Page 166

Jett cranks the music louder, and as he does, a goose hurtles towards his shins. “Gator! No. Down, boy,” he scolds, pointing at the bird who continues to ram his leg.

Everyone laughs, but they still keep dancing. Are they all hypnotized?

Jett shoos the bird away and wipes the sweat from his forehead, turning his attention to us. He spots Colt, grins, and bellows out, “A family throw down.”

Now we’ve entered a dance class, and Jett is our teacher. I try to follow what he’s doing. Stepping to the side. The turns. Random leg lifts. Some clapping.

“I’m not great at this,” I say to Colt, who appears to be in his element.

He nudges my side. “You’re doing great.”

The sun beats down on us, and I somehow make it through two more songs. Colten takes my hand and spins me, tugging me flush against him.

I look up at him through my lashes. “Jett said you don’t dance?” I ask.

His hands settle on my waist. “I’ll always dance with my wife.”

“Get a damn room. There's plenty here!” Jett hollers.

“Ain’t you supposed to be workin’, Jett?” Colten says back.

In the short while I’ve been here, I know there are a million jobs that need doing to keep this ranch thriving. Colt brings the animals back to health and makes a ton of money out of his horses at rodeos. Ace rides bulls. Hunter… Well, I think he’s focused on being a dad. I guess he does the general running, the finances, the big decisions.

And Jett? Not a clue. But I do know he now has two ranches with Tate. And yet, he always seems to be here.

“It isn’t like they’re going to run away? We tied ‘em up in the bull pen,” Jett answers.

“Shit,” I hiss.

Colt frowns. “What?”

“I forgot my lipstick.”

He slides his hands into his jean pocket and pulls it out. “I got you.” He winks.

I take it from him, letting it settle in my hand, as Jett dances his way over to us, shaking his hips. “Now, a game of cowboy poker was mentioned. I’m down?”

Colt appears to consider this for a moment and then nods. “I think G would like to see this one.”

Jett whoops in response, throwing up a fist and spilling his beer.

“What do you do with the bodies?” I ask, out of curiosity. With all this land. All the machinery. The opportunities are endless.

“Depends. There’s a lot of ways to get rid of a body, G,” he says almost seductively.

It’s working. Talking like this with my husband does get me going.

“Do you have pigs? I haven’t seen any. That’s gotta be the best way on a ranch, surely?”

Colt grabs my hand, and we fall in line behind Jett, Tate, and Ace, while everyone else disperses.

“We had pigs a while ago. They don’t really thrive all that well in Arizona. A lot of hassle to keep them alive. And, ain’t it a bit fuckin’ cliché having pigs chew up our victims? First place someone would look for DNA is the pig pen if they found out we’re murderin’ cowboys. And you still gotta remove their teeth, nails, and hair. Pigs won’t eat that.” He pauses, and then laughs.

“What’s so funny?” I ask.

“Just never imagined my life, walking my wife into torturing two men in a bull pen, discussing whether we should be using pigs to discard bodies.”

“I mean, when you say it like that.” I roll my eyes.