Page 29 of Rough Cowboy
“THIS IS FUN.” I SLAPa bag of frozen peas on Silver’s face. “Y’all want to do a pissing contest, too?”
He groans.
Good.
He deserves the aftermath of his decision to start a damn fistfight at my party. Although, the altercation did clear everyone out. Cleared them out with a boatload of assumptions regarding why Silver—who wasn’t announced the daddy—decided to attack his brother.
Idiot.
Either way, I’m grateful to be out of the watchful eyes of the entire town. But I’m still so angry I could knock Silver’s teeth so far down his throat he spits them up in single file. And it has nothing to do with some stupid fistfight.
“I won’t hold this for you all evening.” I apply pressure against his swollen nose.
“Ouch. Fuck, Els.”
“Elsie.”
When Silver finally reaches for the bag, our fingers graze, and his pinky slightly curls around my finger. His inebriated ass can’t get his emotions in check.
Idiot.
I push the bag harder before I walk away.
“Son of a bitch. That hurts,” he groans like he hasn’t been bucked off bulls a hundred times. “You knocked me out cold, asshole,” he says to Sammy.
I roll my eyes at his intoxicated attention span.
“You deserved it.” Sammy stretches his neck, and the crack sound makes my stomach roll. He sighs, a sound of pleasure. “That’s better.”
“I’m up for a good ol’ pissin’ contest.” Their granddad sits in the corner on a red wingback chair, eating licorice from a bowl on his lap.
There are lots of things the older man has been up for lately. I have a new respect for Calvin Sr.
He’s reading a copy of my sister’s upcoming western romance release. The eager reader has binge-read Diana Jenkin’s entire catalog in a matter of months. I wonder if he’s taking notes for unusual ways to bang old lady Mrs. Fox. My sister is creative in writing her steamy scenes, and I bet her hunky cowboy has taught her a thing or two she used in her new book. There was a hella hot smut scene in a pool and an even smuttier scene in a horse stall.
I’ve already read her new release. Three times.
Silver rolls onto his back and stretches out over the sofa. His shirt rises up his stomach. The brothers nearly killed each other, and still, my lady parts warm at the sight of his six-pack.
Child support and a nanny.
His words are a slap across my face. He’s just like the worthless father I never met.
Silver lightly probes his nose with his finger. “I’m pretty sure you broke my nose.”
“Still, well deserved.” Sammy props his feet on the coffee table. He leans back on the overstuffed chair and closes his eyes. The bruising has begun to darken around his left eye. “I’m pretty sure I have a concussion,” he grumbles.
“Here.” I rest a bag of frozen corn over his eye.
“Thanks, Elsie.” His hand grazes mine, and nothing. Not a damn thing. Not a spark. Not even a flicker of desire.
“Cry me a damn river.” Silver plops the peas back on his face, and the bag muffles his voice. “Head injuries are the most common in rodeo trauma, and most patients are dismissed home. So, you’re dismissed.” His voice drops. “Run off to your new ranch.”
“Cry me a river. I made one decision without you.”
“A pretty fucking big decision.” The bag crinkles as Silver readjusts it to glare at his brother. “Two big decisions. You bought the Walker ranch without me. Asshat.”
“I’ve always wanted to buy it.”
