Brim Over Boot (The Darling Brothers #2)

Colton

Noah King.

The bane of my existence. The thorn in my boot. The man who’s dedicated fifteen years of his life to thwarting me at every twist and turn.

Bet he wouldn’t be so smug if my nippers could meet his balls.

I snort at the thought, and the mare I’m shoeing tries to tug her hoof away.

“Sorry, sorry,” I tell her, reaching back to pat her leg. “You’re doing good. Almost done, girl.”

I finish clipping off the ends of the horseshoe nails before setting my nippers aside. It only takes another minute after that to crimp the nails down, clean the outside of her hoof, and let her go. I toss the rasp back in my bag, dusting my hands on my chaps as I look out over the misty morning on the Allens’ farm.

It’s damn cold for being the start of spring, dew still on the ground and a definite nip in the air that has me tugging my gloves back on quickly. Even so, my hometown of Darling, Montana is beautiful no matter the time of year. I’ve always thought so. Never really had a desire to leave, if I’m being honest.

Part of that probably has to do with my family, close as we are. But part of it, I’m sure, is because I’ve simply never felt the need to see what else is out there. Maybe I’m just a homebody. Or maybe I was born in the place that’s right for me.

I don’t much care when it comes down to it. I love Montana. I love the mountains, my job as a farrier, even our quaint downtown and the tourists we get throughout the year who stop here hoping to experience a little slice of life that’s so foreign to them yet simply part of my everyday existence. I love Darling, period.

Even though I have to share my town with a certain infuriating King.

I pull out my phone, huffing a breath as I listen to the voicemail I’ve already heard a good dozen times.

“ Hey, Colton ,” the voice of Henrietta Brooke says. “ I was hoping to catch you in person, but it seems a voicemail will have to do. There’s no easy way to say this, but we’ve decided to switch our services to Noah. Times have been hard, and, well, he was able to cut us a deal. I hope you understand.”

The recording ends, and I blow out an exhalation that whitens the air.

Another client. Stolen.

By Noah fucking King.

I shove my phone in my pocket and start collecting my gear, making sure I have all my tools packed and the area cleaned up before tugging off my chaps and plopping my hat back on my head. I cross paths with Tipper Allen on my way off his farm.

“Hey there, Colt. Any issues today?”

“Not a one,” I tell him, knocking my hat up so I can see him better. “Miss Bonnie should be good for another six weeks, but just give me a holler if you have any issues in the meantime. She’s a real sweet horse. Always love visiting her.”

“She loves you, too,” he says easily. “Wouldn’t even let our last farrier near. I don’t know what sort of magic you’ve got in that bag of yours, but don’t lose it.”

I huff a laugh. “It’s not magic, Tipp. I just listen to what Bonnie’s telling me. Don’t hesitate to give me a call if you need to, all right?”

“Will do. Have a good day, Colt.”

I bid farewell to Mr. Allen and get into my truck, the heavy-duty pickup in need of a good wash. Maybe I’ll get to that later, assuming the sun sticks around.

Bonnie was my only client for the morning, so I head home, the wooden sign at the start of our gravel drive welcoming me. Darling Ranch . The place I was born, raised, and still live at thirty-seven years old. I could have moved out by now, maybe even built my own house on the property the way my brother Jackson did.

But I like staying close to my roots. My parents both live in their own cottages beside the main ranch house. Jackson is down a short quarter-mile-long drive. Remi, the youngest of us, is in the room next to mine, and even Lawson, our eldest brother, is back at home after separating from his soon-to-be ex-wife.

This ranch—it’s ours. It’s always been ours, back generations. Heck, back to when the town of Darling was founded by my great-great-great-something-grandfather.

This place? It’s home. A damn good one.

Why would I want to leave?

I park in the busy lot in front of the house, a good couple dozen vehicles already occupying the space. The ranch hands are hard at work this time of day, some having started their shifts at an ungodly four in the morning.

Thank the heavens I was able to sleep in till eight.

I kick my boots against the mat at the front door before heading inside. When I reach the kitchen, I stop still and smirk.

“Necking where the biscuits are made? Really?”

My brother Jackson aims a glare my way as his boyfriend, and our ranch house cook, snorts. Ash is sitting atop the counter, looking nonplussed at being caught making out like a teenager, when he and my brother are far from it.

“Out,” Jackson grunts.

Ash gives him a gentle shove, dropping down from the countertop. “It’s fine. You need to get back to work anyway. Morning, Colton.”

“Morning,” I answer happily, heading for the fridge. “Don’t suppose we have any bacon left from breakfast?”

Ash gives me a sympathetic look that answers my question. Ah, well . Guess that’s what I get for missing the four o’clock meal.

“There might be some sausage links in the bottom drawer,” he says, tucking his wavy blonde hair behind his ear. “You’re back early. Done for the day?”

“Not in the least,” I tell him, finding the sausages and letting out a triumphant, “ Aha. ” Jackson rolls his eyes as I pull a link free and snap it in half with my teeth. “Got a busy afternoon. Just stopping back for a breather.”

“Well, I’ll be out on the porch if anyone needs me,” Ash says, giving Jackson a pat on the chest as he passes. My brother watches him walk off, a lovesick expression on his face that never ceases to amuse me.

“You’re so whipped,” I mutter.

My brother smacks me on the shoulder hard enough that I almost fumble my second sausage link.

“Watch it!” I cry.

“You’re such a shit,” he grumbles. “Don’t know why I even put up with you.”

“Uh. Because we’re family? It’s what you do.”

Jackson mutters a “Yeah, yeah” before grabbing his hat and heading out of the kitchen. I follow him into the large dining room at the back of the house as I finish my snack, the floor-to-ceiling windows letting in plenty of light and a rather sweeping view of the ranchland itself. Not to mention Ash, who’s atop his yoga mat on the wraparound porch, running through some stretches.

“He doing okay?” I ask Jackson.

I had no clue Ash is living with chronic back pain until an incident last fall caused a major flare-up. He’s doing better now, but still…

“He’s all right,” Jackson answers, voice a little gruffer than usual. “What’re you following me for? Something on your mind?”

Shit . He knows me well.

I work my jaw for a second before spitting out three syllables I hate uttering, whether aloud or inside my own head. “Noah King.”

“Ah,” Jackson says, settling his hat back on his head. “What’d he do this time?”

“Took another client from me, Jackson. It’s gotta stop.”

My big brother by three years looks at me and sighs. His blue eyes, same as mine, radiate a stern sort of calm. “Is it really that big of a deal, Colt? You’ve got plenty of clients. I know you do. Your schedule is full, and you’re not hurting financially. So what if Noah picks off a few?”

“So what?” I parrot. “It’s the damn principle of the matter. He’s always had it out for me, and I’m sick of it.”

“Did you ever fix things with Marie Doherty?” he asks.

I cringe.

I might have implied to Mrs. Doherty that Noah was a less-than-skilled farrier, an honest mistake on my part that caused Marie to hire me and fire Noah. Noah was…not exactly thrilled to lose what amounted to thirty horses’ worth of work.

“I tried to fix it,” I tell my brother. “I did. I told her I was just in a bad mood that day and what I said was unfair and untrue, and I’d understand perfectly if she wanted to rehire Noah instead of keeping me on. She didn’t. That’s not my fault, Jackson. I don’t know what else I could’ve done other than quit, and I wasn’t gonna do that.”

He grunts. “Colt, I know you won’t wanna hear this, but I don’t think he’s the only one in the wrong here.”

I sputter, but Jackson holds up a hand and goes on.

“You know I love you, and I know you’d never try to be underhanded on purpose. But you and Noah have let this animosity go on for far too long. Maybe if you just…stopped bristling every time the man’s name is mentioned, the two of you could figure out how to coexist peacefully for once.”

“I don’t bristle,” I defend.

“You bristle,” he says flatly. “You’re bristling right now.”

I let my shoulders come down.

“Darling has more than enough horses for two farriers,” Jackson says seriously. “Y’all are only rivals because you make it so. Why do you even hate the guy so much? What’d he ever do to you?”

“Other than try to steal all my clients?” I retort.

Jackson simply raises an eyebrow.

I throw my hands in the air with a huff. “I don’t know , okay? He hated me on sight. He was an absolute asshole the first time I met him, and he hasn’t stopped being one since. Maybe you should ask him why he hates me so much. I didn’t do a goddamn thing to deserve it.”

“Well,” Jackson mumbles, pulling the door to outside open, a crisp breeze taking the opportunity to blow in. “I think you either needa sit down with Noah and talk this thing out or let it go. You let the man have too much of a hold over you, Colt. And that, whether or not you wanna admit it, is entirely your choice.”

His piece spoken, my brother walks out the door, stopping only long enough to say a quick goodbye to Ash that involves locked lips and schmoopy expressions.

I don’t let Noah have a hold over me, do I? Anyone would be justifiably indignant in my shoes. Noah King is a right asshole, and all of this—the fighting, the client stealing, the rivalry between us, as Jackson called it—is wholly his fault. It’s been his fault since the start.

Well, there’s one thing I know for certain. Sitting down with Noah isn’t going to happen. Not ever.

But there ain’t no way I’m letting it go.