Chapter Ten
Toby’s lips curled into a smile as he walked back toward the main house, while Rose readied her crew for their first day of work. A backward glance told him Howie was still glaring at him. That smile rose higher as he turned back around and fished out his phone to finally check his texts. He felt light, for the first time in a long time. He woke up his phone, tapping on the text message that had buzzed at panther shaman. His gait ground to a halt as he stared at the picture accompanying the text, and his grin fell.
“Fuck,” Toby muttered, eyes widening as they roved over the damning words on the screen. So much for not cursing. “How in the hell did that chick get my number?”
Blond Chick’s name was Katy, “Katy Kisses” if he went off the name programmed into his phone. Had he drunkenly put her number in his contacts when they’d had their not-one-nighter? No, even in a booze-induced stupor, his drunk self would never have done such a stupid thing and given her such a nickname to boot.
“Katy Kisses? What the hell…” he said as he started walking again, shaking his head.
He didn’t give his number out. The rich Dixon inheritor of the Legacy didn’t need women knowing how to reach him and chasing after him like an army recruiter after seniors at high school Career Day. What the hell should he say to her?
He stewed on it the entire walk home, jogged up the front steps, and shoved shut the door behind him with his foot. Dropping his sack beside the foyer side table, he pulled out his phone again and swiped the screen. Tyler had a password on his phone, which was probably a wise thing to do with kids around. Ty once said Seth had downloaded three hundred dollars’ worth of MP3 files just poking buttons and listening to music. After that, his brother had locked down his phone like an Area 51 entry gate.
But Toby didn’t have kids, and he didn’t let anyone use his phone. He’d never felt the need for a password. Stupid of me. Katy Kisses had to have done it when he’d been passed out or too drunk to notice.
Katy Kisses:Hey, cowboy. I had so much fun Monday night. How about you swing by my parents’ place this afternoon to pick up where we left off?
Her parents’ place? How freaking old was she? Unease roiled. He leaned against the door before toeing off his hiking boots on the flagstone entryway to dash up the sweeping staircase to his bedroom to change his shirt and began to type.
Toby:How’d you get my number?
A speech bubble began to pulse, when he realized a text had been sent to her from his phone dating to their night out together. Crap. Had he texted her?
Katy Kisses:I put it in your phone for you.I had a lot of fun, and I want to hook up again to finish what we started. What about you? We never got to the good part.
Toby rolled his eyes. Yeah, next time he went out, he’d lock down this sucker like Tyler had done.
Toby:Your parents’ place? How old are you really?
Katy Kisses:Old enough to bull ride, cowboy, and that belt buckle of yours told me you’re an expert in that arena.
She kept calling him “cowboy.” Had he not told her his name? Thank God for Drunk Toby making at least one rational decision the other night. And if she knew anything about him, she’d know he’d sucked at collegiate rodeo and quit. Definitely not an expert.
Toby:That don’t answer my question.
Katy Kisses:Twenty-two. I told you that the other night. I thought you liked a woman tight and blond. You told me I was perfect.
Was she sexting him? Goddammit, this was uncomfortable. Had he really told her that? He felt like an ass, hearing his words repeated back to him. Did he really say dumb crap like that when he was wasted? No wonder Tyler had told him to grow up. He shook his head. He had absolutely no business chasing twenty-two-year-old tail.
Katy Kisses:So, you coming over, or what? I’ve got their place to myself for the summer while I’m home from college.
Her next text showed a close-up of a bikini string being tugged loose. He hoped it wasn’t a selfie. He groaned at this mess and dropped the phone onto his bed, striding to his bathroom and into his closet to tear a pearl snap off its hanger, and ripped his T-shirt over his head, dropping it into a hamper.
“Gotta end it now. Best to let this girl down swiftly and rip that Band-Aid off,” he muttered, slipping his arms into the sleeves, snapping it, jamming his shirt tails into his jeans, and striding back to pick up his phone.
Toby:Can’t. I don’t give my number out. Glad you had fun the other night. Take care, and if you wouldn’t mind deleting me? Thanks.
He hit Send. A speech bubble began pulsing again. Then it stopped. Then it started again. Then it stopped. Nothing. Had she taken the hint? Good. Done deal.
He jammed the device into his pocket. He had work to do. His wrangler and the crew were probably already starting in on the pasture fencing and wondering where he was. The cattle needed to be herded into a new enclosure as soon as the fence was mended, and early this afternoon, he had an order of lumber to pick up in town, to reinforce a support wall in the cattle barn. With the summer camp coming out yesterday and again in the coming weeks, and the wasted afternoon on Monday that had seen his appointment missed—an appointment that couldn’t be rescheduled for a whole month, he’d learned—he’d had less time than usual to work.
The pearlescent words on his mother’s urn caught his eye as he jogged down the stairs and strode to the back door to go to the stables and saddle up his quarter horse.
Not now.
He couldn’t think on it and ought to have Shirley remove it when she returned to work.
But as he rolled open the stall door in the climate-controlled stable and walked Cimarron, Travis’ old horse, into the crossties to brush him down and cinch the saddle on, the memories of his momma struggling to breathe until her chest deflated and didn’t rise again were shoving their way uninvited into his thoughts. There’d been no question what words to order engraved on her final resting vessel, even if she’d failed to instill much God in him and Trav as they’d screwed around in the pew and earned Ty’s goody-two-shoes glares. The one redeeming quality of going to church had been the donuts they’d raided in the community room after the sermon, when he and all the other children would scamper through the halls, eager to burn off energy.