Page 111 of For Fillies and Monsters

December 24th, 2024

“So, a baby?”Mateo’s tone is teasing, but I can sense the undercurrent of concern. Which is really fucking weird because only a couple months ago, we had agreed to hate each other.

Or rather, I told myself to hate him, because I couldn’t stand the way Stetson looked at him.

But no matter how hard I’ve tried, the bastard has become a friend. He helped us get the lawyers when we were first being questioned about Craig and that entire fucking mess—not that we needed them, because the cops barely batted an eye. But still, it was nice having someone watch our backs. Those same lawyers then helped us get the life insurance paperwork worked out and completed in the right way, and then create the LLC that is Spurrin’ L Horse Rescue—officially killing any remnants of the former Spurrin’ L Ranch, and the horrible memories with it.

He hasn’t asked for repayment—which will be fucking happening, even if it means I have to tie his ass down and shove the bills down his throat. I will not owe anyone. Not even a friend.

And what’s more, is he was here in the weeks following thefire, shirt off, helping us rebuild the barn, the corrals, and the fence in the back corner.

I’ve never had much for friends—my brother made sure I had him, and him alone—but I’m grateful for Mateo and everything he’s done for us. Because, with his help, I’ve been able to take better care of Stetson—been able to give her the life she deserves faster than I would have on my own—and that’s the greatest debt of all.

“Yes,” I grumble, taking another small sip of the whisky-laced cider. I don’t even think I like the taste of whiskey anymore, which is wild. He punches my arm, causing the liquid to slosh, and I growl.

“And? How do you feel, man? That’s pretty quick for?—”

I set my cup down and turn my narrowed gaze to his face. “We’re friends, Mateo, and I owe you more than I feel fucking comfortable with. But do not question my relationship with Stetson, do not question how quick it is unfolding, nothing. You do not know our story.”

Instead of looking afraid, or even pissed, he snorts a laugh and smirks at me. “You really need to chill the fuck out, dude. We are friends, and because of that, I ask about how you’re feeling. Sorry if that’s a little too touchy for you, tough guy, I just care. But, noted. You ask when you need something, though.”

And just like that, my anger dissipates into something resembling guilt and gratitude. And something else I’m not willing to look at too closely.

I really do want to hate him, but fuck. He’s too nice.

“Uh, Gus, the baby hormones are making Stetson crazy and she’s demanding we open presents now,” Dale hiccups from the other room and Mateo and I walk toward them.

Faith—Stetson’s newest stray from Dale’s student banquet deal back in July—sits cross-legged on the floor, her hair pulled back into a tight bun. She’s wearing light pink pajamas and atentative smile. I’m grateful Stetson is getting the girl group she always deserved, even if they do look a bit hodge podge. Dale, in her dark clothes, dark hair, and the dark crimson flush of too much alcohol sits like Faith’s polar opposite on the armrest, next to Stetson. She’s swaying slightly, hanging off Stetson’s neck.

In other words, she’s fucking trashed.

“What’s going on with you two?” The question rolls off my tongue before I consider how it might make me sound like I, too, care about him and what he’s going through. That’s not me.

Mateo halts in the entryway of the living room, still out of earshot of the giggling girls, and then shakes his head. “Ask Dale. We’ve been friends for so long, it’s blurred the lines, even ifI knowwhat I want.”

“Which is?”

Why do you care, Gus? When did you become so soft?But still, I want to know. Call it curiosity and nothing else.

Before he can respond, a shriek fills the living room, and Mateo and I both jump, ready to fight off whatever threat is causing such a commotion.

I ignore the fact that we end up back to back like a couple of cowboy besties in an old western.I refuse to be that fucking cliche.

“Gus.” I turn to look at Dale, whose blush pales in comparison to the one now spreading across Faith’s fair cheeks. Dale fans herself, looking anywhere but directly at me.

“What the actual fuck?” I hiss, peeling myself from a fighting stance and stomp toward Stetson, who is clutching something to her chest, a pile of red paper littering the floor around her feet. I guess Dale wasn’t kidding about opening presents.

And then it hits me what present Stetson opened first.

I bark a laugh before snatching the frame from her hands, even as she yelps, trying to hold on to it tighter. “That shouldteach you to open presents early. You’re such a brat.” I look down at the framed photograph—the photograph—cum all over Stetson’s pretty face and hair, my dick signed into the corner.

Pure fucking gold.I smile wider, proud of myself all over again for this particular piece of art.

And then Mateo clears his throat, snapping me out of my own admiration. “Interesting gift, Gus. But I have to say, isn’t it a little bit… small to frame in only an eight by ten? I would want to think if you were going to have it printed, you would have done something much larger to give the impression that it’s actually impressive.”

I snarl, and turn on him, ready to throw a punch if he’s within arm’s length—how dare he mock my artwork in that way—when Stetson screeches and stomps her foot.

“Augustus Dobbs, if you break my picture, I will never forgive you!”

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