Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 69468 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 347(@200wpm)___ 278(@250wpm)___ 232(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69468 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 347(@200wpm)___ 278(@250wpm)___ 232(@300wpm)
“I won some.” I had to defend myself. “Kane was a trouble…” I grasped for the right word. “Magician…magnet…maker.”
Well, I got it on the third try, but not before Maverick and Colt both laughed.
“Trouble magician isn’t that far off.” Maverick kept right on chuckling. “Think Kane will bring the newest kid?”
“No clue.” I shrugged.
Truth be told, Kane wasn’t an especially nice person, and as his little brother, I’d been singled out for more than my share of bullying. We hadn’t been close as kids and weren’t now. I’d heard the gossip that Kane had had two kids inside a year with two different women, but I’d been a bit busy, what with being deployed and then rehabbing my injuries, to sort out what was fact and what was the Disappointment County rumor mill at work.
“It would make my mom happy if Kane settled down, but I don’t see that ever happening.” Colt gave a heavy sigh. He’d sure tried his part over the years, bailing Kane out of countless scrapes.
“Never say never.” Maverick shot Colt a look warm enough to raise the temperature in the truck cab ten degrees. And this was why I was happy to be in the bunkhouse, nicely removed from all this domestic bliss.
We arrived at my mom’s small house in town, which was teeming with people. Cousins on the porch. Aunts in the backyard. Nieces and nephews running wild, both my sisters holding court in the living room. Everyone wanting to say hello and catch up. My Aunt Georgia was running the grill. The backyard had been set up with multiple folding tables and a line of coolers filled with ice.
I took it upon myself to fetch more water and soda from Mom’s garage and replenish the coolers before finding a seat at a table. Another aunt and my sister Tiffany were gossiping about how Kane had brought both his baby mamas and toddlers to the party. Luckily, a pack of kids ran through with water blasters before the two women could rope me into the conversation. Tiffany and my aunt went to corral the kids, leaving me alone at the table.
“Hey, little bro!” Naturally, Kane chose that moment to seek me out. He was tall like Colt, but leaner than either of us with a scruffier beard. Same dark hair and hazel eyes though. “Glad you made it.” He gestured at a nearby cooler of beer. “What are you drinking?”
“Water.” I held up the bottle I’d already opened as he pulled a can of beer out of the cooler.
“That doctor’s orders, or you just getting old and boring?” Kane asked as he popped the top on his beer.
“Both.” I made my tone firm.
I’d been known to enjoy a beer here and there, but Kane’s drunken exploits in high school had put me off ever being a big drinker. And I’d seen too many promising military careers go south because of booze. My current medication regimen didn’t allow for alcohol, but I missed driving far worse than beer.
“Well, you do you, Sergeant Tight Ass.” Kane saluted me with his beer before taking a long sip. He flopped down in the chair next to me, apparently intending to stay awhile. “I hear you’re working as a hand at Maverick’s ranch. I keep calling it Lovelorn Ranch, but Maverick went and gave it a spiffy new name.”
“Second Chance Ranch.” I got all three words out, a victory in and of itself. I liked the new name a lot. Suited the place, and the name gave me a warm feeling in my chest, like maybe I might make something of myself there.
“That’s the one.” Kane leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “Listen, you get bored of playing cowboy, I got a business opportunity I want to talk to you about.”
“What sort?” My tone was understandably weary. I’d heard all about Kane’s mass-level marketing schemes, used car and cell phone sales, and questionable online auctions over the years.
“You got disability pay, right?” Kane was not one to be thwarted. “You could be a ground-level investor in the business my buddy and I want to start.”
“Business?” I gave him a skeptical look.
“We’re calling it Weed & Whiskey. Artisanal distillery and refinery under one roof,” Kane said proudly.
“Good luck.” I wasn’t up on Colorado liquor laws, but I wasn’t at all sure his scheme to sell hard liquor and marijuana out of the same business was legal.
“I bet some medical marijuana could help you.” Kane clapped me on the shoulder, expression intent, like he was only now registering my scars. “CBD oil or the right strain of cannabis. Fix you right up.”
“CBD fixes brains?” Wow. Look at me, making jokes and sentences both. My speech therapist would be so proud. I even added a grin.
“Might. Never know. Worth a shot.” Kane shrugged like someone who’d never spared a moment to think about what a brain injury might mean.