“No.”
She wrinkles her nose. “This isn’t up for debate.” She checks the chamber of the gun. “I know the basics.”
“And I’m saying, no, fuck no, and no way.” I glare at my brother, making my way down the fence. “Your crush is cute, but you don’t hand a lady a gun when she doesn’t know how to use it.”
“Back off, dick, I know enough for the both of us.”
“No, and no,” I say to each of them individually in an attempt to make my point.
Harper lifts her rifle. “You’re outnumbered. That concludes this debate.”
Cursing, I charge toward her. “Give me that.”
“No.” She turns away from me as I glare at Trevor, who’s smiling like Alice’s Cheshire cat. “I may be in love with her. I think this is the only woman who has ever said no to you.”
“Interesting,” Harper says, her cheeks heating.
“Trust me, none of them had him tied up the way you do,” Trevor says, jutting his chin toward me.
“Good to know. Channah-nan-na-nan,” she cocks her rifle, eyeing the cow with disdain, “enjoy your Lance since your days are numbered.” And with that, she leaves the barn with Trevor hot on her heels.
“They aren’t working, damnit, they aren’t working. It’s like tunnel vision. I can’t see shit,” She whisper-yells next to me. I take the goggles from her and flip them over before switching them to night vision. “Oh. Jesus. How did I miss that? Blonde moment, for sure.”
“Shhhh, lady love, not so loud,” Trevor chuckles, and it grates me. I know he’s doing it just to screw with me, though some part of me does think he’s smitten.
“So, what are the signs?” Harper asks.
“Well, that would be a ‘yote coming into view,” I say under my breath. I’m supposed to be doing a hundred other things aside from entertaining this bullshit.
“Smartass,” she spouts, lifting her night vision goggles to scan the herd. “I just meant, is there anything in particular to look for?”
“A coyote,” Trevor and I say together.
“I’ve always wanted to do this,” she ignores our sarcasm. “And shoot pool. I’ve never done that.”
“We’ve got a hall up the road,” Trevor says. “Lance use to stomp around up there. He’s good.”
“How good?”
“Really good,” Trevor supplies.
She nudges me. “Will you teach me?”
“Don’t have the time,” I say, imagining her bent over the table for a shot, her long legs in a short skirt. I hate every minute of this. This conjured image just another I’ll need to wipe, along with the one of her in those coveralls. She’s pressed against my hip, laying on her stomach with Trevor on the other side of her. She’s on watch while we each have a scope on the herd.
“You bring the hooch?” Trevor asks.
“Yeah, you have hooch?” Harper mimics. You would think they are related.
“No, because this isn’t a party.”
“Could be,” Trevor quips. “God, you used to be so much more fun, brother.”
“I can’t drink that shit so close to a fight, and oh, you’re sixteen.”
“That didn’t stop you from giving me that moonshine not too long ago,” he smarts.
“It was two shots, enough to shut you up, which you two apparently can’t do now. If we have any chance of catching them, it won’t be due to this circus.”
“I think we’re doing a fantastic job,” Harper says, her binoculars up.
“You are,” Trevor says.
Harper scoots in closer to me for warmth, and I allow it. It’s freezing tonight, but clear, clear enough that we have a real shot of catching the culprit responsible for the dead heifer I found today.
“I see it,” Harper whisper-shouts. “There’s two, three of them.”
“Bullshit,” Trevor says, looking through his scope.
“About fifty yards away from the barn.”
Trevor chimes in. “Yep, she’s right.”
“Damn,” she pipes up, “they look like dogs. I was expecting something a little more epic.”
Trevor chuckles, and I sigh. Three is the worst possible number. He reads my thoughts.
“Three,” he says, “if we take two of them out, it may solve the problem, but you never know.”
“Damn.” I train the scope on one of them and look over to Harper, who I know has a waiting smile on her lips.
“Did you want to ask me something, Lance?”
Harper
“We got ‘em, Dad,” Trevor announces proudly as the three of us enter the living room. “And our girl here got the third.” Trevor and I share a grin.
“Good job,” Jack nods toward me as I take off my jacket.
“To be fair, Lance took my aim. All I did was pull the trigger.”
Lance removes the gun from my hand and Trevor’s and locks them up in the cabinet next to the fireplace before securing the key in his pocket. He and Jack share a look I can’t decipher from where he sits in the recliner as Rip picks up a guitar on the couch next to him.
“Where’s Mom?” Trevor asks.
“She picked up another shift,” Jack replies before taking a sip from his tumbler.
It wasn’t until I got to the ranch that I found out Jeannie went back to work years ago to help out with the bills. She bartends at the only hotel in town. Not one person in this house ever stops, even retired, Rip comes out to help with the workload. He lives on the edge of town with his wife but is over almost every day. On the Prescott ranch, everyone is considered family. Rip’s talent takes me by surprise as I watch him run his fingers effortlessly along the strings.
“Wow. You’re good.”
“That’s nothing,” Trevor says, hanging his coat next to the roaring fire where I heat my hands behind me. “You should have seen him and Dad when they used to play. We have videos.”
“Yeah?” I look down at Jack.
“We used to open for Lynyrd Skynyrd,” Rip says.
Lance sighs as if he’s heard the same story a thousand times. He told me when we were dating that when his dad was younger, he played in a band, so chances are, that’s the case.
“Why did you stop?” I ask, knowing it doesn’t have anything to do with Jack’s Parkinson’s diagnosis. It was too long ago.
“Jeannie got pregnant,” Jack says as Lance looks over to me. “And we played when we could, we just never got anywhere. I wanted to settle down anyway, and no one was beating down our door to sign us.”
“Good times,” Rip says, clinking glasses with Jack before they both take a sip.
“Lance, pour yourself some,” Jack gestures to the bottle of whiskey on the table.
“Can’t. Training.”
“One drink, son,” he insists.
Lance shakes his head. “Got shit to do.”
“Bullshit.” Jack stands with his drink in hand and moves toward Lance before he loses his footing, falling to the carpet as though he’s been tripped, his tumbler spilling over.