Page 29 of At the Rancher's Pleasure

Brett felt the back of his neck prickle and he slowly turned around, his eyes slamming into Rusty’s, who was at his usual spot, which was the far corner at the other end of the bar, a coveted position he’d claimed years ago. Rusty jerked his head in an unmistakable “come here” gesture, and Brett lifted his eyebrows at the impertinence.

Last he checked, he wasn’t one of his sons, employees or sycophants.

“You’re being summoned,” Clint told him.

“Yeah, got that.”

Clint drained his glass of whiskey and nodded at Brett’s half-empty glass of soda. “Can I get you another?”

Brett shook his head. “I’m good, thanks.” His eyes drifted back to Rusty and saw the irritation on the old man’s face at his lack of response. Rusty lifted a hand to beckon him over, and it gave Brett pleasure to turn his back and ignore his demand.

If Rusty Edmond wanted to talk to him, he could make the effort to cross the room. He wasn’t anyone’s damn lapdog.

“He’s coming over,” Clint told him. “Do you want me to leave?”

“Don’t shove off on his account,” Brett told him, deliberately ignoring Rusty’s approach. He felt the change of energy in the room and slowly, one by one, the conversations died down as the rest of the members noticed something was about to go down.

Wonderful, Brett thought. An altercation with Edmond would be the perfect way to end what had already been a crap day.

“Harston!” Rusty barked at his back.

Brett took his time turning around. Edmond looked down at the drink in his hand and his top lip curled. “Still a wimp about liquor, boy?”

Rusty had been around long enough to know Brett never touched liquor because his mom struggled with alcoholism, but he was pretty sure many of the newer TCC members didn’t. But if the jerk was trying to shame him into kowtowing, he didn’t know whom he was dealing with.

“My mom was an alcoholic and as a result, I don’t drink,” Brett said, managing—just—to keep his voice even.

“You can’t put lipstick on a pig, Harston. Your mom was a drunk and a slut.”

Clint’s hand shot out to grab his arm and prevented his fist from connecting with Rusty’s jaw. The tension in the room ratcheted up a level, and Brett looked past Rusty to see the disgust on several faces. Yeah, Edmond wasn’t doing himself any favors by insulting his mom. Maybe, instead of hitting him, he should just let the dude dig a deeper hole for himself.

“Did you really cross the room just to insult my dead mama, Rusty?” Brett asked, placing his elbow on the bar and crossing his foot over his ankle. He knew that he looked relaxed but, judging by Clint’s folded arms and scowling face, he wasn’t fooling his ex-Special Forces friend.

“Actually no, but that’s always a pleasure,” Rusty snarled.

Bastard.

“I actually came over here to inform you that you are no longer welcome to be on the advisory board for the Soiree on the Bay.”

What a surprise.Not. Brett had been expecting this to happen since Rusty saw him and Sarabeth dining at Sheen last week.

“And you couldn’t do that in private, or on the phone or in an email?” Brett laconically asked.

“You’re here, I’m here.”

“And so are most of the members of the TCC, Edmond,” Brett pointed out. “If your aim is to embarrass me then you are shit out of luck. I don’t embarrass easily.”

Brett saw a flash of discomfort in Rusty’s eyes and decided to push him further. “And I find it very interesting that you all but begged me to sit on the board and now you are kicking me off it. I have to wonder why.”

“Do stop. You might hurt yourself taxing that undereducated brain,” Rusty retorted, pleased by his cleverness. He looked around for support and frowned when he seemed to receive none. Yep, that’s what happened when you acted like a dick.

It was time to stop beating around the bush. “This wouldn’t have anything to do with the fact that I am in a relationship with your ex-wife?”

Relationship?No, that was wrong. He was having a fling with Sarabeth and it wasn’t going anywhere, but he couldn’t announce that to the world. But this fling was nothing like he’d ever experienced before. They ate together, slept together, explored his ranch on horseback together, gone on a romantic date to Sheen...

He wanted to believe that this was only about sex, but he was honestly having trouble convincing himself of that.

The anger flaring in Rusty’s eyes and the cords tightening in his neck pulled his attention back to his present problem. “I don’t give a damn what that bitch does,” Edmond snapped.

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