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My brothers pick on me endlessly, but they’re here for me through thick and thin. They don’t tally favors. They take action.

It’s not obligation—it’s love.

My throat constricts. “Thank you. I would appreciate the help.”

Asher is the first to grin. He steps forward and ruffles my hair, forcing me to fight him off. “Let’s get started, then. The crew will be here soon, right?”

Will nods, adjusting his cowboy hat. “Demo starts tomorrow.”

“Wait.” I throw up my hands. “If we’re ripping it down to the studs, does that mean I get to decorate?”

“I’m scared to say yes.” Will’s nose scrunches.

“Don’t worry. It’s a cowboy bar; I’ll try not to make it too girly.” Like Mom, I plan on adding my flair, but I don’t want to scare off our regulars. “And even if we can’t keep everything, we should salvage what we can.”

I slip behind the bar and lift on my tiptoes. Thankfully, not everything was destroyed.

Liam chuckles, spotting what I’m holding. “I figured you might keep that.”

I brush my hand over the sign that’s hung above the bar for almost twenty years and read it. “Always a good time for pour decisions.”

“That it is,” Asher says, grabbing a bottle of whiskey and four shot glasses from a cabinet behind the bar. Thankfully, the glassware inside the cabinets wasn’t damaged.

He pours the shots and lines them up.

“To tearing shit down,” he says, lifting one of the glasses.

We all take ours, and I add, “To building something new.”

My brothers laugh at my optimism, and we all take our shots, going our separate ways around the bar once our glasses are empty.

Whiskey coats my tongue as I continue to wander around the bar. I’ve always loved good whiskey. It reminds me of camping on the ranch. Of home.

Except now there’s more. It reminds me of Shane. Of sitting by the fire and laughing. Of pouring him shots across the bar, and that butterfly feeling that kicks up when he watches me.

It’s officially been five days since I’ve seen him. Three since I’ve heard from him. But Aiden told me tonight, he’ll be home.

God only knows what I’m walking into when I get back to the ranch. I’m not ready to face what he might have done while he was gone. Worse, I’m not ready to face the fact that I’m crawling out of my skin with anticipation, knowing I get to see him.

There is no world in which we work, but I’m not ready to stop playing pretend. Maybe I never will be.

24

SHANE

The bunkhouse isn’t built for this many people.

Five guys from Grim’s crew joined us on our trip back to Texas. They’ll be leaving tomorrow to meet up with the Nashville chapter, but they stopped here for the night to check out our operation. Between Grim’s crew and the girls East invited over, the small air conditioner fails to cut through the heat.

Windows rattle as the song changes, and East turns up the music. Every surface is littered with beer bottles and shot glasses. The bunkhouse is cramped and suffocating, making me wish the clubhouse was ready.

I take a sip of whiskey and thank the universe that Aiden and Lawson got the construction crew up and running while I was gone. The city council has backed off for the time being, and we’re finally moving forward again.

If tonight is any indication, we’re going to need more space than expected when other clubs pass through the area. I make a mental note that we’ll need to renovate the bunkhouse next. Even though the clubhouse will be at least five times the size of the bunkhouse, it would be nice to give guys riding through their own place to stay—to create an ounce of separation from the ones who will be permanently living at Ironside Ridge.

I can see the vision; we just have to get there.

Ice clinks in my glass as I drain the final half inch. I set it on the counter, and Aiden immediately pours my refill.