“You heard the rumors that Gus Dutton is lookin’ to sell his place?” Colt asked.
Chassie thought about lying but in the scheme of things the McKays would end up with the land anyway. “Yeah.”
“Any truth to ’em?”
Chassie measured him. Coolly. Honestly. Since Colt sobered up, he’d shed twenty pounds. His handsome face was sharp angles again. No beer gut or flab distorted his sturdy frame. If anything he’d bulked up, adding more muscle to his arms and chest. His eyes weren’t bloodshot, but they held a wary edge. Not only was Colt the most resourceful of her McKay cousins, he’d always been the best looking—and that was saying something. Colt’s cowboy charm also knew no bounds, so Colt’s bad attitude had been the worst part of his slide into alcoholism. He’d turned mean, cynical, nasty to his family. Just like Dag. But unlike Dag, he’d overcome his demons.
“You gonna keep gawkin’ at me, or you gonna answer the question?”
“Sorry. I…just noticed sobriety agrees with you, Colt. You look great.”
Colt frowned. “Uh. Thanks.”
“Anyway, Gus is sellin’. He approached us first since he knew Trevor and I were lookin’ to expand.”
“That chunk of land borders ours on our southwest end.”
Chassie twisted her index finger around the cup handle. “I know. Which is why he’ll be contacting the McKays to see if you all are interested in addin’ to your spread.”
“Why?” Colt’s frown deepened. “Don’t you want it? That place’d be perfect to expand into.”
“Yeah. Well. I-I—”
“Stop stuttering and shut your mouth. Our family business ain’t none of the McKays’ business.”
Lousy time for her dad’s voice to interject an opinion. Chassie tried for nonchalance.
“Because we can’t afford it. Hardly enough cash on hand for operating expenses, say nothin’ of layin’ out a chunk of change for more. We talked to the banker and he agreed to a loan if we came up with cash collateral.”
“Who you dealin’ with at the bank?”
“Slim Jim Beal. He’s been more than fair, but we can’t come up with the ten percent down payment.”
“What dollar amount did you agree on with Gus?”
“Quarter of a million.” It hurt her stomach to even say a number that big.
Colt’s eyes became accusatory. “You say anything about this to my dad?”
Chassie shook her head.
“Cord? Colby?”
“No. I probably should’ve tonight when I had the chance. Right now, the twenty-five grand we need is as hard to come by as the two hundred thousand. We’re just sick about it, but ain’t nothin’ we can do.” Mortified by her admission, Chassie drained her milk.
“Thanks for keepin’ me company. I’m goin’ to bed.”
Colt merely stared at her and crossed his arms over his chest. The sleeve of his T-shirt lifted, revealing a brightly colored tattoo on his biceps.
“When’d you get that?” She pointed at the tat.
He glanced down. “Last year.”
“What is it?”
“One of the four horseman of the apocalypse.”
“Can I see it?”
“Sure.” Colt rolled his sleeve to the top of his shoulder.
“Whoa. That’s gorgeous. India did that?”
“Yeah. She’s good, ain’t she?”
Chassie squinted at the flames that swirled around the horse’s hooves. “Yep, although it don’t seem like something you’d pick, cuz.”
“It ain’t.” Colt grimaced. “This is what you get when you leave the choice in the hands of a smartass tattoo artist. Indy thought it’d be hilarious tattooin’ a horse on me when my name is Colt. That woman is seriously warped from havin’ so many holes pierced in her head.” His gruff attitude belied his oddly affectionate tone.
“I’d love to have her design one for me one day when I can afford it. But you can be damn sure I ain’t gonna let her tattoo a car chassis on me.”
Colt rolled his sleeve back down. “She ain’t that expensive.”
“Money’s relative when you don’t have any.” She sighed. “Look, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t say nothin’ about me’n Trevor havin’ to pass on Gus’s place. It’s hard enough to know we’re losin’ out, and havin’ the whole county gossiping about our financial troubles would just make it worse.”
“Don’t worry, Chass, I can keep my mouth shut and I’d suggest you do the same.”
“Meanin’ what?”
“Keepin’ things to yourself is a damn fine way to get to keep the things you want to yourself, know what I mean?”
No. She had no clue. Chassie half-wondered if he’d overheard her conversation with Keely earlier this morning about having both Trevor and Edgard in her bed and in her life.
Colt did a curious thing. He leaned down and kissed the top of her head. “Sweet dreams, sweet little cuz. See you in the morning.” Then Colt re-crossed his arms over his chest and turned back to the window, gazing into the night.
Feeling dismissed, Chassie crept back to her room, wondering how she could get to sleep without at least one warm body beside her.
Chapter Thirty-one
Chassie left the McKays around nine the next morning. She’d run a few errands for Aunt Carolyn, including driving to Moorcroft to talk to Kade and Skylar in person about Cam. Her cell phone died, which meant she hadn’t spoken to Trevor for twenty-four hours. She missed her husband. She missed home. She missed Edgard. She missed her damn goat.
Her head throbbed, her heart hurt, her jaw was sore from clenching her teeth to keep from bawling. She was an emotional wreck when she considered the jumbled messes in her life: Trevor’s status with his family, the situation with Edgard, losing out on Gus’s land, and dealing with family tragedies. All Chassie wanted was to climb in bed for three solid days. She damn near wept when the old farmhouse came into view.
And tears did leak out when both her men ambled up to the truck right after she’d parked.
“Missed you, baby.” Trevor pulled her into his arms and laid a big, wet kiss on her.
He frowned at her forehead. “What the hell happened to your face?”
“I knew I forgot to tell him something.” Edgard gave Trevor the abbreviated version of the run-in with Greta, which didn’t appease Trevor at all.