Cowgirl Up and Ride (Rough Riders #3)(55)

Cord tried to rein in his temper and the underlying fear for his wayward brother.


“Come clean with me, no bullshit. Is Colt doin’ drugs?”


“I doan know. I jus’ know he’s a train wreck waitin’ to happen and I doan wanna be no place around when he finally goes off the rails.”


Cord drained his beer. “Too late. He’s here.”


“He alone?”


“Yeah.”


“That’s surprisin’.”


He watched Colt stop at the bar and knock back three shots of something before he carried two beers over to another table.


“Think he saw us?”


“Hell yeah he saw us. I’d avoid me too.” Cord stood. “Head on home. I’ll handle this.”


“Think I’ll stick around.”


The second Cord stopped in front of Colt’s table Colt said, “Look. I know you’re pissed off. You’ve got a right to be, okay? I had a rough f*ckin’ night. I blacked out.


Woke up naked in my bed around four this afternoon, hungover as hell, no idea what happened. Don’t know why my cousins couldn’t bother to wake me up.”


“They ain’t your mama.”


“No shit. But it ain’t like I haven’t done it for them a time or two.”


He studied his brother’s disheveled appearance. Scraggly hair, bags under his eyes, marks on his neck. Incredibly swollen lips. “Didja get punched in the mouth last night?


’Cause it’s puffed up like a bee sting.”


Colt brushed his hand over his lips and frowned. “Not that I recall.”


“That seems to be the problem, bro. Even if Kane and Kade and even Dag would’ve been around to wake your drunken ass up, I’d’ve sent you home.”


“Why? ’Cause I had a little too much liquid fun last night? It ain’t like you didn’t do shit like that.”


“Wrong. I never once blacked out. I never once missed a day of ranch work because of drinkin’ and you’ve missed two this week alone.”


“I knew you’d be a self-righteous prick about this.”


Heavy pause. “What the f*ck did you just say to me?”


“You heard me.” Colt deigned to look at him. “Precious Ky’s gone so you’ve got nothin’ else to do ’cept work. Some of us have a life outside of the ranch. Some of us are tryin’ damn hard not to end up like you: cold, cruel, a bitter woman-hater, a f*ckin’ recluse, a workaholic loser with a stash of porn and a sore hand.”


Never in all the years that he’d been dealing with his overbearing family had he wanted to kill one of them.


Until tonight. Until now.


Cord grabbed Colt by the shirtfront and hauled Colt across the table. The second he had a free hand he punched Colt in the jaw hard enough Colt’s head snapped back. A beer can crashed and rolled off the table, spewing foam everywhere.


He cocked his arm and punched Colt in the mouth, feeling the scrape of his brother’s teeth on his bare knuckles. Before Colt’s nose met his fist, Colt landed a blow alongside Cord’s temple and nearly knocked his head from his neck.


Cord staggered back, taking Colt with him.


They crashed into another table. Bottles shattered and beer splashed on the floor.


Shirts ripped, flesh connected with flesh. Grunts, curses and groans of pain were intermingled with more curses, blood and crunching glass.