Kissin' Tell (Rough Riders 13)
Page 16He couldn’t wait to get outside and do chores. Or more to the point, finish chores so he could come home, get cleaned up for his date with Georgia tonight.
Hard to believe he had another date with Georgia Hotchkiss.
He’d wanted to hang out with her longer yesterday, but he knew they’d wind up in bed and he wanted to wait.
Why? Haven’t ten years been long enough? Or are you stalling because you’re afraid you’ll disappoint her in the sack?
No. The younger version of himself might’ve been worried Georgia would find him lacking in bedroom skills. That definitely wasn’t the case now. He wouldn’t rush this; he had one chance to get it right.
Juggling his coffee, he drove to Dalton’s place.
Dalton ambled out after Tell honked three times. His brother wore sunglasses—never a good sign. He was either hungover or he’d been fighting or both.
“Rough weekend, bro?”
“Might say that.”
Tell pointed at his shades. “Take ’em off and lemme see how bad.”
Dalton slid his sunglasses down his nose, revealing a blackened right eye. “Satisfied?”
“You wanna let me in on what happened?”
“Not really.” He pushed the shades in place and adjusted his hat. “I’ll just say the other guy looked worse than me.”
“Where’d this happen?”
“Touchy much?”
“Yep, so maybe we oughta hurry this up today so you don’t gotta be around my crabby ass.”
“Nice try. We’re fixin’ fence when we meet up with Brandt.”
Dalton groaned. “Fuck. Can’t it wait another damn day? I’m whupped, T.”
“Ain’t my fault you played too hard. We gotta get that section fixed because Brandt wants to run the bulls in there after we’re done turnin’ them out with the cows.”
“That’s right around the time Jessie is set to calve.”
Tell snickered. “I doubt she’d find the humor in comparing her to a heifer.”
“No shit. She ain’t finding humor in anything. Brandt told me she cried for an hour after she dropped a dish and she couldn’t bend down to pick up the broken pieces.”
“That don’t sound like Jessie.”
“That don’t sound like Brandt, neither. He never tells me shit like that.”
Tell downshifted as they crested a small rise. “He’s just worried about this pregnancy. And who can blame him?” Shortly after their dad got out of rehab, Jessie had miscarried. In a moment of anger, Brandt blamed the loss on the stress their father caused. Being a total ass**le, Dad said the baby dying was God’s will.
Yeah, that’d been a fun day.
So Jess and Brandt hadn’t announced her pregnancy until she’d reached the end of the fourth month. Everything was progressing normally. But the truth was, they were all a little anxious.
While Dalton catnapped in the truck, Tell walked the fence line until he reached the first section they’d rip out and replace.
He and Dalton were unloading equipment when Brandt drove up. He was all business. “Mornin’. Let’s only do the first half today. Jess has a doctor’s appointment this afternoon, so she’s home. And there’s no cell service on this part of the ranch, so I—”
“Worry,” Tell and Dalton finished simultaneously. Then they grinned at each other and high-fived. Eerie, how often they were on the same wavelength. Although he and Brandt were closer in age, Tell and Dalton had spent more time together as kids and as adults, because Luke and Brandt had been so tight.
“Looks like I’m workin’ with Tweedledee and Tweedledum today.”
Dalton poked at Brandt’s belly. “Looks like we’re workin’ with the Pillsbury Doughboy today.”
“Jesus, Dalton,” Tell said with a groan.
The comment rolled right off Brandt. “Yeah, I know I’ve packed on an extra twenty pounds. But Jess is so damn self-conscious of how much she eats that if I’m not shoveling food in my mouth right along with her, she won’t eat. That ain’t good for her or the baby. So I’ll deal with my flabby gut after that kid is out of my wife.”
“If you need someone to be your fitness drill sergeant, I’m game,” Dalton said.
“You just wanna stand over him and yell,” Tell retorted.
“Yep. And ain’t you jealous that you didn’t think of it first?”
They dragged fence posts, a posthole digger, shovels, barbed wire and various hand tools to the first rotted post.
They’d done this enough times there wasn’t need for discussion, which Tell knew would’ve bugged the crap out of most people. Silence ruled out on the western plains and between the McKays.
And if they’d had the radio blasting or been jawing about nothing, he probably wouldn’t have heard the rattler.
“Ah, Dalton. There’s a rattler about a foot from your left boot,” Tell said calmly. “It’s ready to strike at something, so I suggest you don’t move.”
Dalton said, “Shit,” but stayed put.
“Brandt, can you get on the back side of it?”
“What am I supposed to do? Poke it with a stick?”
“That’s what Dad would tell you just to see if it’d strike you first. Hit it with a rock and see if it’ll move away.”
Brandt approached the snake with a spade and tossed a rock five feet behind it. But instead of it slithering the opposite direction, the snake moved forward, right between Dalton’s feet.
Once the snake had slithered through, Brandt said, “Catch,” and tossed Dalton the spade.
Dalton brought the shovel down hard, slicing the snake in two.
“Nice. You keeping the pieces to make yourself a snakeskin hat band?”
“Never. I don’t even want the damn rattles.” Dalton shivered from head to toe. “I hate them things.”
“It’s the season. Guess that’s a sign to break out the tall boots from here on out,” Brandt said.
Dalton and Tell groaned. Most rattler bites happened below the knee, so thick leather boots that hit directly below the knee were necessary in the summer months. They all hated wearing them.