2. Woody

2

WOODY

“Woody, why are you glaring at your neighbor?”

I’d been watching the greenhorn next door from my perch at the top of my property and was annoyed to find him using the stabilizers all wrong. They provided some stability farther down, but he shoulda set it on the roofline since he was working on the gutters. And of course, he was doing all of that without so much as a spotter. Fucking city folks so used to working alone in their little houses that they forgot you actually needed other people.

“Woody?”

I turned to give my cousin the most vicious look I could muster. “Why do you care?”

“Woah, bringin’ out the murder eyes,” Rowdy said as he tied back his thick, unruly hair.

We had the same wiry build and shared enough features that folks could tell we were related, but as people we could not have been more different. I’d never admit it, but I’d always admired his free spirit. Even when he was giving me shit.

“Shut up.”

“Alright. Sorry I asked.” He gave me a once-over, his eyes a little too shrewd for my comfort. “It’s just—we’re moving your entire honey operation from one end of your property to the other to avoid some My Girl scenario with his kid. Thought that meant y’all were gettin’ along.”

“Nope.”

“Got it.”

I went back to tightening the strap around the hives on the back of my Kawasaki Mule, trying to ignore how much last week’s confrontation still stuck in my craw. Doubting my new neighbor had so much as picked up a hammer before buying the place, I’d spent the last few days spying on the guy—Emery McAvoy, according to town gossip—watching as he taught himself how to fix the things my worthless ex never got around to.

I’m ashamed to admit that I Googled McAvoy, and even more ashamed to admit that I’d drooled over the official photograph I’d found on his fancy company website. Expensive suit, perfect chocolate brown hair, thick brows, square jaw, full lips—he looked like he used to be a football player, or maybe some sort of comic book superhero. Either way, he was clearly in charge and very much my type.

Physically, that is.

Philosophically, I’d lived in this area all my life and had no interest in some fucking finance bro millionaire who was playing out his country living scenario on fifty acres of mostly limestone and juniper trees.

Which was only slightly hypocritical of me.

Sure, I’d lived on the Hays-Comal County line my entire life, but most of that was spent in the asbestos-riddled trailer I’d grown up in. That trailer was where I watched my mother die. After, I started writing and never seemed to stop. I’d used my first big advance to bid on this property in an auction.

I’d purchased it hoping for a quiet place to write, but when I woke up the first morning to a blackbuck antelope nibbling on the overgrown front yard, my priorities shifted.

It turned out that the previous owner left behind more than just this very handy utility vehicle. He’d also illegally leased the land to exotic-game hunters, and there were a handful of surviving game who were in bad shape. I’d called around to find out my options and quickly decided I would not sell these animals to a hunting ranch.

I started reaching out to conservationists, rescue organizations, and zoos. Disheartened by the lack of resources, I’d filled out the paperwork to become an official sanctuary, a temporary stop off for exotic game who needed to rest and recover while we worked to find the right place for them.

It was hard but satisfying work, and I still had time for my craft.

What I didn’t have time for was this new guy.

Lord knows what he thought he was doing, but he was serious about it. He’d ditched the fancy clothes and boots in favor of head-to-toe Carhartt, got himself a practical canteen, then became glued to his phone—watching YouTube videos, I assumed—as he spruced up the place.

I wasn’t a huge fan of the modern touches, though I supposed solar panels on the barn did make a certain kind of sense. The charging station for his stupid electric car, however, was just idiotic. I’m guessing my old Mule and ancient F150 were too plebeian for the likes of him.

For all my bitching and moaning, though, he moved with deliberation and was a quick learner. It didn’t hurt that he was strong as an ox and thick, like maybe he lifted heavy and ate tacos with equal dedication.

Again, not that I was looking all that close.

Harder to admit was that the house, set in the trees a ways back from the highway, looked good, even though he’d painted over the shutters I’d put up for my ex.

I had to admit, those shutters were a sore spot for me. Three days after I’d painted them Shane’s favorite shade of green, he up and left without a word, his only goodbye a For Sale sign. Simple words in all caps cherry red that’d ripped the heart right outta my chest.

And now this fuckin’ rich interloper probably bought the place with the spare change in his couch cushions so his kid could ride ponies, or whatever. I was normally fine to live and let live, but this guy was proof of a bigger problem. With new developments cropping up every other day out here, it wouldn’t be long before this was all just an extension of the goddamn Austin Metroplex.

Turnin’ Texas into fucking Coruscant, one acre at a time.

My caustic thoughts were shattered by a man’s scream. My eyes immediately went to the big white house, and I started moving before I could put together what I saw. The ladder was on the ground and McAvoy was hanging from the gutters by his fingertips.

I clicked my tongue, and Shadow was by my side in seconds. Swinging up into the saddle, I shouted, “Rowdy, the gate!”

My cousin was already on it, pressing the remote on his belt. Shadow and I hit the gate at full speed, her leap over the cattle guard and through the narrow opening as smooth as a Hollywood Western, a move we’d perfected over years of riding together. I cut back around faster than I ever had in my entire life, making it to the house seconds later, then sliding out of the saddle before Shadow had a chance to stop. Grabbing the ladder, I swung it up, pulling it as close as I could to the dangling asshole.

Just as the ladder bumped his hip however, the gutter came loose. To his credit, McAvoy held on as the gutter swung out, then grabbed a tree branch just before the section gave way. The corrugated metal hit the ground with a dull bang and I jerked the ladder against the tree, the arm of the stabilizer catching on a lower branch for a few terrifying seconds before I could wrench it against the branch he was swinging from.

McAvoy made a wild-eyed grab for the ladder, pulling himself onto it so fast he almost knocked it in the other direction. I hopped on the bottom rung as a precaution, grounding it until he found solid footing.

After listening to our ragged breaths for a few moments, watching the leaves flutter to the ground, I called out, “You okay up there?”

“Fucked up my shoulder,” he bit out, obviously in pain.

“Can you make it down?”

He took another deep breath, then nodded. Carefully, with his arm tucked against his middle, he took one step by painful step down at a time, the ladder swaying with the branch. By the time he reached the ground, sweat was pouring down his face, and he was shaking like a leaf.

That meaty shoulder of his was most definitely dislocated.

Rowdy came racing up on foot, out of breath as he reached us. “Jesus, that was close. I ain’t never seen you ride like that.”

“Rowdy, take Shadow, go get my truck. We need to take him to the hospital. That shoulder is ten kinds of fucked up.”

McAvoy, his face white as a ghost, held up his good hand. “No, don’t bother. Shoulder’s unstable—old football injury. Gotta get it back in place before the muscles tighten up.”

He slowly rolled his shoulder back while holding his arm against his stomach. It didn’t look like he was doing much at all until the joint made a sickening clunk as it shifted back into place. He swayed, but Rowdy and I managed to keep him upright. After a few seconds, he blinked, still in pain but alert.

“So, yeah. That sucked,” he said with a wry grin.

Was he really making jokes after all that?

“Are you always this fucking stupid?” I asked, laying into him. “Why are you working so high up without anybody else on the property?”

“You said it’d be safer with the stabilizers,” he shot back, color returning to his face.

“Woulda been if you’d placed them properly.” He opened his mouth to say something, but I cut him off. “What if we hadn’t a been right across the fence?”

Rowdy raised his brow.

McAvoy took a deep breath and winced as he looked up at the tree branch. “I do appreciate how quickly you got here. That could’ve been...that could’ve been bad.”

“No shit. Next time you try to kill yourself with this damn fool project of yours, I’m just gonna let fate decide where you end up. Are all finance bros this stupid, or is it just you?”

Rowdy grabbed McAvoy’s canteen and handed it to him. “Hey, I’m Rowdy, and you can ignore my cousin. He just got broke up with and it’s dimmed his usually sparkling personality.”

My jaw dropped. “You disloyal piece of?—”

McAvoy snorted, and I snapped my mouth shut, not willing to give him anything else to go on.

“You musta played football with these shoulders of yours,” Rowdy said, changing the subject.

I shot Rowdy a look and he shrugged.

He’s hot , he mouthed, popping his brows.

He’s straight , I mouthed back.

We’ll see.

“Yeah, for a couple years back in college,” McAvoy answered, sucking down the water he’d probably ignored all day.

“Austin?”

“Yep. Trashed the shoulder on the last play of my sophomore season, lost my scholarship. Thankfully, I was already more than halfway to my first million, so I dropped out of college and started living my finance bro dreams,” he said, cutting a look in my direction.

“Wow, sorry about the shoulder, hun. I’m glad things worked out for you,” Rowdy murmured. “We should get you to bed so that you can rest up.”

For fuck’s sake. Only Rowdy would try to hit on an injured straight man.

“You’re probably right. Would you mind helping me into my sling?” he asked with a warm smile.

Rowdy turned to stick his tongue out at me, and then linked elbows on McAvoy’s good side as they made their way up the porch. I snarled as they disappeared into the house. Shadow sidled up next to me, nudging my head.

“You know what, girl? You’re my only loyal companion.”

She nickered in agreement, and I swung up into my saddle. I still had those hives to move.

Fucking ouch . My bees were usually pretty chill, but man, they were not fans of this relocation. By the time I got them into place—by myself, natch—a couple few of ’em sacrificed their lives to tell me how much they hated me interfering with their habitat.

Fair, bees. Super fair.

Just as I was about to head back home, the sound of squealing tires, followed by a sickening—and all too familiar— thump of car versus animal, stopped me in my tracks. An injured cry made its way to my ears as I jumped into the Mule and headed for the gate. Even though this little vehicle could cut through the rough terrain like butter, I had to be careful—the limestone outcroppings had proven to be hell on my tires.

Thankfully, I made it to the highway quickly and without incident, though whoever had hit this little guy had decided they weren’t going to stick around.

Fuckin’ people, I swear. Who the fuck didn’t stop for an injured animal?

Worse, the animal in question was a small-ish dog, lying in the berm on this side of the two-lane, its leg a mess. I parked the Mule between the puppy and the road, then got out and carefully approached the poor thing.

I cursed, spitting into the dirt. He appeared to be a male heeler mix, with visible ribs and a fresh cut over its eye, too scared to even make a peep.

Honestly, that pissed me off more than the hit-and-run asshole who left him here.

“Poor little guy,” I said, kneeling next to him.

I rubbed his ear and his tail whapped against the patch of dirt and gravel, his eyes following me closely. Sitting cross-legged beside him, I reached for my cell phone and called up my veterinarian buddy.

“Hey, Lovett. Got another injured dog right at the entrance to my property. Probably a broken leg, but I don’t want to move him too much.”

“How big a dog are we talking about?”

I looked it over. “Not big at all. Maybe fifteen pounds. Underweight, heeler mix.”

“Tell you what, I’m finishing up over at Wild Heart—be there in twenty.”

“Sounds good. Thanks, friend.”

“No problem. And I’d risk moving him to get him away from that road.”

“Will do.”

Just as I hung up, an eighteen-wheeler came barreling down the roadway, far too close to the shoulder for my comfort. I pulled up my cell phone again.

Me: Hey, cuz. Dog got hit by a car out front. Lovett’s coming by, but I need to move the pup farther from the road.

Me: Can you peel yourself off that hot city idiot long enough to bring me an old towel or something I can move him on?

Rowdy: Sadly, we’re just sitting on his fancy couch watching Pride and Prejudice on his massive TV.

Rowdy: He’s far too respectful for my tastes, but there’s no way a straight guy decorates this nicely.

Me: Not the point, cousin.

Rowdy: Fine. Be there in a few.

Two minutes later, Emery’s ridiculous electric vehicle approached with the hazard lights going and Rowdy in the passenger seat. They pulled past us, providing a barrier from oncoming traffic, and Emery stepped out of the vehicle with his shoulder in a brace and an oversized beach towel in his good hand.

“Ah, man,” he murmured as he knelt next to us. Wincing, he ran gentle fingers along the dog’s nose. “Poor little guy.”

Behind his back I mouthed, What the fuck?

Rowdy shrugged. He wanted to come.

Jeezus. I needed Emery’s warm scent and kind smile like a hole in my head.

Rowdy and I gently worked together to transfer the little thing onto the towel and then carefully slid him along the ground back to the fence line. The pup still hadn’t made a sound, which worried me more than anything.

“What kind of dog is this?” Emery asked, concern pinching his brows.

“Looks like a cattlejack—a Jack Russel-heeler mix,” Rowdy said, rubbing the dog’s silky ears between his thumb and forefinger.

I shook my head. “No collar, and I doubt he’s chipped. I wouldn’t be surprised if his owners dumped him out here once they realized how much exercise he needed.”

“Why would someone do that?” Emery asked. “Aren’t there shelters?”

Rowdy and I shared a disgusted look. We’d taken more than our fair share of abandoned animals to the local shelter and could never figure out why people would dump a dog when the shelter was right fucking there.

Before I could give my unfiltered answer, Lovett pulled up behind us in their tiny truck and hopped out, carrying their emergency stretcher in a roll. We backed up to give them room, and they did a quick examination, shaking their head the whole time.

Pointing to the line of roughed-up skin around its neck, Lovett explained, “Clear signs of neglect and abuse, and he’s been hungry for a long time.”

They unrolled the modified tarp, which had black handles on each side, and slid it under Emery’s towel. Emery stood aside as the three of us each took a handle and carefully walked the puppy over to Lovett’s truck. Once the dog was settled, I walked Lovett to the driver’s side.

“What do you think?”

They got in behind the wheel and sighed. “We’re not gonna be able to save the leg, and the cut over his brow doesn’t seem to be from the accident. I’m guessing we’ll find a bunch of issues once we have him stabilized. We can work with the surgeon to reduce the costs, but that’s usually reserved for situations when we want to find the owner and return the dog to them.”

I was already shaking my head. “Nope. Fuck the owner. Put it on my account; I’m his owner now.”

“This could be thousands of dollars, Woody. And who knows what kind of feeding or elimination support he’ll need.”

“It’s fine,” I said, just as the crunch of gravel behind me alerted me to another presence.

“That’s awful nice of you,” Emery said, gripping his brace with his good hand, pain lancing across his features. “I’m happy to go half in on any veterinary costs.”

I felt my lip curl up before I could do anything to control it, even as his broad shoulders did things to my lower half. “Thanks,” I managed. “But that’s unnecessary.”

“Got it,” he said, stepping back. “Offer still stands.”

“Don’t need your money, city boy.”

Rowdy, who was closer than I’d realized, let out a dry laugh. “I’m sorry, Emery. Like I said, my cousin just got dumped and has been a miserable bastard because of it. Just you wait—once he’s no longer sexually hangry, he’s better able to moderate his asshole tendencies.”

Lovett laughed into their hand, Emery’s cheeks turned an endearing pink, and I made plans to murder my cousin in his sleep. Rather than engage him further, I turned to Lovett.

“You need anything else?”

“Nope. I’ll call you as soon as I have an update.”

“Appreciate it.”

After they took off with the pup, I hopped into the Mule, ignoring Rowdy and his new best friend. Hitting the power button, I took off, putting much needed distance between us.