I don’t look at her. Don’t give her room to argue. My tone makes it clear that this isn’t up for discussion, and it never will be. I don’t ask much of the girls. They’ve got their own lives, their own choices, and I don’t control that. Wouldn’t even try. But I need to know they’re safe. That’s the bare minimum. Dads gone. I can’t change that. But what I can do is make sure they’ve got someone looking out for them, someone who actually gives a damn.
If that means driving them to school, making sure they don’t run off into trouble, keeping an eye on things even when they swear that they don’t need me to, so be it. I’d rather they roll their eyes at me now than need me when it’s too late.
She exhales, resigned, but there’s no bite to it. Just that quiet, gentle nature of hers.
"Okay, okay," she concedes, then tilts her head. "Just … can you drop us off a little before school? It’s hard walking in when everyone I know is staring at my ‘hot older brother.’"
I stare at her through the rear-view mirror. I’m not sure I heard that right.
"What?"
"Yeah, apparently everyone thinks you’re hot, and honestly, it’s kind of annoying."
I have no idea what to do with this information. I glance at Kit in the mirror; he sits there smirking. I narrow my eyes at him.
"I don’t know what you’re smirking at, Mr I Put Wax in My Hair Today."
Kit’s face drops. His eyes go wide, and he shakes his head ever so slightly, the smallest amount of pleading in his expression. Harper catches on immediately.
"Huh?" she says, twisting in her seat. "You put wax in your hair?"
Before he can react, she reaches over, fingers combing through the strands before squealing.
"Wait, what? Why are you wearing wax?"
Kit groans, swatting her hand away.
"Harps, stop."
I smirk through the mirror at him, satisfied.
"Why are you being weird about it?" she presses, but Kit shrugs her off, avoiding her gaze like she might pin him against the seat and interrogate him fully.
They sit in awkward silence the rest of the way. I almost feel bad for the kid. Almost. But then I remember … the heart eyes he was giving her on the porch. And yeah, I don’t think I feel bad at all.
After dropping them a little before school like Harper had asked, I begin the drive back to the ranch. And just as I’m driving past the town’s main grocery store with my mind back at the ranch occupied by the jobs that await me, movement catches my eye.
A woman. Blonde hair lifting in the breeze, a floaty dress shifting with it and arms tight around full shopping bags. I double glance. It’s Stormy, of course.
I let out a small groan, and Buddy grumbles at the sound from his spot in the passenger seat.
Why is she suddenly showing up everywhere? In my routine, in my line of sight, in the quiet corners I thought were only mine. I just wanted to get back to work without this … this distraction, thispulltowards something I don’t know how to handle. I drive a few more minutes down the road, jaw clenched in a silent war with myself. I’m not ready for her lingering presence, not prepared for the temptation she brings, but I also know one thing for certain. She’s not walking all the way back to the ranch with those bags. I side-eye Buddy, who’s now perked up, ears twitching. “Don’t get excited,” I tell him. “You’re about to see your new friend again, but I ain't happy about it.”
Grumbling under my breath, I flick on the turn signal, swing the truck around, and drive back. Slowing down beside her, I roll the window down and rest my arm over the edge.
"Stormy."
She startles at my voice, then looks over, her expression flickering between surprise and curiosity.
"Ford?"
I nod toward the bags.
"You need help?"
She shakes her head almost immediately, adjusting her grip and plastering a grin across her face.
"Nope. I’m fine. Enjoying the walk, actually."
