Travis and Christian’s relationship is… well, complicated doesn’t even begin to cover it. I’ve watched Christian try to maintain some kind of connection with his son, seen him reach out again and again, trying to bridge whatever gap exists between them. But Travis doesn’t give a shit, not really. He’s a mama’s boy through and through, and that woman is something else entirely.
All he sees are dollar signs from the farm that’ll eventually have his name on the deed. He’s got no interest in the blood and sweat Christian has poured into that land over the years, and I’ll bet my last dollar that the second the ink dries on the paperwork, he’ll sell it off without a second thought.
“Is your sister coming down tonight?” Callan asks, wiping off a glass before turning his gaze to mine.
“She said she might. I think she’s worried about running into Dillon.”
He nods, setting the glass aside. “He won’t be here. He’s with his family for his sister’s birthday.”
That’ll ease Violet’s mind, at least.
I pull out my phone, thumbs flying over the keyboard as I shoot Vi a text, letting her know.
PIPER: All Clear. No Dillon tonight. Now come and have some fun with me before you lose me for a couple of weeks.
I’m behind the bar, serving customers and slinging drinks like we’re about to run out of liquor. The two-for-one special turns these cowboys into overgrown frat boys, and by eight, they’re stumbling out the door, too shit-faced to remember their own names, let alone last another round.
“Thank God that’s over.” Callan slumps over the bar while I stand beside him, feeling the ache in my feet.
“Silverpine Rodeo finals were today.” Christian tips his whiskeyback, and no, I’m definitely not watching the way his throat works as he swallows or how his forearm flexes when he sets the glass back down. Not at all. “You know these cowboys bleed into town after watching men try not to die for eight seconds.”
“Travis was there with his grandfather,” I say, grabbing water from the fridge and hip-nudging the door shut.
“How is that old bastard still living?” Callan’s question makes me snort in the most unladylike way.
“Pure spite. He’ll outlive us all just to make sure everyone’s miserable.”
“Yeah, well, you had to go and knock up his precious daughter. Imagine a life where you never had to deal with that bitter old prick.” Callan smirks, and Christian flips him off before his eyes find mine again.
The Beaufords are old-money rich. Travis is pretty reluctant to talk about his family and their business, but I know his mom is the eldest Beauford daughter, which means she inherits not just the money but all the power and influence that comes with it.
Meredith is snooty as hell, with a permanent air of condescension that makes my skin itch. In her eyes, I’m just small-town trash threatening to drag her precious Travis down to my level.
She’s undeniably beautiful, but the woman could freeze hell with a single raised eyebrow, and her fake smile has all the warmth of a morgue. Thankfully, Travis only drags me to family functions when he absolutely has to, because there’s only so many times I can watch her inspect her manicure while I’m talking before I lose my shit and dump a glass of red wine on her white designer suit.
To put it simply, she and I aren’t exactly what you’d call friends.
The second time I ever met her, I overheard her telling Travis he “didn’t have to settle for someone like me.” Because apparently, Charlotte, his childhood friend with the trust fund, is “very much single” and—wait for it—“svelte.”
Travis has made his fair share of digs about my body over the months we’ve been together, but fuck him because I look damn good in my underwear. I may not be teeny tiny or whatever society’s currently labeling as desirable, but I fill out lace like a woman whoowns every inch of her body. I’ve got thighs that touch and hips that curve, and not a single part of me feels the need to change or apologize for any of it.
As if he could hear me thinking about him, the bar door swings open, and Travis walks in, already looking irritated. Just before the door shuts behind him, my sister shoves it back open with a huff, stepping inside like she’s just had to deep-breathe her way through dealing with his bullshit.
“We hold doors open for ladies ’round here, Travis.” Callan’s voice has an edge, a low, warning grit that says he’s not in the mood to play nice.
Travis just shrugs, unbothered as ever. “Well, if you see one, let me know.”
“Do you wanna sleep in my house tonight, Travis?” Violet snaps back.
“It’s your sister’s house too.”
I cross my arms over my chest. “Actually, it’s not. I just rent a room. Violet pays for most of it, so I suggest you apologize before you end up getting real cozy with your car’s back seat tonight.”
“You’re kidding, right?” Travis laughs, like this whole thing is one big joke, then plants himself right beside Christian without so much as a glance in his direction.
“Nope.” I pop the p, tilting my head. “If she says you’re sleeping in your car, then…”
His jaw flexes, irritation flashing across his face before he sighs, shaking his head. “Fine, whatever. Next time you’re trailing after me, I’ll hold the door so you don’t have to strain your delicate little hands.”
