Page 20 of Scent to the Feral Cowboys
“If only you’d stop pushing your luck,” I volleyed back, irritation growing.
“Just hard to see you missing out.” Cooper lifted one arm and flexed; large muscles bulged out and deformed the tatted names on his upper arm. “Even Wade gives in rarely. You both need to just let go.”
I rolled my eyes so hard I nearly gave myself a headache. “I’m missing out on what? Your ego? Besides, we’ve established the ground rules, they’re not changing.”
“I know, I know.” Cooper’s grin only widened. “Wade’s a sometimes yes, you’re a firm no. Even at different times, you guys consider it certified, biological brother fucking.”
“Pretty sure we didn’t put it in such a crass way,” I walked back to the broom, snagged it, and began striding to the stall I’d been readying to tackle before Coop’s arrival. I thought he’dleave, but he spoke yet again, so I paused and turned. His smile was wide and toothy; the asshole was about to take things further than he should.
"My memory isn’t the best,” Cooper shrugged. “Still though, seems a damn shame to miss out on my devastatingly good looks." He struck another pose, this time running his free hand over his head and down the length of his braid. He ended the show by pulling the plaited hair over his shoulder and giving me a wink. The sight of him trying to be flirtatious in duck-print boxers should have been absurd, but Cooper had this annoying ability to make anything look confident.
“How the fuck you convinced Levi and Boone to jump into your bed, I’ll never know.” I found myself on the verge of laughter, despite wanting to be angry.
“Levi, Boone, and sometimes your twin. Which, like the gift giving, basically means you and I’ve already done the deed.” He looked me up and down pointedly. “Can I just say, you’ve got muscles and moves, my friend.” Then he winked. Again.
And I ran at him with the broom.
Cooper shrieked and bolted, those ridiculous yellow galoshes slapping against the stable floor as he fled. I charged after him, broom raised like a battle ax, my boots kicking up dust. The bastard was fast for someone wearing that stupid ass getup.
"Get back here!" I shouted, but he was already ducking outside, his braid whipping frantically behind him.
"Not a chance, Captain Grumpy!" he called back, laughter bubbling through his words. "Save your energy for the surprise!"
I skidded to a halt at the stable entrance, watching him sprint across the yard toward the house. The morning sun caught his hair, turning it gold. Damn him and his surprises. Last time Cooper had a "surprise," we ended up with twenty heritage chickens and a rooster that crowed at 3 AM—the rooster didn’t stay for long. I gifted that son of a bitch to another nearby ranch.
"This better not be another animal we don’t need! I’m already doing the work to prep for your new damn horse!” I shouted after him, and he gave me the middle finger.
The horses were unbothered by our rowdy exchange. They simply kept shifting and snorting, impatient for fresh hay and the customary morning carrot—though Sunday it switched to a sugar cube instead.
I liked horses better than people, for this exact reason.
I went back to cleaning. The broom made quick work of brushing off the walls and removing the cobwebs. As I was about to spread fresh hay, the sound of tires crunching on gravel made me freeze mid-stroke with the broom. I peered out the stable window and saw a black sedan pulling up the long driveway. The car was too fancy for our usual feed delivery or vet visits. Following close behind it was some sort of delivery truck, though it looked like it had Winnebago slide-outs. My gut twisted with a mix of frustration and… anxiety? Zero reason to be anxious. It was probably just Cooper's damn surprise. Had to be.
Dropping the broom, I jogged over to the fresh carrots I’d brought out with me. Quickly, I gave one to each horse. Samos was still outside, so I left hers in the feed bag.
When I left the stables, each step I took felt wooden. I wasn’t sure why I was worried all the sudden. Things had been great since Cooper’s inheritance. No more bank calls or desperate visits for another loan. Why did this new ‘surprise’ feel different? I wiped my sweaty palms down the front of my jeans. Out of habit, I patted my thigh next. Two swift slaps, calling the dogs out of the pasture. They were at my side quickly, flanking me. I didn’t have my gun, but the hundred-and forty-pound Tater could intimidate the biggest Alpha. Tripp was far smaller, but fast as hell.
The two vehicles had come to a stop near the house. The black sedan’s back right passenger door opened first. A womanin a crisp business suit stepped out, her heels sinking into the gravel as she surveyed our property with calculating eyes. She had that city look—all sharp edges and perfectly-sleek hair that screamed she'd never done manual labor in her entire life. As out of place as a person could be, sticking out like a damn sore thumb under the wide blue Wyoming sky above.
As I watched, the woman reached back through the still-open door of the car and brought out a briefcase. She pulled a cell out of its front pocket, dialed quickly, then held the phone against her face.
I couldn’t hear what she was saying, nor smell her. Even at this distance though, I could tell she wasn’t an Alpha or Omega. Beta. Not enough scent to carry an inch on the breeze, let alone a hundred feet. Didn't like the look of her at all. Wasn’t a woman thing, or the Beta classification. I didn’t like anyone who came onto my property and acted like they had a right to be there. This was my pack’s place. We’d fought to save it, shed blood and tears in the process. Yeah, it had been a luck of fate that had finally saved it, but we were still working the ground like the Heavens intended—with our bare hands and broken backs and sheer will.
My hands had clenched into fists. It took a lot of effort to slowly pry them open again. I shoved both hands into my pockets once they’d loosened and I moved slowly toward the one-story rambler and the strange arrivals. The dogs kept pace with me. They didn’t growl, didn’t push forward. They just waited for a sign from me that I wasn’t happy about whoever the fuck these trespassers were.
Two other people exited the black car, and another two emerged from the large truck. The slide-outs were extended now; it reminded me of the Red Cross truck a few years back when they’d done the big blood drive outside Pinedale Baptist.
The woman’s brief conversation ended, and she slipped the mobile back into her bag. She gazed around our property oncemore, and our eyes locked. A professional, thin-lipped smile greeted me, though it did nothing to change the severe nature of her face. Her eyes dropped, taking in the dogs, but to my surprise, she strode forward anyway, her poorly chosen shoes crunching and shifting the rocks as she struggled to walk. Her hand extended to me when she was still a few yards away. Woman nearly tripped, but I couldn't bring myself to lunge forward and steady her. Tripp let out a low, warning growl. Tater shifted a little closer, his body pressing into my leg.
“It’s okay,” I murmured to both. “No reason to go for blood. Yet.” I said the second part a little louder, making sure the woman could hear.
The woman straightened up, fixed her blazer, and then trained her eyes on my face.
“Who are you?” I asked curtly. My obvious irritation didn’t seem to startle her. Again, a surprise.
“Hello, are you Mister Hart?” Her voice was high-pitched, a nail on chalkboard sound that cut through the peaceful surroundings. I tried not to visibly cringe.
“I am not,” I said in a clipped tone. “Name’s Nelson, Wyatt Nelson.”
