wylie mutters.

Ellis whips his head toward her. “Remember the rules, Wylie.”

Her face falls for a moment before she regains her mask of indifference. “Yes, boss,” she says with a mocking salute before picking up the deck of cards and shuffling.

Ellis pins his focus on us. “Sit down and shut up. We don’t have all night for this shit.”

* * *

Over the last two decades,Rustler Ranch has become a tourist attraction, a destination for families who come from all over the country seeking to experience a wild and western way of life. It was Colt and Ellis’s grandfather who’d first decided to split their land in half, designating one side to their own cowboying and cattle and the other to hosting a guest ranch open to the public. It became an opportunity for outsiders to immerse themselves in the beauty of this land while also enjoying accommodations like meal services, daily wagon rides, and horseback riding excursions through the many trails that snake along the rolling hills around them.

As one of the largest cattle ranches in East Texas and its relative proximity to the Gulf Coast, the land is beautiful in pictures and sells itself on the internet without much effort by the family. Our land in Saddlebrook Falls is big, stretching out in all directions for miles and miles. But the Rustlers own at least double what we have, and the effort to maintain it all is that much greater.

While I’m sure it’s gotta be hard to host complete strangers on their property, those guests provide a level of financial stability as the family’s cattle business goes through its natural ebbs and flows. But somewhere along the way, the Rustlers found another new way to make things even more lucrative: sniffing out the type of guests who might like to participate in their underground,unregulatedcard games. Through cards—and Ellis’s expert sleight of hand—they’ve made a killing hustling even more money out of folks who are none the wiser.

Still, cheating cards with unwitting tourists is a lot different than at a table with real criminals who will stab first and ask questions later, and though I used to worry Ellis might be dumb enough to try, he’s always kept high-stakes games like this honest. With Wylie dealing, it’s even more assurance of a straight game—though, with the way she handles the cards, I’d bet she’s been practicing some of Ellis’s tricks.

On nights like tonight, it’s more a game of chance and numbers: the more Bennetts and Rustlers at the table, the higher probability one of us will win to split the profits. Like always, we play two games with restricted bets to knock some of the dust off and get everyone’s blood pumping. For a while, everyone’s quiet, focused on the cards in hand against the cards on the table. Even Wylie keeps her lips closed as she deals each round. But it doesn’t take long for Maverick to reveal he’s the same cocky son-of-a-bitch he’s always been, eager to slap his dick down on the table and show Ellis’s new friends from Cheyenne that he’ll win in the first game.

“Straight,” he says proudly, laying his cards down. It’s not a great hand, but it beats the rest of us who only have pairs and a three-of-a-kind.

I watch the two new cowboys carefully as Maverick greedily pulls his winnings from the table toward himself, trying to figure out how a pair of old boys like them could be strapped with so much cash. They’re dressed in basic work clothes, their boots solid but nothing fancy. I can tell from their calloused hands and sun-wrinkled skin they know a hard day’s work. They must have an illegal hustle of their own at home . . . or they’re making a fucking killing in cowboying, which is hard to do. It amazes me more that Ellis would be willing to risk so much of his family’s money to match their bet.

I wonder if his father knows how crooked his son is getting with the family business.

I can’t tell for sure if Maverick knows the amount of cash up for grabs tonight. How a mean fucker like him could possibly have that kind of money on hand in the first place. Unlike the Cheyenne cowboys, Maverick hasn’t worked an honest day in his life and instead makes his bread clawing and stealing from those around him. He might’ve won the first game tonight, but Colt takes the second, a flair of retaliatory determination set in his eyes as he watches Maverick fold his hand.

It’s enough to set Maverick on defense, watching Wylie’s hands carefully as she shuffles the deck for the third and final game—the one that matters most, the real reason we’re all here tonight. I shoot Colt a warning look to settle his ass down.

“Ready, boys?” Ellis asks, monitoring Wylie as she deals us all two cards before laying the flop down on the table. There’s an uncomfortable tension in the air that I once reveled in, once felt most powerful in, but that now just feels wrong. Looking at my cards, I spot a pair of sevens, and hope sparks. Colt makes the first bet, dropping a stack of cash he pulls from a backpack at his feet on the center of the table with a smug grin. “Ten grand.”

All eyes shift to me. I work to keep my expression neutral as I count out a matching bet and set it down next to Colt’s.

Both of the Cheyenne cowboys to my left do the same, as does Maverick’s first lieutenant. When it’s Maverick’s play, he makes a show of examining his cards against the cards on the table before he, too, matches the bet with a knowing smirk that I know is meant to intimidate. The bullish man next to him follows suit, and then Ellis does the same.

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