Peyton tried to steady her hands. They shook as she reached for the paperwork the attorney offered her. She read the legal gibberish and attempted to translate.
Her mother wanted her to live with three cowboys. Three men she barely knew. If her mom walked right in there today, Peyton just might run away. She’d do it for spite and teach her a lesson once and for all. Then, she’d tell her precisely what she could do with her cowboys.
Swallowing back silent anger and maybe even a twinge of fear, she regrouped. “And if I don’t sign this?”
The attorney, a Cartwell pawn no doubt, narrowed his gaze, placed his palms on the small writing desk and rose to his large feet, something few women missed if they possessed a dirty mind. Peyton had one, a real naughty one most of the time, and large feet gained her undivided attention.
The attorney’s were hard to miss. Size thirteen, if she cared to guess. She’d always heard the size of a man’s penis often found judgment from those who stared at feet. So she looked, out of habit. She found it entertaining sometimes.
“If you don’t sign, Miss Storm, you’re only going to suffer for it. Since you’re days away from your eighteenth birthday, you’ll become a ward of the state.”
She gritted her teeth and barely spoke between them. “A what?”
Braden Cartwell, the oldest of the three brothers, leaned over. “You’ll finish your teenage years in foster care.”
“Thank you for taking the time to explain it,” she snapped.
“No problem.”
She crooked her head and stared at the floor. “Nice shoes.”
Evan, the youngest of the Cartwells, laughed. “Yeah, a perfect fit for his size is hard to find.”
Kane nudged his brother. “Shut up, dork.” Evidently the Cartwells understood the underlying reason so many women rubbernecked it to check out a man’s Reeboks.
At least they had some sense of humor. Right now, she really didn’t care one way or the other. Today, it felt like the bottom of her pit fell out. The black hole her mother left her in when she died now closed in at the sides too. She felt suffocated and desperate. Worse still, she felt like a puppet on a string pulled snug by the Cartwells, men who owned everything and everyone, according to her best friend, Vicky.
Peyton tried to hold the pen in place, and her hand trembled. She slapped the paper down on the desk and signed. “Well then, I guess you win.”
Glaring at Braden, she hit him with a direct question. “Now I’ve signed your paper. If you can, answer something for me. What the hell do any of you know about raising a teenager or even living under the same roof with a woman?”
Braden managed a half-hearted smile. He didn’t have an answer. Go figure.
Kane did, and he gave it to her right after he took his time giving her a really good lust-filled stare. The kind he might get locked up for if he didn’t keep in mind she had three months separating her from her eighteenth birthday.
“Not a damn thing.”
Kane shook hands with their attorney and walked out of the office ahead of them.
“That went well,” she said.
“I agree,” Braden grumbled. “Too well, I’m afraid.”
Yeah, she summed him up about right. Kane sorta liked her. He wasn’t the only one. Evan looked at her like he had first dibs on the dumb blond.
Peyton realized the Cartwells wore their bad boy reputations around like a proud southern brand. Soon, she’d have one of those too, or she’d find herself out on her ass just as fast as she signed her paperwork.
Braden, the smart one of the bunch, probably didn’t like his brothers ogling over her. Oh well, he might as well get used to it. All men gawked at her. It was her blessing and her curse.
The attorney handed Peyton his card. “If you need anything at all, Miss Storm, give us a call.”
“I won’t,” she said. “I imagine these boys have everything under control.”
Evan laughed as he passed her in the tiny hallway leading to the parking lot. “In case you haven’t noticed, Kane is Mr. Controlled.”
“I gathered as much.” She stared across the open space of the dimly lit area. Kane turned and glared at her like he truly despised looking at her or it pained him to do it.
She looked down at his shoes. Holy shit, she thought. He must’ve played basketball. “Did you play basketball?” She shifted her weight and stared at the ground. “I mean you have big…I mean you’re tall and built like a basket…ball player. Oh, um…anyway…that’s why I asked.”
Evan slapped Kane on the back. “Yeah, that’s why she asked about your big feet. Basketball is on her mind, only basketball, big brother.”
“I’ve got your basketball,” Kane said as he grabbed the front bulge in his pants. The two started horse-playing and wrestling around like brothers evidently liked to do. She backed away and watched.
“Get in the Jeep now,” Braden ordered. “Peyton, follow us. I’ll have these two straightened out before we get home.”
She smirked to herself as she walked toward her car. “Sure, you will, Braden Cartwell. Sure you will.”
Peyton didn’t have the legal number of one-eight yet but once she turned eighteen, she might use Kane to find out if rumors held true. Damn, if he didn’t fill some awful big shoes.
Her mother must’ve been stark crazy to leave her in the custody of the Cartwells. No one on God’s green earth looked at a woman like Kane Cartwell looked at her. To make matters only better, Peyton had never seen anyone more handsome than the three Cartwell men. Lord have mercy, she was in for one hell of a sultry ride.