Page 41 of The Wrong Ride Home

There were a few chuckles. Someone shuffled a deck of cards.

“I’d watch your mouth, Sawyer,” Hunt’s voice cut through the room, low and edged with warning.

Sawyer scoffed, “Just callin’ it like I see it, Hunt. She walks around here like she’s in charge. Thought maybe the boss would set her straight.”

A chair scraped against the floor. I didn’t need to see Hunt’s face to know he was staring Sawyer down.

“That woman works harder than you ever have, boy. And sheisin charge,” Hunt said, his voice low.

Before Sawyer could respond and say something elsethat made me want to break his jaw, I stepped into the bunkhouse.

The men were at ease, dressed the way I used to bethatsummer—dusty jeans, work-worn boots, sleeves rolled up, not a fucking cufflink in sight…well, except the ones I wore, along with the dress slacks and white shirt. I’d at least gotten rid of the suit jacket and tie, so that was something.

They all looked up at me, and for a beat, silence hung heavy in the room.

Seated around the dining table in the common room, they leaned back in their chairs, elbows resting on the worn wood. Poker chips and playing cards lay scattered across the surface, and half-empty beer bottles sweated rings into it. A bottle of bourbon stood sentry in the center, with glasses within easy reach.

Cal smirked as he picked up a deck of cards and started to shuffle. "Well, look at this. The boss man came to slum it with the likes of us."

Laughter rippled through the room.

"That a funeral suit,boss? Or just your regularensemble?” Roy Taggart joked.

That was part of it, the gentle and not-so-gentle ribbing.

“Suit or not, I can still beat you motherfuckers.” It was as easy as apple pie to slide back into ranch dialect. “Now deal me the fuck in, yeah?”

I removed the offending cufflinks and set them on the table before I rolled up my sleeves, like I meant business.

“You using those instead of poker chips?” Hunt mused.

“They look like diamonds.” Sawyer’s eyes glinted with greed—yeah, he liked the bling.

“You wanna play for them, Sawyer?” I asked, sizing up the punk.

“Sure.” He even licked his lips.

Hunt shook his head and rolled his eyes.

“Boy, you’re playin’ outside your weight class,” Roy warned him.

Sawyer shrugged, grinning like aboywho didn’t know he was already losing. “I don’t know, Roy. Maybe I got some luck in me tonight.”

Hunt huffed. “Luck don’t help when you’re playing against?—”

“Now, Hunt, let the man play to win, yeah?” I grinned at Hunt, who shrugged. This was no skin off his nose.

“Yeah, man, let me win some of thatbling-bling-bling,” Sawyer laughed.

Cal continued shuffling the deck, the cards snapping clean against the wood.

I edged back in my chair, memories pressing into me. The scrape of boots on the floor, the smell of whiskeyandhorse. It had been a long time since I sat at a table like this, since I let myself just be here, in this place, with men who saw me for who I was, stripped of the polish…well, except for Sawyer, who would regret saying what he did about Elena.

The first hand was dealt, and cards slid across the table. I picked mine up and let my gaze flicker over them.

Sawyer studied his cards with the relaxed stance of a man pretending to understand the game he was playing better than he did. “What’s the buy-in?” he challenged.

I smirked. “You already bet my cufflinks, didn’t you?”

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