Page 27 of Rough Cowboy
“You’re surprised?” I hold my arms out in the air.
“Not really. You tend to ruin a good time.” He doesn’t move.
I halt and nearly fall over my stumbling feet. “Are you fucking kidding me?”
“Language, come on, man.” Wheeler nods where his daughter is playing bean bag toss with Beck’s son.
What was his name?
Jack?
Jake?
No, Josh. It was Josh. I’m pretty sure.
“Butt out, Wheeler.” I push my beer can into his chest. “We don’t need you to be a middleman.”
Wheeler steps into the can. “I’ll bet with those words, that’s exactly what you’ll need.”
“Silver, you’ve had enough to drink. This isn’t one of your after-parties. Go sleep it off.” Hart squeezes my shoulder the way our pa does. He’s such a daddy’s boy.
I shove him off. “Mind your own business, Hart. You might be the all mighty bossman around here, and all these pussy’s bend to your order, but I’m not one of your pussy’s.”
“Seriously, Silver, can’t it ever be a quiet time when you’re around?” Wheeler storms off, picking up his daughter and nudging Josh to follow.
“What? What’d I say? I’m not the one dropping bombs about quitting riding, buying a ranch, and opening a camp.”
“We can talk about this when you’re sober.” Sammy doesn’t seem to know me at all. “And when half the town isn’t here.”
“I wanna talk now.”
“We’re not doing this.” Sammy tries to walk by me.
I step in front of him. “We’re doing this now.”
Sammy leans his face close. “Walk it off, Silver.”
Walking it off is the last thing on my mind, and if Sammy doesn’t want to talk, I have another approach. My fist connects with his jaw.
He stumbles back. “Shit!” He shifts his jaw and rubs his fingers over it. “Don’t start something you can’t finish.”
“I can finish it.”
“You’re drunk.”
“You’re stallin’.”
“You’re angry and trying to feel anything but your damn feelings.” Sammy thinks he’s so intelligent.
“Stallin’ ‘cause you’re afraid to lose.” I flap my arms and cluck like a chicken.
“He’s baitin’ you, man,” Ford says. “Walk away.”
“Now he has to take a swing.” Dean wears a shit-faced smirk, eager to watch the fight unfold.
“He doesn’t have to take a swing,” Beck disagrees. “You don’t have to take a swing,” he tells Sammy.
“Take a swing!” I raise my arms in the air. “Come on. You gonna sit on the sidelines watching me win your whole life or play the fuckin’ game.”
