She looks at me curiously, and then I realize as a teenager, I’m not supposed to think about legal matters.
“Nothing for you to worry about,” she says. “I’m more of a glorified notetaker.”
“The Powers brothers fight a lot,” Will says. “They don’t agree on what to do with Poppy.”
“Hush.” Lindsay shoots her son a withering look. “You guys go have fun. Make sure you bring back a huge tree, because we have a ton of presents.”
The drivers fire up the snowmobile, and I get on the one Will’s driving. This is all part of my great white Christmas experience, so I make sure to take plenty of pictures. I glance around at the large bay window of the great room and spot Braden watching me.
I point the cell phone back at the house and snap a picture of him waving to me. I almost blow him a kiss, but Will says, “Why are you taking a picture of your dad?”
“I like the way the house looks with the big windows and all.” I break eye contact with Braden and flash Will a smile.
He grins like he won a point in whatever pissing contest men seem to engage in for no reason at all. “Better put that phone away so you don’t lose it. Hold on tight.”
Will revs the motor on the snowmobile, and we take off. No hotdogging, my foot. The kid races the other snowmobiles, hopping drifts and zigzagging around the trees like a motocross racer.
It feels weird to wrap my arms around a kid more than ten years younger than me, especially since Braden is watching. I half wish Braden is jealous, but the more mature part of me is worried about how he and his family will get along, especially with Poppy on his last legs.
The ride is exhilarating, and I feel like I’m flying in a world of white clouds. Without goggles, I can barely keep my eyes open, and my body is jerked back and forth, up and down, while the only sound is the swish of the blades and the roar of the motor, digging in and then going airborne.
The wind flips my hood off, and cold air slices through my hair. My ears are going to freeze, and my hands and fingers are numb, locked into place around Will’s waist.
We could crash at any time, skid and hit a tree head-on, but danger is what makes me feel most alive.
“Yolo!” I shout at the top of my lungs. Joy floods my insides, and I’m absolutely lost in the freedom of the moment in this big game of chance called life—or death.
~ Braden ~
Sammie looks so pretty and young walking off with that horny teenager, Will. Obviously, no one taught him any manners, and my brother Nash, who is not his father or even close to being a stepfather, isn’t setting a good example.
He’s in a friends-only relationship with Lindsay and her two children to supposedly fend off groupies and single women. At least that’s what I hear from the Brant sisters, who are full of gossip.
The good thing is, they don’t resent me, having zero history with me, and they don’t clam up when I step into the room.
Unlike the current crowd of Powers men.
I shut the door of the den behind me. My father, Wes, sits at the desk in front of a pile of papers. His mustache is always in a downward direction, big, busy, and disapproving.
Damon, the one closest to me in age, stands in front of the desk with a felt cowboy hat in his hands. He’s the only one who stayed on the ranch, helping my dad and Jolene run the place.
We’re only three years apart, and he used to follow me around everywhere I went when we were younger. As for Nash, the golden boy of the family, he was always a dreamer and marched to a different beat.
He’s sitting in a rocking chair sipping an iced drink.
No one speaks, although Nash seems more open, greeting me with a curt nod and a raised eyebrow.
My father straightens the papers and stands up with his hands on the desk. “I’m sure I don’t need to remind you how serious your grandfather’s condition is. He’s had a fourth of his lung removed and part of his colon. Stage four means the cancer has spread.”
Nash makes mumbling noises of sympathy, and Damon wrings his hat and coughs drily.
I press my lips tight, not sure what he wants me to say.
The door opens, and Lindsay scurries in with a notepad. “Nash says I should take notes?”
Dad scowls and shoots Nash a glare. “This is private family business.”
“Lindsay’s my best friend. I would like her as a witness, at the very least.”
