Rode Hard, Put Up Wet (Rough Riders #2)(95)

“Got into a fight.”


“Yeah, we sort of figured that,” Cord said. “Why is Gemma throwin’ you off the Bar 9?”


Carter slowly sat up. “Because Cash Big Crow looks about as bad as I do.”


“You took after Cash? I thought you had more brains than that, college boy.”


“He took the first swing but I probably deserved it. Probably deserved way more.”


“Cord, grab his other arm,” Colby said.


The two of them hauled Carter upright. Pain slammed into his head. Sorrow into his soul. How had he fallen so far so fast? This time last week he’d been on top of the world.


Now everyone knew he’d crashed and burned.


“I’m fine. You guys can go now. I’m sure you’ve got more important shit to do than babysit me for Mom.”


Talk about sounding like a whiny prick. Carter shook off his brothers’ hands and their help.


“Mom ain’t the only reason we’re here,” Cord scoffed.


“Yeah. You might be a total shithead, but you’re still a McKay. And you know we take care of our own, bro, no matter what,” Colby said.


Carter bit back the urge to bawl. His brothers were pissed off and sporting the gruff attitude they’d inherited from their father, but they were still here. If he’d been wrong about them, what else had he been wrong about?


Everything.


Still, if they saw one grateful tear sliding down his bruised cheek, they’d cheerfully punch him in the face and give him something to really cry about.


He sighed.


“Jesus. Don’t breathe on me,” Colt complained. “You reek, Carter. How long’s it been since you showered or changed your clothes?”


Carter tipped his chin down and looked. Huh. He still had on the same bloodied shirt and dirty jeans he’d worn when Cash handed him his ass. And he’d worn it on for a couple of days before that when Macie walked out on him. “Probably a week.”


“Man, that’s just nasty.” Colt walked to the other side of the barn.


“You been sittin’ in here for four days mopin’ over her?”


“I’ve been busy workin’.”


“Workin’ on two bottles of Jim Beam it looks like,” Cord said.


“Don’t you judge me, *. If you knew the hell I’ve been through—”


Cord’s cruel laugh cut him off. “You don’t wanna get into a pissin’ match with me on that one, boy.”


“I ain’t a boy.”


“Then stop actin’ like one and be a man.”


“Fuck off, Cord. You think you’re the only one in the family who’s been kicked in the goddamn balls by love?”


“Come talk to me about love after it castrates you.”


“Enough.” Colby shoved his hat back and scratched his forehead. “We’re takin’ you home. What of this artsy fartsy stuff are we haulin’ back to the ranch?”


“I’m not leavin’ here. This is where I live now.”


Colt’s bootsteps stopped.


“The hell you are,” Colby retorted. “Gemma’s throwin’ you out.”


“And you’re helpin’ her?”


“You need some distance and perspective.”


“No. I need her.”


“Holy shit.” Colt whistled. “Who is she? Look at those tits. Them babies are definitely real. Man, I could suck on those nipples for hours. How come you’re not doingmore raunchy pictures like—”


Carter stalked to where Colt stood, grabbed him by the shirtfront and shoved him hard. “Don’t you talk about her like that. Don’t you f*ckin’ look at her like that or I will rip your f*ckin’ head off.”


Colt shoved back. “If you didn’t want no one lookin’ at it, why’d you paint it? You shouldn’t have left it right there for everyone to see. What’s the big deal?”


What’s the big deal?


Hadn’t he posed that same question to Macie? And Cash? And Gemma?


The big deal was he didn’t want anyone else looking at these pictures of Macie.


Ever.


The truth slammed into him like a Wyoming coal train.


Jesus Christ. How had he ever thought he could stand by and let other men ogle naked pictures of the woman he loved?


Then why had he painted them?


Because he could. Because he was cocky. Because he wanted everyone to know he—Carter, the quiet, laid-back, invisible McKay—was worthy of that kind of intense love from a woman like Macie.


It sickened him to think he’d been so focused on showing the world and his family how special his art was, that he’d lost sight of how special Macie was. How special what they had together was.


Carter’s gaze connected with the picture. This was his Macie. How he saw her. It didn’t matter that she was naked in body; she was naked in spirit too. She didn’t show those sides of herself to everyone. Just to him. And he didn’t want—he had no right—to share it. He didn’t need to immortalize what she was on canvas when he could have the flesh and blood version looking back at him just like that every damn day.