“Yeah, but that was a rarity. Most of my expensive pieces don’t sell because I’m an unknown artist. But I still have quite a few that have been moving since Shasta strung together that really fun tour. I’ve done some more galleries since then too. However, that’s just boot money.”
She could easily make good money if she had the right contacts. Contacts I’ve offered her countless times. She won’t even let me put her work in my galleries—any of them—even though I’ve made it clear I love her art.
She thinks I’m partial.
Stubborn woman.
She stops at the end of the driveway, and raises a green flag with a beaver on it until it’s at the top with more of the same flags above it. Only one still dangles at the bottom.
“That’s boot money?” I ask, finally processing that comment as she gets back in and starts driving.
“Well, yeah. I have bill money and boot money.” She states these things as though it’s supposed to be obvious all the time, and I always smile because…I have no idea. Hell, it doesn’t take much to make me smile like a fucking schmuck.
She knows her power over me, but likes to pretend she doesn’t. Or maybe she doesn’t know, and I like to pretend she does.
We park at the end of the driveway, next to a lot of pasture land that doesn’t have lakeside views.
Four men turn to look at me from the fence they’re leaning against. Only Jared is missing from attendance. A little black sheep takes off running away from George’s loosened grip like it just got the keys to kingdom.
“You really do live on a ranch,” I state absently, frankly a little shocked.
“Farm. Not ranch,” she argues.
“What’s going on here?” George asks, his brow scrunched as he gestures toward me.
“Liam is hanging out today. I’m making him endure my presence as much as possible to test his tolerance level,” she deadpans, causing more confusion to wander around inside me aimlessly.
George nods. “Good idea. You two can start on the asses.”
“Asses?” I ask, then clear my throat since my voice cracks a little.
Just what the hell are they doing out here?
“The jackasses,” Kylie clarifies. Or tries too… “Dad has sheep, jackasses, four cows, and runs a bait shop too. We take turns working the bait shop. It opens just before dawn.” She gestures around. “Our sheep are the best quality you can find, but Malones are most known for their jackasses.”
She bursts out laughing, while all the other Malones groan in unison.
“It’s never going to be funny,” George tells her.
“It’s just too obvious,” Eric states on an exasperated sigh.
My lips twitch as Kylie’s chuckles die down, and she rolls her eyes.
“Anyway. I’ll show you all we do. Got a big auction coming up, so there’s plenty of work to do between now and then,” Kylie goes on.
I notice she’s wearing an old, beat up pair of cowboy boots. I guess that makes more sense now.
I glance down at my very expensive, leather shoes.
“Oh, shit. I should have told you so you could dress better,” Kylie says as her face falls.
She knows shoes.
Clearing my throat, I roll my eyes. “I can get new ones.”
The four Malones start laughing under their breath, and Kylie cuts her gaze to them.
“You can take him to change his shoes. We’ll save you some work,” Jason tells her, then gives me a bland look.
“The shoes are replaceable,” I quickly tell her before she argues and makes me look like more of a pansy.
They continue to laugh at me, so I point up at the flag you can see for miles away, since their pole is obnoxiously tall, and there are five of them lifted in the air—one for every Malone in attendance. I bet the bait shop has one in the air too.
“Just curious, why the beaver?” I ask, gesturing to the flags.
“Because we like beavers,” Jason quickly fires back, winking at me.
“Just wondering if it was someone’s way of labeling you all pussies and convincing you to wave the flag with pride.”
The second the words leave my mouth, all the lingering laughter dies. George Malone is the first to crack a smile before turning his head. Jason and Eric glare daggers through me. Heath is busy getting gum off the bottom of his shoe and completely oblivious to the new conversation.
Kylie bursts out laughing, doubling over, and I smirk as I wink at the two glaring Malones. They both mutter something I can’t hear, but I’m sure it’s a threat.
She grabs my hand, tugging me away, and I toss my arm around her shoulders.
Then…I spend several hours doing a lot of physical labor, watching her cousins get in no less than three fights, and her father kick the hell out of the barn door no less than fifteen times when it jams.