Page 77 of Boots, Bucket Lists & Bad Ideas
Let her sweat a little.
“I’m allowing you to practice being the fun uncle before my kid is born, instead of the grumpy cowboy one.” A sharp click echoes when Levi releases the mic button.
“I’m already at grumpy. Wore through a pair of gloves, dropped a log on my foot, and got a splinter in my palm the size of a damn toothpick.” The radio is so close to my mouth that it bounces against my lips with the uneven terrain. “And all this is after a night in jail. But hey, take your time with your fucking hangover. Balls in your court, brother.”
I barely let my thumb off the button when a thin snap cracks across the speaker.
“Yeah, balls were in my court this morning.” Dean cuts into our conversation.
Oh fuck.
And just like that, the noisiness of my brothers is about to begin.
“Got handled real nice too,” he continues. “Gently. Thoroughly. Repeatedly.”
“Bro, no one wants to hear about your balls,” Levi barks over the channel, ricocheting inside the truck like thunder.
But I agree with him.
“Let’s just say I was workin’ with a different kind of wood this morning.” Dean lacks a moral compass.
“If you say one thing about your wood, I’m changin’ frequencies.” My threat only garners a long, crackled laugh from Dean.
“Tell me then, did Nash actually lock you up or just make a show of it until you got to the station, then let you go?”
“What do you think?”
“That you woke up stacked on a cot, but didn’t have a woman to unload the lumber, if you catch my drift. So now you’re cranky.”
“Fuck off.”
“Wood’s gotta be treated right. When’s the last time you had a woman help you polish your wood?” Dean’s tone is slow and flat, but there’s a trace of mischief underneath.
“I don’t kiss and tell.”
“Do you kiss at all?”
“I ain’t fucking celibate, if that’s what you’re asking.” Not that I need to defend myself.
“Bet he was spoonin’ a cedar stump whisperin’ sweet nothings to it.” Wheeler jumps into the conversation.
Great. A full-on sibling affair when I have other things on my mind.
Gravel dust kicks up in my rearview mirror. My heart pounds like I’m sprinting the forty-yard dash, daring trouble to tackle me.
“Or did you have to romance your axe handle solo again?” Dean’s barbaric in ways a man shouldn’t be. “Rubbing the wood with a certain Fox sister in mind after we sent those riders packing for crossing the line. I can see the fantasy. You, the hero. Her, needing a way to thank you and getting down on two knees, would do the trick.”
The truck jerks beneath my hands. I wrestle the wheel straight, and the radio slips from my grasp, clattering to the floor.
“Y’all ever notice he gets real quiet every time we mention her?” Dean presses like the asshole he is.
A glance in the rearview mirror confirms Jade is steady in the saddle and still on my trail.
“He’s dodgin’ harder than a calf at branding day.” Beck jumps in because apparently my love life, or the sad, dusty version of it, is a group project now.
I grab the tangled cord and haul the radio back into my grip, but Levi beats me.
“Y’all are idiots,” he says. “Hart’s out there doin’ the Lord’s work, buildin’ my kid a treehouse. He ain’t got time for your pine-scented fantasies.”
