Tate leaned forward to pull the last of his money toward him.
“I guess that’s it for me tonight.” Cash threw the cards down onto the table.
Greer smirked while Tate stared at him. “Sure you don’t want to play another game?” Tate asked, dealing out the cards.
“I’m sure. I’ll do the dishes.”
Greer opened his mouth, but Tate shot him a quelling look.
“I was beginning to wonder how long you were going to let us take your money.”
Cash hesitated in getting up. “What?”
“You heard me.” Tate didn’t look down at his cards; instead, he stared directly into his eyes. “Is five hundred all you think my sister’s worth?”
“No, but it’s all I brought with me.” Cash’s hands clenched into fists.
Tate’s lips quirked. “Smart answer.”
“Jace told you?”
“Of course. He may want a motorcycle, but he’s our blood. Blood always comes first; you should have known better.”
“If you knew, then why did you come?” Cash stiffened in his seat. This could go really badly. He didn’t want to have to hurt any of the assholes to protect himself, but he sure as fuck couldn’t be with Rachel if he was six-feet under.
“Relax, Cash.” Dustin laughed, going to the refrigerator to get more beers, which he set on the table with a thump. Everyone reached out for a beer, the sound of the tops popping starting the negotiations.
“We’ve all come up with certain concessions before we give you our vote of approval to court Rachel,” Tate said, laying down his cards, literally and figuratively.
This didn’t sound good, but he was willing to see how far the bastards expected him to cave for Rachel.
“It’s just five simple rules. You should be able to live with them with no problems.”
“It depends on just what the five rules are, now, doesn’t it?” Cash said. Nothing was ever simple with the Porters.
“Yes, it does. Rule number one: no fucking around on Rachel. That means no women in town or those women you got stashed at that clubhouse of yours,” Tate began their demands.
“Rule number two: you can’t lay a hand on her when you’re mad. She can get a man’s temper riled, but you’re not allowed to ever hurt my sister.
“Rule number three: she gets to keep working with her plants and clients. They’re a pain in the ass—you can’t go to the fucking bathroom without having something disgusting growing on the shelf—but they’re important to her.
“Rule number four: you have to start going to church with her. We watched our parents fight about that for years. Rachel wants a man who will sit next to her in church on Christmas Eve.” Tate’s voice was much too chirpy when he voiced this rule. Everyone in town knew Cash’s feelings on attending church.
“Rule five, and it’s the most important to us: if you have kids, you have to let us be involved in their lives. I don’t give a fuck how much you hate us, but you won’t show our nieces or nephews that you do. We keep this personal bullshit between us. Deal?”
Cash didn’t hesitate. “Deal, but this doesn’t mean we have to become best friends, does it?”
“God, no,” Greer shuddered.
“I have a demand of my own. When Rachel and I get in a fight, you keep your noses out of it.”
Dustin looked at his brothers. “Agreed.”
“Unless you break any of our rules,” Greer clarified.
“I can live with that,” Cash agreed. “So, you already knew you were going to agree to me seeing Rachel before we started this morning?” He narrowed his eyes on their unrepentant expressions.
“Yep. We decided we were going to have some fun making you squirm, though. I don’t know which I enjoyed the most: you scaring off those foxes or throwing away that big-ass fish you caught.” Tate grinned.
“I do. Him letting me call him a bitch.” Greer slapped Cash on the shoulder, almost knocking his beer out of his hand.
“Jace, it’s bedtime. Cash, you got anything harder than beer?” Tate asked, picking the cards up again.
“Yes.”
“Then bring it out. Let’s play a few more hands, and this time, you can play like a man instead of a pussy.”
Cash looked around the table at the Porters. It was going to be a long night.
Chapter 22
Rachel parked her car in front of Mag’s house. She had gone to the store after church to pick up a few things they needed. She was struggling to carry the three bags of groceries and the beer that Cash and Mag liked when Cash’s truck pulled into the driveway. She had the beer juggled on her hip as she tried to open the front door.
As Cash opened his truck door and got out, she was shocked at his exhausted appearance; even with the sunglasses on, he looked like shit. His jeans and t-shirt were rumpled, his long hair was tousled, and his face was white as a sheet.
“Need some help?” Cash’s jovial voice set her temper off.