Texas-Sized Trouble. Delores FossenЧитать онлайн книгу.
had been like some kind of revelation—a foretelling from the fates, maybe—but holding that kid had reminded him of just how hard it would be to love a child and then have to let that kid loose in this crapshoot of a world.
A world where people died too young. Where hearts got crushed. And shit happened at an alarming rate. If he wanted that kind of pain in his life, he could just hit himself on the head with a big rock.
Or visit his brother Lucian, which he was about to do.
A rock to the head or seeing his oldest brother were on par, but the difference was, he could beat the crap out of Lucian should it become necessary. With a baby, there was no skill set to help with the fear of loving someone so much that it could break you for good. Lawson had been broken, several times, and he didn’t want another dose of that.
The best way to avoid a heart shit-kicking was to stay out of the “heart” business altogether. That meshed well with the no-fatherhood-for-him revelation. Commitments—those engagements, marriages and, yeah, kids—led to failure. And that wasn’t a theory, either. He’d seen it with his own two eyes. His folks’ nasty divorce. Belle’s bad marriage to Roman and Garrett’s dad. And his soured relationship with Eve.
All commitments gone wrong.
He took the final turn to his family’s place, and he pressed in the code on the security panel to open the arched gate with the name Heavenly Pastures scrolled out in wrought iron. It was pure irony, like when a hooker was named Chastity. Because there was no heavenly vibe, nor had there ever been any on these grounds. But yet his great-grandfather Jeremiah, who’d built the place, had chosen the name, maybe believing that it would rub off on the occupants.
So far, it hadn’t.
Lawson had higher hopes for the place he was building, but that hope was there only because it was a good half mile from the main house that Lucian called home. For a few months out of the year, anyway.
Since the townsfolk had dubbed him Lucifer, the joke was that his local residence was Hell Sweet Hell instead of Heavenly Pastures. But Lawson knew that his big brother preferred the sprawling ranch he’d built for himself two counties over. Or the equally sprawling house he’d bought near his office in San Antonio.
Apparently, this county hadn’t been suitable for his big brother because Heavenly Pastures hadn’t been running a full ranch operation since Lawson had left to work for Garrett.
It was more of a battleground these days.
When Lawson’s and Garrett’s grandfathers had had a falling-out decades ago, it had started a Texas-sized feud. They’d divided the land they co-owned except for about a hundred acres that at the time had been leased to another rancher. The lease had long since expired, and that meant the ownership of the land was in question. It was a prized chunk of acreage to own because the creek coiled through it. Garrett needed the creek water to keep the ranch growing. Lucian wanted to hang on to it because he was, well, Lucian, and he liked to own stuff even when he didn’t have a use for it.
Lawson passed by the road that led to his house, and he could see it in the distance. It was on the creek.
Yep, the very one in question.
But he was having the house built on Heavenly Pastures’ land that wasn’t in dispute. It was his. A twenty-first birthday gift from his dad as a way to lure Lawson back to the ranch so he could work for Lucian instead of Garrett. That ploy hadn’t worked, but the gift made a pretty spot for his future home.
A home that was no longer just a shell. Lawson could see the progress from the road, and it was really coming together with walls and a roof. He’d drop by and check on it once he’d had it out with Lucian. And the reason Lucian was on his shit list was because of the next house that came into view.
His mother’s.
Except now Eve believed she was the owner.
It was a white-and-yellow Victorian that looked out of place on a Texas ranch, and it was identical—in floor plan, anyway—to the one on the Granger Ranch where Lawson worked. Garrett’s great-granddaddy Z. T. Granger had built that place over a hundred years ago, and Lawson’s great-granddaddy had built a nearly identical one on Heavenly Pastures.
When Lawson reached the main house, he pulled to a stop in the circular drive—and cursed. Because Lucian’s truck wasn’t there. It was a sign that his brother wasn’t, either, since Lucian always parked in front or on the side of the house and not in the garage. Lawson figured the parking preference had to do with Lucian’s quick exits.
Like this one, for example.
Lawson had called the house just an hour earlier, and when he’d spoken to Lucian’s assistant, she’d said he wasn’t taking any calls but that he was there. And maybe he was. Lawson held out hope that his brother’s car was being serviced or something.
He parked in Lucian’s usual spot and got out as best he could. Each movement and step caused him to wince and grunt in pain, a reminder that a butt-kicking might be physically impossible. Still, he’d try.
Lawson threw open the door to the house and made a beeline to Lucian’s office. Well, as much of a beeline as he could make considering the place was massive. A woman he didn’t recognize peered down at him from the staircase and then scurried away. She was probably a housekeeper, and the reason he didn’t recognize her was that Lucian went through employees as frequently as he did cars.
He glanced in the sunroom since it was where Lucian often sat to read reports and such. No Lucian. However, the cook, Abe Wiser, was there. His feet were propped up on an ottoman, his body stretched out, and the guy was snoring. Abe was a lousy cook, an equally lousy worker, but unlike the revolving door of housekeepers, Lucian had kept Abe—for reasons that were unclear to anyone but Lucian.
“He’s not here,” someone mumbled.
Now, that was a voice he did recognize despite the mumbling. It was his brother Dylan. It wasn’t a surprise that he was there since unlike Lucian, Heavenly Pastures really was Dylan’s home. And the fact that he hadn’t smothered Lucian in his sleep was a testament to Dylan’s “I really don’t give a shit” attitude.
Dylan was coming from the direction of the kitchen, a beer in one hand, some papers tucked under his arm and the remainder of a pizza slice clamped between his teeth. He removed the pizza and gave Lawson that “Dylan Granger” smile that melted women into puddles of, well, whatever women melted into when they saw that pretty face and the endless supply of rodeo buckles. Dylan wasn’t just a cowboy. He was a rich bronc-riding champion.
Unlike Lucian, Dylan had definitely inherited all the charm in the family, and he was the reason Lawson had such a small dating pool. Dylan had slept with at least half the eligible women of Wrangler’s Creek. A good portion of the ineligible women, too. Since Lawson had a rule about dating any of his brother’s exes, that had limited him to only a handful of prospects.
“Karlee said Lucian was here,” Lawson pointed out. And since Karlee was the most efficient assistant in the state of Texas, Lawson had believed her. That’s why he’d driven out right after he packed for his trip.
“He was, but he left about fifteen minutes ago. You must have just missed him.” Dylan tipped his head to Lawson’s midsection. “Do you really have stitches on your ass?”
“Yeah, and you might need some when I’m finished with you. Why the hell would you let Lucian or Mom sell the house to Eve?”
“So, that’s why you’re here.” Dylan munched another bite of his pizza and got to walking, heading in the direction of his office. Which was on the other end of the house from Lucian’s. Apparently, the most charming cowboy in Texas wanted to keep his distance from the least charming one.
Dylan went in his office, setting the papers, beer and remainder of the pizza slice on his desk before he put his hands on his hips and faced Lawson. “I didn’t get a chance to talk anyone out of anything because it was a done deal before I even heard about it. Mom gave Lucian her