Rough, Raw and Ready (5 page)

She didn’t understand the sudden burst of jealousy nor her need to act on it. She spun around right into Trevor. “Do you trust me?”

“Well, yeah, but—”

“Good.”

Chassie skirted the table and snuck in behind Edgard, sliding her hands down his chest until their faces were side-by-side. “Hey, sugar pie. Didja miss me?” She feathered her lips over his neck and flattened her palms against that rock-hard abdomen.

Edgard sucked in a quick breath. “I, ah, yeah, I did.”

“I thought so. Hope you weren’t too bored.”

“Baby, keep it PG in public, okay?” Trevor jerked the stool next to Edgard and parked himself, as if he didn’t mind his wife openly touching another man.

Thank you for playing along, Trev.

Trevor said, “Brandy.” No hello, how are you, or inane small talk.

In a fit of dating confessions, Chassie spilled her guts to him about how poorly Brandy treated her over the years. In a show of camaraderie, Trevor gave Brandy the cold shoulder whenever they crossed paths.

Edgard picked up on the vibe. He plucked her hand from his stomach and kissed her knuckles one at a time, tossing off Portuguese phrases.

The display was for show, but Chassie’s knees went weak anyway. Edgard might’ve been reciting a damn grocery list in that sexy-assed accent, but frankly, she didn’t care.

She could listen to those honeyed masculine tones all damn night.

Brandy stood abruptly and snapped, “I have to go,” before she flounced off.

Trevor and Edgard exchanged a devilish look.

When Chassie tried to snag a barstool, Trevor tugged her onto his lap. “Least you can do is show
me
a little affection after actin’ so shameless with my best buddy, you brazen hussy.” He nipped her earlobe and chills raced down her neck.

“I take it she wasn’t a friend of yours?” Edgard asked.

“No. I know it was petty and third-gradish, but I’m so sick of her smarmy little comments that I wanted to prove…” Her gaze zoomed to Edgard and guilt punched a 34

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hole in her bubble of one-upsmanship. “Crap. I’m sorry. Were you seriously tryin’ to hook up with her?”

A horrified expression distorted Edgard’s face. “No!”

“She’s not your type?”

Another strange look passed between her husband and his friend. “Not my type at all.”

“Good. Because she’s a total bitch. Do you know what she asked me in the bathroom? If Edgard and I were related because we looked so much alike.”

Trevor choked on his beer.

She angled her head to look at him. “What?”

“Ah. Nothin’.”

“Do you think we look alike?”

“Besides the fact you’re a foot shorter than Ed, your hair is reddish brown where his is black? Not to mention your eyes are hazel, Edgard’s are gold? You’re part Indian, he’s Brazilian, you have tits and he has a big cock? Yeah. You two are so much alike you could almost be goddamn twins.”

Chassie laughed. “See? Brandy refused to believe that a man as hot lookin’ as Edgard could possibly be with me voluntarily. So I don’t care if she thinks we’re havin’ a threesome every damn night, it serves her nosy ass right.”

A sputtering sound came from Edgard, then from Trevor.

Her gaze flicked between the two men. “What is
up
with you guys?”

“Darlin’, didja ever think that Brandy is gonna take great pleasure in tellin’ everyone in the county that you’re bangin’ your husband and his friend? And it won’t be disputed because half the damn county is in this bar right now, watchin’ you feelin’ him up.

Watchin’ me
let
you feel him up.” Trevor took another drink of his beer.

“I’m not lyin’ when I say I don’t care. Let ’em think what they want.”

“But, Chass, baby—”

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“God, Trevor, what is wrong with you? They’ll think what they want anyway, especially if we start denying it, claiming it was all a joke. Screw ’em. We might as well have fun with it.” Chassie upended Trevor’s beer. “What say you, Edgard?”

“I say I think it’s time to hit the road.”

“Good idea.” Trevor removed Chassie from his lap and stood.

“You guys are no fun, I swear.” Her eyes twinkled. “Maybe the three of us should hold hands on the way to the truck.”

“Definitely time to go.” Trevor dragged her out of the bar.

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A few days later, the three amigos, as Chassie secretly called them, stood outside, drinking mugs of coffee. The morning started out typically chilly for February but Chassie knew the forecast for afternoon predicted a balmy fifty degrees.

Edgard hung back while Trevor and Chassie discussed the day’s schedule. Checking cattle was their priority, twice every day, rain, snow, sleet, or heat. Chassie took the early morning shift while Trevor tended the herd in the evening. Rarely did they do the check together; it was a waste of manpower in their small operation.

Before he retreated to the barn, Trevor discouraged Edgard from helping with chores again—a reaction Chassie didn’t understand. Every damn day there was more work to be done around the ranch than time to do it. The fact Edgard had volunteered filled Chassie with relief. The fact Trevor discounted it filled Chassie with resentment.

She frowned as she backed the truck underneath the feed hopper. Something was up with Trevor. But whenever she asked him what was wrong, he wouldn’t talk. Rationally, she knew most men were like that, especially cowboys, keeping concerns to themselves.

But she’d believed Trevor was different. No, he had been different, which was why his about-face bugged her so much. Her husband was keeping secrets and she had a pretty decent idea what about.

Money.

The end of last summer they’d crunched numbers and figured out pretty quickly in order to stay competitive in the cattle market, they’d have to increase the size of their herd. Which they did. But it left them at absolute capacity for grazing areas. Land leases from the state or individual ranchers were few and far between. Bottom line: they needed more land.

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As luck would have it, their neighbor to the south, Gus Dutton, was kicking around the idea of selling his acreage. Gus gave them a heads-up—it was an unwritten rancher’s creed to offer neighbors with bordering ranches a shot at purchasing the land before offering it to strangers. Not only had Gus approved of Chassie and Trevor’s improvements to the West homeplace, he understood the struggle of trying to get ahead when developers and “hobby” ranchers were swallowing up land all around you.

So, giddy at their apparent good fortune, Trevor and Chassie had scheduled an appointment with the family banker to discuss their options. But the banker’s news wasn’t good. Although Chassie owned the West ranch land outright, she had no credit history. Same went for Trevor because he’d spent years living hand-to-mouth on the rodeo circuit.

The banker did present an option. Because they were otherwise debt free, if they could come up with ten percent of the purchase price as a cash down payment, the bank would be willing to lend them the remainder.

Not the answer they’d hoped for, but one which showed the banker’s faith in their ability to procure the funds. A totally misplaced faith since the couple was strapped for cash and living on next to nothing as it was.

If they didn’t assure Gus Dutton they could meet his price, Gus would offer the parcel to the other neighbors whose land bordered his on his south end—the McKays.

Her cousins already owned most of four Wyoming counties. For the first time in her life she understood her father’s resentment toward the ranching family. If the McKays got their hands on Dutton’s land it’d feel like encroachment, whereas if she and Trevor bought Dutton’s land, it would feel like progress, despite either way they ended up with the McKays as neighbors.

Neither she nor Trevor owned anything worth anything. No antiques, or jewelry or heirlooms. Their pickups were running on baling twine and prayers. The farm equipment was ancient. They could sell off a couple bulls, a couple horses and it still wouldn’t put a dent in the kind of cash they needed to come up with.

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The financial situation weighed on Trevor, making him feel like he couldn’t provide for her. He’d considered asking his dad to loan them money, but Chassie would rather lose out on the land than have Trevor beholden in any way to his father.

Which put them back at square one; dreams without the resources to realize them. So when that pensive look settled on her husband’s handsome face, she didn’t push.

The passenger’s door slammed and Edgard climbed in, startling Chassie out of her brooding, as “cake”—feed pellets for the cattle—filled the metal bin in the truck bed.

“Hey, aren’t you supposed to be checkin’ on the repair status of your truck?”

“Yep. It’s not done.”

“I’m not surprised. Does Trevor know you aren’t in the house twiddling your thumbs?”

“No. I beat feet past the machine shed where he’s wrenching on some piece of metal and cussing like a truck driver. I’m here, I might as well help out. I like helping out.

Actually, I miss doin’ the work.”

“Consider yourself the official gate-opener again,” Chassie said, shifting the truck into first gear. “It’ll be nice to have your company.” As Trevor had all but ignored Edgard in the last few days, Edgard had taken to riding along with her in the morning and hanging out with her in the house in the afternoons. They’d had some damn interesting conversations.

After they’d passed through the first gate and pasture, she said, “Tell me more about your ranch in Brazil. Is it a family operation?”

Edgard pushed his hat back with a gloved hand. “No. I bought it with my rodeo earnings. It was close to my mother and stepfather’s place.”

“Was?”

“Is. Translation error.”

The truth? Or just a way to cover up the slip?

“Anyway, it’s small compared to the wide open spaces in Wyoming, only about two hundred acres.”

“How many cattle can you run on a spread that size?”

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“I had three hundred head.”

Again with the past tense. “That’s a lot of cattle on not a huge acreage.”

“There’s a lot of rain, which means a lot of vegetation, so there’s plenty of feed. I’ll admit our cows are smaller and leaner than the ones I see here.”

The herd swarmed the truck, recognizing the sound of food. Chassie pulled the cord on the hopper and the cake dropped to the ground beneath them as they putzed along.

“I know it’s crass to ask, but how many head are you and Trevor running?”

“Four hundred. We got an eighty percent pregnancy rate with breeding in early summer, so we’re crossing our fingers for the birth survival rate to be around that same percentage. Even counting the heifers.”

“Universal truth that they’re notoriously paranoid first time mothers, eh?”

She smiled. “Must be. So bein’ so far south, do you calve around the same time of year?”

“Yep.”

“And you aren’t there to help out?”

He angled his head toward the window. “This place is beautiful. So different from the jungle.”

Chassie let the blatant subject change pass as they bumped over the rutted tracks. Her gaze caught on a moving object three hundred feet down the fence line. She snagged the binoculars from the middle of the seat and focused on the sagebrush. Not more than thirty seconds passed and she saw it move again.

“Shit!”

“What do you see?”

“A goddamn coyote.” She eased the truck into a half circle for a better view. She shoved the stick into neutral and pushed the emergency brake to the floor. Carefully, she reached for her “varmint rifle” on the gun rack behind her. No need to dig for ammo because it was already fully loaded.

“You gonna shoot it?”

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“Yep.” Chassie didn’t bother to look at Edgard when she said, “Got a problem with that?”

“No. We have our share of predators in Brazil.”

“The Wiley Coyote, Bambi lovin’, PETA members don’t understand why I’d wanna kill a cute, fluffy little animal who’s only actin’ on instinct. After livin’ on this land my entire life, I know those beasts are licking their chops for a cow to fall behind so they can attack it. Gets worse when we start calvin’. If it comes down to my livelihood or a coyote’s, it’s my instinct to remind those scavengers I’m at the top of the food chain for a reason.”

“Can’t argue with that logic.”

With the window rolled down, she poked the barrel out the window and trained her sight on the bushes. “Come on out,” she taunted. “It’ll only hurt a little bit.”

Edgard chuckled.

A reddish-gold face broke through the underbrush and Chassie fired. The animal jerked and ran. She ignored the slight ringing in her ears and fired again. The coyote dropped beyond the rise. “Hah!”

“Didja get it?”

“Probably.”

“You’re a good shot.”

“Comes from lots of practice, on all sorts of guns, with all sorts of prey.”

Edgard muttered, “Remind me not to piss you off.”

Holding the rifle across her lap, she popped the emergency brake and slammed the truck into gear.

“What do you do with it if it’s dead?”

“Nothin’. Leave it as crow bait.”

“You don’t skin it?”

She shook her head.

“Why not? Isn’t there money in skins?”

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“The hide and tail should be worth cash, but you’ll see why the majority of coyotes around here are worthless.”

After Chassie crested the rise, she slowed, seeing the form lying on the grayish-white snow. Once they were within ten feet of the carcass, she stopped the truck.

They both hopped out and met at the hood.

“Holy shit that’s nasty,” Edgard said.