Page 97 of Scrape the Barrel
“We could count one,” I said, the effects of the champagne making it hard to resist joining in on their debate.
“As much fun as that sounds, I do not feel like counting hay while I’m planning to get buzzed,” Oakley said. “The other day, I had to count an entire bag of dog treats because one of the customers didn’t believe that there were seventy-two in each bag.”
“You should’ve madethemcount it,” Brandy said.
Oakley glanced in the rearview mirror at Brandy in the backseat. “I wish I would have.”
She turned onto the dirt driveway that led to the Bronsons’ ranch as Brandy and Lettie went on about different shades of pink for the dresses, somehow getting on the topic of wanting to tie-dye them. Thankfully, we weren’t making any final decisions while drunk, because tie-dye did not seem like Lettie’s style of choice.
Oakley pulled to a stop and shut off the car. “Uh oh.”
“What ‘uh oh’?” Brandy asked, looking out the window.
Lettie leaned over Brandy to get a better look outside. “That ‘uh oh,’” Lettie answered, pointing in the direction of the barn.
I looked out Oakley’s driver window and swore I felt my heart sink. But just as quick as it sank, it started beating fast. Too fast.
I didn’t hesitate, opening the passenger door to swing out of the car. Coming around the hood, I beelined it for Callan where he was standing with his back to the barn. Where a woman was standing too close to him, her chest practically touching his.
Any buzz I had fueled my confidence as I approached the two of them. Callan wasn’t flirting with her, and he definitely wasn’t entertaining whatever it was that she was doing. He looked uncomfortable, shrinking in on himself.
If he didn’t have the guts to tell her off, then I would.
“Excuse me,” I said, pasting on a sweet tone right along with my clearly fake smile. “Hi.” I smoothly squeezed in between them, forcing the woman to take a step back.
Her mouth popped open as irritation coated her features. “We were in the middle of a conversation,” she squeaked out, disbelief lacing her tone.
Conversation, my ass.
“You’re standing a little too close to my boyfriend. Actually.” I paused, lifting a finger. “Waytoo close. And you need to leave.”
“Boyfriend?” she exclaimed, her voice now rising in pitch.
“Mhmm, so maybe stop harassing him, take the message, and leave himthe fuck alone.”
Callan’s chest was to my back in an instant, both hands on my shoulders.
The woman blinked in shock. “He’s my son's instructor.”
“Do you corner all your son’s teachers like this?” I asked, cocking a brow as I set my hands on my hips.
Callan’s fingers dug into my shoulders, gently holding me back like I’d swing at her.
I would.
“This is ridiculous,” the woman said, taking another step back. “I’m never bringing my son back here.”
I smiled. “Oh, your son is welcome. But you’re not.”
“What?” she squeaked, as if it was crazy that her son was innocent in this. Likeshedid no wrong.
“Do I need to spell it out for you?” I asked, my tone overly sweet. “Get the fuck off this ranch, and if your son wants to keep coming for lessons, have his father bring him.” I gestured to the ring on her finger. “I’m sure he’d love to know the reason why his son might have to quit riding lessons.”
Her lips pressed into a thin line, her cheeks red with rage. She turned on her heel, almost losing her balance in the dirt, then yelled for her son. “Christopher!”
“Coming, Mom!” Christopher shouted back, then emerged from the barn shortly after.
They got in their car and peeled out of the drive, and then my eyes landed on the other car, where Oakley, Lettie, and Brandy all had their faces pressed to the glass. They all tossed me a thumbs up and a huge smile.
