22
AUSTIN
I slept the whole flight to Seattle. For once, I was a passenger instead of a pilot. I admit, the Bridger jet is fancy and very convenient. The seats are plush and ridiculously comfortable. Maybe I’ve just worked too hard lately trying to be a cowboy. Our latest fun was getting wet and filthy breaking up that dam that Vance is having a coronary about. It was a great time after screwing his daughter this morning.
While we were tossing logs and hefting river rock, Chance explained about water rights and that ours date back to the 1800s. The Bridgers’ rights are the oldest in the area, meaning we have first dibs on water access, but we also aren’t allowed to block off water flow completely for downstream properties.
The Bridgers obviously aren’t beavers and we have no control over nature and how the animals decided to block the flow. I know that well enough with weather and flying in the Pacific Northwest. But I appreciate how Chance wants to stay on Vance’s good side, and even more to be a good neighbor.
So we spent a few hours decimating a dam in a creek. Only then did we head to the local airport and fly to Seattle.
I never expected to return home with my brothers in tow, like two pieces of oversized luggage. Yet here we are, at my mother’s house and being fed mass quantities of homemade fried chicken. She knows it’s my favorite, so she didn’t skimp.
“Eat up, boys. I don’t know where you’ll put it, but I assume you’ll be like your half brother and have hollow legs.”
We’re seated at her kitchen table, which is tight with the four of us.
“It’s really great, Ms. Lovering,” Miles says, waving a perfectly fried wing in the air. “Is there a hot sauce in the batter?”
She smiles and points her fork at him. “You bet there is.”
I grab the bowl of potato salad and scoop some onto my plate. I hold the bowl in my mom’s direction, silently offering her some, and she puts her fingers together indicating a small amount.
I’ve only been gone about two weeks, but it seems like a lifetime. Montana’s grown on me, though more like a fungus than anything else. But Chance and Miles aren’t the total assholes I expected them to be. They’re loyal and protective, smart and… well, annoying.
Then there’s Carly. I didn’t expect her. Never in a million years. The three people eating dinner with me are my only family. But Carly, who’s a time zone away, is who I crave to be with. And it isn’t just the sex. Her perfect body. How I get lost in her. How I make her give me everything.
No. It’s her. All of her. Cautious, scarred, skittish, brave, passionate. Fierce.
“Please call me Diana,” Mom says. “I admit, seeing you three together is something. I heard there were two other Bridger boys, but you’re men now.”
“We don’t get along all that well,” Chance admits. He puts down his chicken leg and wipes his hands on his paper napkin.
Mom’s house is the same one she’s had since I was a kid. Fortunately, it’s a rancher, so there aren’t any stairs for her to climb. It hasn’t been updated in a while so the wallpaper in the kitchen is yellow and so are the cabinets. To me, it’s home, even though I moved out when I was twenty-two.
Chance is a billionaire. While the money may not have been in his name, he grew up on a huge ranch in Montana, never wanting for anything. I mean, he has a fucking plane! Yeah, so do I, but his is a freaking jet. Yet he’s here eating dinner in Mom’s simple house, getting seconds and thirds like he fits in.
Maybe he does.
Maybe I’m too hard on him. How would I feel if all of a sudden I had to split my father’s billions with two brothers I never even met? If I had to wait a fucking year to get it, and said brothers knew shit about anything related to ranching?
Mom’s dark hair matches mine, although a few grays are peeking through her long hairstyle. I can tell the meds are working because she’s not stiff and she’s eating well. Thank God for that.
She laughs. “Brothers never get along. Fighting about chores and girls.”
Miles laughs. “Girls? That’s Austin’s deal.”
“Girls?” Mom glances my way. I can tell she’s focusing on the plural word usage.
“Girl. Singular. And she’s a woman, fully grown.”
Those lush curves I had in my hands—and mouth—proved that.
“Carly,” Miles adds. “She works at the ranch.”
I glare at Miles. “Want to tell her everything for me?”
He holds up his hands in surrender. “You can tell her about Carly. All I can speak to are the chores. I’m from New York and this morning I dismantled a beaver dam.”