Page 41 of Chaos

“You shouldn’t have, Finn.”

“Oh, Finn. You look so handsome this morning.”

Deadpan, I blink. “Are you two having some kind of episode?”

“Are you?” Simon pokes my cheek. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you blush before.”

“I am not blushing.”

Am I blushing? Over what? Coffee? Yeah fucking right. They’re delusional. I tell them as such, and they snort and laughand don’t stop making fun of me for no damn reason, not until they’re interrupted by my brother hollering. Not for any of us—it’s Finn’s name he calls, earning me a teasing elbow to both sides, and I’m wondering whether or not I have the authority to fire personnel when the man in question pops his head around the edge of the barn door. “What’s up, boss?”

“I need you to go to the Weber place,” Jackson tells him. “Apparently, they’ve got a mare we should check out.”

Finn’s face hardens. “I’ll head out now.”

“Bring someone with you, yeah?”

“Lottie wants to go.”

Oh, I amsoslipping Simon some arsenic.

“That’s good,” Finn hollers, and I shift from glaring at one ranch hand to gaping at another, at the one halfway to his truck and smiling in my direction. “Since I was gonna ask her anyway.”

I swear to God, the grown-ass men on either side of mesqueal.

“You both need help,” I grumble beneath my breath, kicking them both in the shins and walking backwards so I can flash them the finger as I start towards Finn. So busy scowling, I don’t notice a presence behind me until I slam into a hard chest. “Jesus Christ.”

“Not quite.” Hands settle on my shoulders. Fingertips brush my collarbones, exuding gentle pressure as I’m turned towards an amused face. “You good?”

No. Now I thinkI’mhaving some kind of an episode. “Yup.”

“You ready to go?”

I shrug off his lingering grip. “Yup.”

“You wanna drive?”

Pursing my lips, I wonder if I should mention my license was suspended.Again. “You can.”

“Okay then.” A few long strides bring him to the passenger side of a dark red Ram 1500 in perfect, shiny condition that says a lot about the meticulous cleaning habits of its owner. When he opens the door and waves for me to climb in, I eyeball the lifted vehicle with something that must be pretty close to a grimace because, with a chuckle beneath his breath, he snags the coffee mug from my hand and reaches his free one out to me. “Need help?”

Over my dead fucking body.

Considering the pickup is clearly made for someone well over six-foot, it requires a little more stretch than my jeans will allow to hoist myself up and onto a leather seat. Whether it’s a graceful endeavor or not doesn’t matter—I manage it, and I shoot Finn a smug little look that he shakes his head at before closing the door and jogging around to the driver’s side.

Easily climbing behind the wheel, he takes a sip ofmycoffee before putting the mug in the cupholder. I only hesitate for a second before picking it up and finishing the drink that just so happens to be made exactly the way I like it.

Finn starts the truck and, with one hand on the steering wheel and the other hanging out the window, pulls out of the makeshift parking spot outside the barn. Jackson and his precious specialist wave as we drive past while Simon and Charlie incite a new bout of murderous urges by blowing kisses and making the shape of a heart with their big, dumb hands.

Before I can offer Finn every dollar in my bank account in exchange for running them over, he chuckles. “Y’all seem close.”

Close like a parasite-host relationship, maybe. “They're the brothers I never wanted.”

“It’s almost like you like them.”

The bemused statement earns some side-eye, a defensive, “I like people.”

“Repeat that with a straight face.”

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