“Here they are now,” Mitch called out, turning to them as they walked up the winding path.
Trixie caught up to him then. “Who is that?”
“Sub, wait,” Brock said, flattening his palm against her hip and pushing her behind him.
He didn’t like surprises. Mitch had already mentioned his buddy from prison and the fact that he’d seen them there when they hadn’t known he was watching them. In Brock’s mind, the man already had a couple of strikes against him.
“I want you to meet a friend of mine. Brock Sheldon, this is Cash Whitehead. He’s already met Rory.”
The men shook hands.
“And who is the lovely lady behind you?” Cash asked, a little too much jiggle in his shoulders, far too much play in his strut.
Mitch shot her a wink. “You shouldn’t have to ask. You’ve heard all about her.”
“I’m Trixie,” she said, placing her hand in his.
He immediately brushed her fingers with a gentleman’s kiss. Brock went rigid, completely aware of the way the man’s eyes dipped lower as he studied the low cut of her pajama top.
He ground his back teeth and swapped a glance with Rory, who wasn’t in much better shape. His fists were balled, hanging at his sides.
Rory and bunched undies didn’t mix well. He was easygoing until his temper flared, which generally only sparked when Trixie was at the center of the flame.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Cartwell.”
“It’s Mrs. and it’s Sheldon,” Brock quickly corrected him.
Cash flashed a smile and said, “Names aren’t all that important. Are they, sweetheart? It’s the woman behind the name that makes all the difference.”
Rory snatched Trixie’s hand and led her away. Calling out over his shoulder, he said, “Man has a point. The woman behind the name makes all the difference in the world and this woman of mine needs a little TLC. You boys entertain Mr. Whitehead. Show him around the place. Take him down to the rifle range and let him enjoy some target practice with Brock.”
Before Rory entered the lodge, he extended his forefinger and raised his thumb, cocking his finger as if he were firing a gun. “Brock, I’m sure you’ll find a way to pass the time.”
“Trixie?” Brock called out. “Wait for me, sugar.”
“I don’t know what it is about this place, but whenever we’re here, you’re possessive as hell all over again.” Rory laughed aloud and entered the lodge.
Brock ignored Rory’s accusation. “You heard me, sub.”
She flipped her hair over her shoulder and said, “I did and I might.”
“You will or you will face the consequences, sub.”
Rory immediately stuck his head outside again. “What did you just say?”
“I’ll be there in a minute.” Brock dismissed the notion of explaining himself in front of Cash, or Mitch, for that matter.
Rory and Trixie disappeared, and Brock studied Cash, deciding at once he didn’t like the guy. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but there was something off with him. And it went way beyond Cash’s deliberate pass at his wife.
In recent years, he’d become very guarded. Plus, Mitch had proven himself an unreliable judge of character. He’d been the one to hire Stephen Pratchert. He’d been the first to form a relationship with Jordie Anne. Now, he’d invited an ex-con to Cow Camp.
Brock couldn’t help but think of three strikes. Trouble traveled in threes.
“So you’re the one who caught the little woman?”
“Caught her?” Brock asked.
Cash chuckled. He stuffed his hands in his pockets and shifted his weight from one foot to the next. They exchanged a challenging glare.
Brock felt his left eye twitch. This guy rubbed him the wrong way.
“Ease up, dude,” Cash said. “I’m just joshing with you.”
“Trixie isn’t a laughing matter,” Brock said.
“I’ll say,” Cash agreed, changing his stance again.
That swagger of his might end up getting him decked.
Then, to make matters worse—and Brock couldn’t believe his eyes—the sorry son of a bitch grabbed his package in the front and said, “Yeah, if I had a woman like Miss Cartwell, I’d keep her smiling but I wouldn’t want her giggling too much. Ya know what I mean? A man doesn’t want a woman laughing it up when he’s in between her legs. Know what I mean?”
Brock snarled. “What the hell are you talking about?”
Mitch leapt in front of him with his palms forward. He stopped Brock just in time. He was seconds away from pouncing on the freak.
“He’s just rattling your chain,” Mitch said.