Page 33 of Ace of Spades (Hidden Creek Ranch #1)

“You’re lucky I don’t break your filthy fucking hand for touching my friend,” I tell him, lifting my chin and trying to make myself appear tougher than I actually feel.

“Oooo,” he says, looking back at his friends before turning back to me and taking a step closer. It takes everything in me not to take a step back, holding my place in front of Dakota. “Looks like we’ve got a big dog over here, guys. Buckle bunnies sure are getting real mouthy these days.”

“You really woke up and chose insecurity today, huh?”

His eyes darken, jaw clenching as his friends burst out in laughter behind him. Turns out the prick must not find me as amusing as his buddies do.

“Oh, don’t you worry. I’ll fuck that little attitude right out of you, sweetheart.”

“There’s only one person who gets to do that, and it sure as hell isn’t you,” a familiar voice cuts through the air, relief washing over me as I turn to find Weston and Chance approaching, their chaps slung over their shoulders and murderous expressions on their faces .

“Well, if it isn’t Weston Langford,” the prick scoffs, his attention shifting behind us. “I’ve heard you liked to stick your dick in just about anything, didn’t think that raging bitch was your type though. You might want to consider putting a muzzle on this one.”

“Don’t get butthurt just because you don’t have what it takes to handle a real cowgirl, Tag. Your riding speaks for itself, maybe settle for something a bit gentler if you want to make yourself feel like a real cowboy.”

The prick—Tag—shifts in place, the vein bulging in his neck as Chance and Weston come to stand at our side, the feeling of Wes’s presence calming my racing pulse.

“You okay?” he asks us, not taking his eyes off the group.

“I’m fine. This prick just thought it would be cute to grab your sister’s ass. And they say chivalry is dead,” I snide.

“Is that right?” Weston asks, a dangerous edge to his tone as his fists clench, a wave of tension coiling through the group.

“Maybe teach your sister that she shouldn’t be advertising the goods if she doesn’t want the attention. I mean, look at her—practically begging for it.”

Chance lunges forward but is stopped by Weston, the latter’s arm holding him back before speaking, his voice a deadly calm.

“She can dress however she wants because I’m confident in my fighting abilities. Can you say the same?”

“You know, maybe I’ll just take a turn with both of them after I send you to the hospital, Langford. Don’t worry, I’ll be gentle,” Tag says, hammering the nail in the coffin .

Madness erupts, Weston’s fist flying as it slams into Tag’s nose, a violent crunch sounding in the air as Chance swings at one of the other two.

“Goddammit,” I mutter, pulling Dakota back as the five of them end up on the ground, fists swinging in every direction.

I pull my phone out of my pocket, my fingers shaking as I type in Rafe’s name, hitting the call button. It rings twice before picking up.

“Sup?”

“Hey, you guys busy?” I ask.

“Not particularly. Why, what's up?”

“The guys are in a fight.”

“Oh, cool. Who’s winning?” he asks.

I observe the scene unfolding in front of me.

“Ours, I think?”

A warm feeling floods my chest at my use of the word ours .

Dammit, Hailey–not the time!

“Where at?”

“Parking lot, near the trailers,” I tell him.

“Be right there,” he tells me, commotion in the background of the call before the line goes dead.

“You really called for backup?” Weston yells, throwing an elbow in Tag’s face as the latter rolls off of him, Weston gaining the upper hand as straddles him and begins raining punches. “Do you know how insulting I find that?”

“Not backup, you jackass—someone to pull you off these guys before we all get arrested! ”

Chance pummels the guy below him, the guy’s friend coming up from behind to put him in a chokehold.

Dakota jumps out from behind me before I can stop her, jumping on the guy’s back in an attempt to pull him off of Chance before getting an elbow to the face that knocks her down to the ground with a yelp.

“Motherfucker!” Chance yells, his head whipping back and connecting with the guy’s nose as I help Dakota up.

I make out the sound of a truck door slamming shut a few rows down, boots crunching on the gravel as I turn to find Rafe and Beau racing towards us, Chelsea hot on their tail.

The drunk trio very quickly realizes that they’re now the ones that are outnumbered, each of them running off with their tails tucked between their legs as I rush to Weston.

“Was that necessary?” I ask, reaching up to gently run my fingers over the bruises already forming across his face.

“Were you worried about me, Sorrels?” he asks, a mischievous grin on his face.

“Worried you’d get your ass beat before I got the chance to do it myself,” I scoff. “Let’s get you guys cleaned up.”

Our group returns to my trailer, where I manage to make makeshift ice packs for the boys, a gnarly bruise already forming across Weston’s temple, and a split lip making him look even rougher than usual.

Something swoons in my belly at the thought of him earning those injuries defending mine and Dakota’s honor.

“Dammit, I got blood on my new chaps,” Chance groans, holding the ice pack up against his still bleeding nose as he tries to wipe blood off of the leather.

“Gives them some character,” Beau teases, pouring him a shot of bourbon .

The group falls into easy conversation as I turn back to Weston, dabbing at the cut on his lip with a wet rag. Thankfully, we had left the dogs and baby Poncho back home with Debbie and Rhonda, so we had a bit more walking room in the trailer.

“Hey,” I ask. “Do you think you could walk me back to the stables real quick?”

“Of course. Didn’t you already feed, though?”

“I, uh—I just want to make sure I topped off their water, I can’t remember if I did or not.”

“Well, alright,” he says, pushing off of the kitchenette counter and letting the others know that we’d be right back. Crickets hum from the ditches just beyond the gravel lot as we weave through trucks and trailers, the smell of dirt and horses thick in the summer air.

And for the first time, I feel myself getting nervous around Weston. Not the bad type, either—the good nervous, where it feels like I have butterflies tickling my stomach. It’s a new sensation, something that I don’t remember ever feeling around Brad or any of the boys I dated back in grade school.

“I didn’t get to say this earlier, but I wanted to thank you,” he tells me, his deep voice cutting through the silence as I turn to look at him, the two of us walking side by side.

“For standing up for Dakota. At the end of the day, I can’t always be there for her every second, but I’m glad she has a friend like you who’s got her back. She really likes you, you know.”

“And I really like her,” I tell him truthfully. “I’d stand up for her any day, it’s not something I need thanks for.”

“You know,” he smirks. “You’ve got some pretty big balls on you, I’ll give you that. ”

“Yeah, and you’d best remember that, cowboy,” I smile, gently shoving him with my shoulder as we make it to the stables.

“Did Vegas throw a shoe?” Weston asks, leaning over the mare’s stall door.

“I don’t think so, why?”

He unlatches the stall door, rounding my mare as she eats away at her hay, picking up her back hoof as I follow behind him, latching the door behind me.

“Shit,” I mutter, now seeing what he was talking about.

“I’ll have Rafe look at it tomorrow,” he tells me, setting her foot down and wiping his hands on his jeans.

Weston goes to walk past me, reaching for the stall gate as my hand darts out to grab his bicep and stop him.

I reach up on my toes as he spins around, my arms wrapping around his shoulders as I bring my lips to his, gentle to not injure his cut lip.

The kiss is soft, our lips exploring tenderly as we melt into each other, my fingers brushing through the dark hair peeking from under his cowboy hat. His arms raise to wrap possessively around my waist.

“What was that for?” he whispers against my lips.

“Consider it a thank you,” I tell him. “I’ve never had anybody stand up for me like that. And I know it was partly for your sister, obviously. But still, thank you.”

He flashes me that dimple of his, our lips centimeters apart.

“I would fight a hundred grown men on any given day to defend your honor, Sorrels. ”

Heat rushes through me, my insides dancing at his words as our lips meet once more.

I let my hands fall to his chest, pushing him up against the wall as his back hits the wood with a faint thud.

His belt buckle is cool against my touch as my hands move to undo it, the clink of the metal ringing in the air as I unbutton his jeans next, reaching inside his boxers to find him already semi-erect.

“Sorrels,” he groans against my lips. “What are you doing?”

“Thanking you,” I tell him, dropping down to my knees in front of him, the dirt cool beneath the material of my jeans.

“What about our bet? Chance said you placed first in barrels. If I remember correctly, that means that I should be the one down on my knees.”

I look up at him, his green eyes vivid in the dim barn lighting.

“Will you stop talking?”

“Yes ma’am.”

I pull his thick length out, swallowing a gulp as I realize just how massive it is now that it’s up close and staring me in the face. No wonder I was so sore after last night.

“Hailey,” Weston breathes as I wrap my lips around the head of his cock, his head falling back against the wall as his eyes shut.

I use my hand to wrap about the base, taking him as far into my mouth as I can before pulling back and teasing his tip with my tongue. Forcing my throat to relax, I swallow him as far back as I can, a deep groan escaping his lips as his hips buck slightly .

I begin working his length, my free hand gripping him as my fingers curl into the back of his thighs. His tip hits the back of my throat, causing me to gag as embarrassment momentarily washes over me.