I take my spot at Maverick’s by the corner, where Harriet has already set a steaming cup of coffee down for me. I don’t even need to tell her to have a hamburger sizzling up for me or that I want it medium rare. Half the reason I came here is because I don’t have to say a word to anybody.

I come here to be alone, yet I find myself hoping the city girl will come walking through the door. Pathetic.

I must look as pathetic as I feel, if the way people are looking at me now is any indication. They’re used to the old me. A couple months ago, I actually enjoyed shooting the shit with folks around town. I’d give Harry a hard time almost every day of the week because he can never seem to shave without missing a patch the size of my fist somewhere on his face. I’d put up with Harriet’s endless questions about the next rodeo or how the ranch was doing. Hell, I’d even ruffle up the Peterson twins’ hair if I had the chance.

Now I can’t bring myself to do any of it. I thought it might last a couple days, maybe a few weeks after I lost my dad. But it just feels wrong to carry on and have a good time when he’s not here, even after two months. Maybe that’s pussy talk, but I don’t really give a shit if it is. I want my old man back, simple as that. I want the life I had imagined with him relaxing on the porch while I took care of things around the ranch for him. I want our evening card games and I want him to give me shit about how I baby the cows too much, or how the chickens are going to take advantage of me if I keep letting them free range longer and longer every day.

But it doesn’t matter how much I want it, because he’s gone. Every time I think about that, I get this emptiness in my gut that feels like it’s going to swallow me up, and it just makes me want to get farther and farther away from everyone else.

Except her.

Why the hell should I feel that way about a city girl? A city girl with an attitude, no less. As much as I try, I can’t stop thinking about her, and it’s frustrating as hell. I barely know her, but maybe that’s the problem. Living out here in the middle of nowhere means you know everything about everybody. This girl is a question mark, and my curiosity about her is starting to chip away at the walls I’ve put up since dad died.

The door to Maverick’s dings and my mood immediately darkens. My little brother, Ronnie, strolls in like he owns the place. He’s got one thumb tucked in his belt and the other hand is busy making a show of taking off his cowboy hat, even though the little shit wouldn’t know which end of a cow makes milk or how to ride a horse, he sure as hell enjoys dressing like he does.

He spots me and sidles over, taking his time as he looks at everyone he passes with a cocky cast of his eyes. He’s got the same dark hair as me and some of the strong facial features that run in the Tate family, but he’s a few inches shorter than me and his little brown eyes always reminded me of a weasel.

Ronnie slides into the seat across from me and spreads himself out, setting his hat on the table. “Thought I’d find you here,” he says.

“Some detective,” I grumble, taking a swig of my coffee.

Ronnie leans forward, clasping his hands in front of him. “Can’t we just fucking talk?” he asks. “Does it have to be this stand-off shit every fucking time?”

“Depends,” I say. “Are you still a shit-stain?”

He licks his lips. I can already see he’s struggling to hold back his temper. But there’s one thing I know about Ronnie. The only way to get him to say what he’s really thinking is to piss him off. If I let him keep his cool, he could sell a hamburger to a fucking vegan.

“I just wanna talk,” Ronnie says with measured calm.

“Yeah, no shit. You wanna talk me into signing the ranch over to you so you can strip it and sell it off.”

His jaw twitches, but he still manages to keep the calm in his voice. “I want to do what’s best for our family.”

“Our family of two,” I add.

“It’s just a ranch. You could buy three thousand just like it for the money they’ll pay us for that land, Lucas. Think about it. What’s so fucking special about it?”

“It’s ours. It has been in the family for hundreds of years, and I’m not about to sell it. I have all the money I need already. What the hell do I need with vacation homes? You know what my vacation is? Every time I step out into the sun and put in an honest day’s work. When I slide into my bed at night and my whole body aches and it feels like I could barely take another step if I wanted to. That’s my vacation. Hard work. You want to go get soft on a beach somewhere? That’s your business, but leave me out of it.”

Ronnie slams his fist down on the table, finally losing the last shred of his patience. “Know what? Enjoy the ranch, Lucas. Enjoy every second of it, because you never know how long you’ve got left. Right?”

“You threatening me?” I ask, getting out of the booth and standing so I loom over my little brother.

He stands too but has to crane his neck a little to look up at me.

The din of conversation in the small diner dies out as everyone watches. My fingers dig into my palms and it’s all I can do to keep from punching him in the mouth. If he wasn’t family, I would’ve already decked him, that’s for fucking sure.

“Nah,” he says, relaxing his posture a little and taking a step back. “Just saying to keep an eye out is all.”

I sit back down, grinding my teeth as I clutch my coffee so hard I might shatter the mug. “Cancel my burger,” I shout to Harriet, who nods, but looks concerned.

Maverick’s is so quiet every step I take toward the door rings out loud and clear. I shove the door open and step outside, still fuming. I can’t believe he had the nerve to threaten me. My own little brother.

“Lucas!” calls a voice I recognize all too well.

I turn, looking down the sidewalk. Cynthia Styles is walking toward me with her arms open like she’s about to go for a big hug.

I grimace, briefly considering just turning and walking the other direction, but I know her well enough to understand pissing off Cynthia will just make my life even more miserable than having to talk to her.

I let her wrap her spindly little arms around me and pat her back once, using my shoulder to drive her a respectable distance from me. Truth is, just touching her feels wrong. She hasn’t made any secret of the fact that she wants to get back together, so I’m trying to be extra careful to avoid giving her the wrong message.

“It’s so good to see you,” she says.

I nod, only managing to find the willpower to quirk the corner of my mouth up just a touch--only enough to avoid being a total asshole.

Cynthia pauses awkwardly, looking down and bringing her hand up to touch her earring. She yanks her hand back a split-second later and then looks back at me, smiling unnaturally wide.

“All right then,” I say stiffly, turning to leave.

“Wait!” she calls, half-jogging to catch up to me. “I just wanted to see if we could grab coffee sometime. I…” she pauses, getting that strange look in her eyes again. “I know I’ve been difficult to put up with and I just wanted to clear the air.”

I start to shake my head.

“Lucas. Please. I’m not going to try anything. It’s just coffee. Tonight maybe? Your place?”

Even though the last thing I want is coffee with Cynthia, I know from past experience that once she digs her teeth in, she’s like a bulldog who won’t let go. If I don’t let this happen and let her see we’re about as compatible as oil and water, she’s not going to let up until I do. Dealing with Cynthia is like dealing with a bandaid that keeps showing up on my fucking leg. Yank it off quick and get it done. Taking it slow just makes it worse.

“Fine,” I say.

Her eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “Great. I’ll be there at seven.”

“Yeah,” I say. “Great.”