The downtime will give me the chance to catch up on the group chat. The last time I checked my notifications, there were another dozen or so.
We take my truck to The Lodge and find Tripp and Magnolia sitting at a table with my two-year-old niece, Willow.
“Hey, kiddo. Whatcha eatin’?” I rest my palms on the table next to her.
She does her best to say scrambled eggs and sausage.
“Can I have some?” I tease, but she sticks out her fork with a piece of meat, so I playfully bite it. “Mmm. That’s good.”
“Get your own food and quit stealin’ my kid’s,” Tripp scolds.
I snicker at how grumpy he is. Considering their son’s only a few months old, he’s probably not getting a full night’s sleep.
“Where’s Laken?” He’s usually attached to Magnolia’s chest.
“Mom and Gramma Grace are watchin’ him this mornin’ since Willow has a doctor’s appointment,” Magnolia explains.
“Doctor? Is she okay?” I ask.
“She’s fine. It’s just a wellness check, but I thought it’d be easier only bringin’ one. This way we’re not jugglin’ ’em both while answerin’ questions.”
“Gramma Grace was more than happy to babysit anyway,” Tripp adds. “She nearly pushed us out the door before we could even say goodbye.”
I laugh because I’m not surprised.
She’s our mom’s mother and has lived with our parents in the main house since our grandfather passed away eight years ago. She loves to bake and scrapbook with us.
She’s also known for her witchcraft of always knowing everyone’s secrets.
Wilder and I head to the buffet and fill up our plates. Now I won’t have to eat lunch and can maybe get ahead on my to-do list.
Once we’re at the table, I pull out my phone and read through some of the conversations the group chat is having.
Someone asked about a trick-riding saddle. Apparently, they want to learn and make sure they get the best kind.
Before I can type out a reply,sheresponds with a specific brand that I would’ve recommended too based on what I know Noah uses.
Poison Ivy Girl: Just make sure you know what you’re doing on it or your ass will look like mine.
Unknown #4: What do you mean?
Instead of a text response, she sends a photo.
Of her ass in a pair of lace see-through panties.
And her skin is covered in bruises. Not only her ass cheeks but her upper thighs, too.
My eyes expand at how revealing the photo is, and I nearly choke on the piece of bacon I just stuffed in my mouth.
What the hell is she doing?
Poison Ivy Girl: Safe to say, I fell…a lot. And it was painful.
For how dark the bruises are, I wonder if she fell on cement or even stayed on the horse at all.
Jake: DAT ASS THO. Never missed a glutes day, have ya?
Oh my God, I want to kill him.
