Buckled (Trails of Sin 2)

Over the past month, he’s returned to celibacy, and frankly, it makes him unbearable to be around.

“You need to go out and get laid.” I rise from the bed and approach him slowly.

“I can’t.” He removes his hat and tilts his head back against the wall, revealing the dampness in his eyes. “I miss her so fucking much she’s all I see.”

“I miss her, too.” I sit beside him and stare at the leather cuff on his wrist. He hasn’t removed it since Conor left it for him on her eighteenth birthday.

I don’t have a sister, but she fills that space. The ranch is dull and meaningless without her.

Now that Dad and Rogan Schroeder are dealt with, Jake could bring her home. He could drive to OSU this very minute and force her back to the ranch. Screaming and kicking, if necessary. But he won’t. He would never disrupt the life she’s built for herself. Not if she’s happy.

“I asked the private investigator to tail her boyfriend.” Jake rubs a thumb over the leather cuff. “If he finds anything that Conor wouldn’t approve of…”

“All bets are off.”

“Damn straight.”

We ebb into a span of silent minutes, lost in our thoughts. I wonder if Dad is packing. I wonder if he was a better man when our mother married him. I wonder what she would think about the choices Jake and I have made.

Jake cuts his eyes at me. “When are you going to scoop out your heart for a woman? You’re missing out on a lifetime of pain.”

“Well, when you put it like that…”

“The happiness that comes before the hurt is the best feeling in the world.” He closes his eyes, his whisper riding on a shredded breath. “It’s worth it.”

“I’m all for self-destruction. I just haven’t found my own Conor to lay it all on the line for.”

“She’s one of a kind.” His lips pull into a sad smile. “I was a lucky son of a bitch. I still am. I had her for sixteen years.”

During those years, I had a front row seat to the evolving relationship between him and Conor. I watched in awe and envy as their love forged into something legendary. Something so bright and powerful it eclipsed everything around them.

Jake’s a good guy, but Conor Cassidy sets the bar. I’ve been with countless women, and no one comes close to the contagious passion and soulful strength that Conor possesses. I suspect no one ever will.

Fuck it all if I find that person. I’ll latch on so tightly she won’t stand a chance.

I’ll move mountains.

Stake my claim.

Piss all over my territory.

Rearrange my entire existence until we buckle together beneath the intensity.

I want what Jake had with Conor. I fucking crave it.

He and I might be different in many ways, but we share one thing in common.

We don’t just love.

We love hard, with every bone, sinew, and breath in our bodies.

The Big Sugar is the biggest bar in Sandbank, Oklahoma. Actually, it’s the only bar in this godforsaken town. I don’t belong here, and every boot-scuffing, flannel-wearing redneck in the joint knows it.

These people have a deafening way of judging and accusing without opening their mouths. They watch me without staring. Avoid me without moving out of the way. Insult me without uttering a sound from the pinched lines of their lips.

To say I’m not welcome here is an understatement.

Do they give all out-of-towners the same treatment? Or just the ones wearing ill-chosen high heels to a bar littered with peanut shells?

I teeter over the mess on the floor, certain I’ll break an ankle. When I sink onto the first available stool at the counter, I heave a sigh of relief.

The bartender ignores me. Just as well. I don’t drink when I’m working.

I call it work. This assignment is officially unofficial.

In Chicago, I write for a few beauty and fashion columns under different pen names. Horribly boring and uneventful, but it pays the bills. Or rather, it paid.

I lost those jobs. Over the past six months, I lost everything. Which is why I’m here. Trying to put my life back together.

Jake and Jarret Holsten are going to help me with that. But first, I need to run into them. Make it look like a fluke encounter. They would be more likely to divulge personal information during a casual conversation than if I knocked on their door and demanded answers.

“Excuse me.” I tap the shoulder of the thirty-something brunette beside me. When she turns, I plaster on my warmest smile. “Hey, there.”

She squints at my silk button-up, starched black trousers, and cute red pumps. “You’re not from around here.”

“I get the feeling that’s a curse in this town, as if I’m bringing in an infectious disease or something. I swear I’m current on all my shots.”

I laugh. She doesn’t.