Page 51 of The Rogue (Four Corners Ranch #11)

“What do you know about axe-throwing bars?”

When they had their barbecue dinner set out on the table that night, Denver decided to pose the question to his brothers.

Technically , he didn’t have to ask anybody’s permission to do something like this. Yes, typically the money came out of the broader ranch

pot for new endeavors, and they asked all four main families that made up Four Corners to vote. Meet with the whole collective

at a town hall to make sure everyone was on board.

But in this case, he would be financing the whole thing from his own pocket. So he didn’t figure it was up to him to consult

anybody.

He realized, though, that his siblings might feel differently.

“Is this a trick question?” Landry asked, looking over at his wife and daughter, and then back to Denver. “Is someone in trouble?”

“I can’t recall having done any raids on axe-throwing bars recently,” Daughtry said, still wearing his uniform from his shift

earlier in the day. “Or any raids, for that matter. Since our dad leaving town functionally removed most of the crime.”

“Well, I warned all my friends at the axe-throwing bar that you were coming,” Daughtry’s wife, Bix, said. “Because I don’t like cops.”

“Which has made things very difficult for me,” Daughtry said dryly as Bix grinned up at Daughtry.

Denver’s siblings were disgustingly happy. He was thrilled for them. Honestly. It was all he had ever wanted for them. That

was kind of the point of taking charge of everything. It was kind of the point of trying this to make a new life for them.

A safer one. A happier one.

It was why he, who had never known anything about having a real family, who had never known anything about holidays or birthday

parties or had one thrown for him, had decided that they all needed celebrations.

It was why they had crowded family dinners. It was why he had become a grill master. Not just because he liked beef. It was

his life’s work, after all. The gambling made a lot of money, because he was great at it. Because he was... He couldn’t

help it if his brain worked a certain way and he could count cards easily. At least, it wasn’t his fault as far as he was

concerned. He knew that other people, his competitors, might feel differently. He couldn’t help them with that.

But the ranch, that was his passion. Doing honest work. He didn’t gamble anymore. He’d made all he needed to. Between that

and judicious investments, he’d netted himself quite a fortune. Enough to blot out some of the debt his father had left behind,

enough to make sure that his family was taken care of.

Enough to support the ranch even when things weren’t going well.

“I’ve been to one,” his sister-in-law Rue said, down from her end of the table. “Back when I was with...” She slid a look

over to Justice.

“I’m not threatened by Asher.”

Justice and Rue had been best friends for years and years, and she had very nearly married another man a few months back.

But fate had righted itself, and the two of them were together now.

“It was fun,” Rue finished.

“Yeah. Well. We’re going to open one up on the ranch.”

“That’s desperately random,” Arizona said.

“Why is it random, Arizona?”

“It’s random,” Arizona’s stepson said, chewing around a big mouthful of food.

“He says it’s random. Therefore, it’s random.”

Denver looked to his brother-in-law, who simply shrugged. “I don’t argue with either of them.”

“Well, an opportunity came up. For me to go into business with Sheena Patrick.”

“The bartender?” Justice asked, his brows lifting.

It was Rue’s turn to shoot him a surreptitious side-eye. “The hot bartender?”

“I’m not blind,” said Justice, who clearly felt convicted by his wife’s characterization of Sheena.

“Yes,” Rue said, sniffy. “But you’ve voiced your opinions on her very boldly in the past.”

“In the past you were my friend, not my wife,” Justice said.

“Yeah,” Denver said. “The hot bartender.”

“She’s Dan Patrick’s daughter,” Daughtry pointed out.

As if Denver didn’t know that.

Though, Daughtry was more connected to the fallout of that day than anyone other than Denver. They had both been enmeshed

in their father’s empire to a degree they were ashamed of. It was just that their hair shirts had taken different forms. Daughtry’s

was a badge and a uniform. Denver’s was... the land, he supposed. The burden of trying to pay it all back. Ensuring that

his family really was cared for this time. That it wasn’t all a lie coming from a narcissist who was hell-bent on altering

reality to suit his narrative.

“Yes. She is,” he acknowledged. “I owe her a favor.”

“You don’t owe Dad’s victims,” Arizona said. “Outside this house or inside this house. His actions were his own.”

“But what people think of us comes down to him. And I can’t just rest on the knowledge that I didn’t do anything. It’s not

good enough. Not for me.”

“I get it,” Daughtry said.

Because of course he did.

Copyright ? 2025 by Maisey Yates