Page 3 of Westin

Landry shook his head again, but he wasn’t protesting that hard. His fingers were working at a packet of sugar, moving it in and out of his grasp with a steady motion that was not unlike the grace with which his brother handled a tractor. Hand-eye coordination. The Groomses had it in spades.

Westin just shook his head, imagining the pain Clint was feeling. He knew that Clint and Melanie had been together since high school, and their six-year marriage had produced a little girl Clint absolutely adored. It must be tearing him up inside. Westin couldn’t really put himself in Clint’s place, having never been married, having never even had a girl who had gotten him to commit to more than a month or two. Hell, Westin had cheated on his fair share of girls, but never been cheated on. He had to admit, it was probably much better being on the other side.

Clint came back out of the bathroom just as Annie appeared with a heavy tray laden with their breakfast. Plates started sliding across the table. Ham and eggs for Landry, chicken fried steak and four eggs over easy for Remington. Clint had bacon and scrambled with salsa, Bowie a feast with five fried eggs, three pieces of ham, two slices of toast, bacon, sausage, and a tall stack of pancakes. Westin’s meal was a little less intense with just two pancakes, a couple of slices of bacon, and a couple of eggs with bright-yellow yolks running across the plate.

They all dug right in except for Clint. He nibbled at his bacon, but that was about it. Westin couldn’t help but watch him, that sense of pity still weighing on his shoulders. But then he spotted dark hair and blue eyes coming toward them. He dropped his fork on the plate and got up, stepping into her path as she tried to get by.

“Hello, Rena.”

She looked up at him, her cheeks bright red, though he wasn’t sure if it was from the cold or from the excitement of seeing him. She had these big eyes that were so full of curiosity all the time, a smile that was almost contagious, and long limbs that brought to mind a new colt, though she had more poise than a newly born horse might. But it was that smile that always drew his attention, that he thought about late at night when there was nothing to distract him from it.

“Hi, Westin.” Her voice was slightly high-pitched, almost childish. “How are you?”

“What are you doing here?”

She slipped her fingers into her back jeans pockets. With a slight movement of her shoulder, she indicated a couple of tables further up along the diner filled with ranch hands. “I’m having breakfast with some of the guys from Rocking D.”

Westin glanced over his shoulder at them, catching a couple paying attention to him, probably wondering what the hell he was doing with their boss’s daughter. Give them another second and they’d likely come over and demand to know.

“Why are you hanging out with ranch hands?”

She giggled softly. “What’s wrong with ranch hands? Aren’t you one?”

“Sure. But a girl like you, you should be in Denver attending university, going to clubs at night.”

“That’s what my daddy says, too. But I’d rather be here, around the horses. This is home.”

“If I were you—”

“You aren’t me.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “Why is it that everyone with three legs thinks he can tell me what I should and shouldn’t do?”

“Three legs?” Westin heard Bowie tittering behind him. He wanted to reach over and smack the guy. “I don’t mean to tell you what to do, Rena. I just think you could do better than this group.”

“Maybe you can take me to dinner some night and tell me all about Denver. Didn’t you grow up there?”

“Sure.”

“Tonight? Does that work for you?”

“Sure,” Westin said again, but she was already walking off, glancing back at him once with that beautiful smile in place. He lifted a hand, and she returned the gesture before sliding into a booth beside a couple of big, burly guys who were shooting Westin dark looks. He hesitated a second longer, then slowly settled back into the booth, not sure what he thought about what had just happened. Had she really asked him out? Had he really accepted?

“You ask her about that new vaccine?” Landry wanted to know. “I bet her father knows all about it. If it’s really that big of a deal, we should probably learn more about it.”

“Forget the vaccine, Landry,” Clint muttered. “We’ll talk to Doc Taylor about it next month.”

“Yeah, but if we went into the conversation with some understanding—”

“Let it go, Landry,” Bowie warned, his gaze bouncing between Landry and Clint, the big guy clearly gauging the tension that was quickly coming to a boiling point in their trusted foreman.

“What the hell?”

Remington suddenly pulled himself up, climbing onto the bench to jump over Clint and Bowie. His boot caught on the table’s edge and he fell to his knees, but he was back up in an instant, rushing out the front door. Westin watched him go, then twisted in his seat to look out the window along with Clint and Bowie. It only took a second to figure out what had set Remington off. In the parking lot, sitting behind the wheel of a sedan, was a woman Westin had never seen before. Some guy, a tall, slender guy who wasn’t really dressed for the weather—he was in a fancy suit but didn’t have an overcoat or anything else to protect him from the temperatures—was reaching into the car, trying to pull the woman out with a clump of her hair.

“Let’s go, boys,” Clint announced, sliding his way out of the booth right behind an already-moving Bowie. Westin followed, a sense of dread in his chest. He knew how Remington could get when he saw what he thought was abuse of any kind. And it never ended well for the other guy.

The four of them piled out the door, none stopping to grab their jackets despite the freezing temperatures. Clint was ahead of them, jogging to reach Remington before he flattened the asshole in the suit. He grabbed Remington by the back of his shirt and jerked him back, whispering something Westin couldn’t hear into his ear. The stranger didn’t seem to understand that Clint was trying to help because he took advantage of Remington’s distraction to clip him on the jaw with a right hook. It might have been a good shot—if Remington wasn’t nearly twice his size. The blow didn’t even faze Remington. It just pissed him off.

Remington fought against Clint as the suit guy bounced on the balls of his feet like a boxer, waving his fists at Remington like he thought it was a good idea to invite him in for more.