Blair picked a bouquet of wildflowers, tucking them into her saddlebag while we exchanged glances. We didn’t get back to the ranch until well after dark, and there was no doubt in my mind that I’d be marrying Blair Hart at that exact spot on the mountainside one day.
Denver
Strolling into the big house shortly after eleven a.m., I follow the scent of freshly brewed coffee to the kitchen. Beryl, our kitchen manager and pseudo-mom, is armpit deep in the oven, scrubbing every last speck of grime away.
“Morning,” I say as I squeeze past her to get to the coffeepot.
“Morning, honey. There’s fresh coffee and some scones.” Her voice echoes from inside the oven. “What are you doing bumming around here in the middle of the day?”
My niece, Odessa, and nephew, Rhett, are playing at the kitchen table, Play-Doh and Play-Doh accessories scattered across nearly every square inch of the massive wooden tabletop. Odessa looks up when she hears my voice, sticking her tongue out at me. Naturally, I return the gesture.
“Gonna head to town shortly,” I answer Beryl.
Her head pops up to look at me with confusion, and she drags her wrist across her forehead. “If you need something, Austin and Cecily just went to town for wedding stuff.”
“Oh, no. I don’t need anything.”
A smile creases around her lips and eyes, glimmering as she stands and sinks her hip into the edge of the kitchen island. “Ah, I see. You’re going there for someone,not something.”
Taking a long swig of black coffee, I mumble ayeahinto the cup.
“Does someone happen to be a woman? Aboutthistall”—her hand raises above her head—“with gorgeous brown hair and a very lovely personality?”
“It might be.”
She slaps the countertop with a yip that makes me and the kids jump. “Your brother owes me five dollars.”
I pull a face, clunking my cup down and staring at her. “What the hell?”
“Bad word. I get a quarter,” Odessa pipes up, pointing to a mason jar sitting on the china cabinet, covered in bright flower stickers and aSwear Jarlabel with theEfacing backward.
“Hell no. That’s not a bad word.” I shake my head at her, trying not to laugh as she places her tiny hands on her hips in defiance. “I’m not giving you any money.”
“Itisa bad word. Just like the S-word, and D-word, andfuck.”
My hand shoots up to cover my mouth in a failed attempt to stop from laughing, and an even worse attempt at keeping the mouthful of coffee from spraying out between my fingertips. Brown liquid splatters across the white countertop, and I cough repeatedly into my elbow. Beryl’s no better, doubling over until her forehead is firmly against the counter, shoulders shaking vigorously. And Odessa’s watching it all with a shit-eating grin on her face. Even if she’s not fully awarewhyher words were funny, she’s always going to repeat anything I laugh at. She and I can be a bit of a hell-raising duo because of that.
Throwing my head back, I stare up at the white ceiling to compose myself. “Odessa…kiddo…I think we’re even now. Unless you’re gonna put some money in the jar, too.” I risk another sip of coffee, turning back to Beryl. “Now, what in the H-E-double-hockey-sticks do you mean, you bet my brother?”
“The boys were all placing bets, and I decided to get in onthe action. It’s been a long time since I’ve done any gambling and, well, I knew I’d win.” She looks awfully pleased with herself, leaning against the counter and wringing her weathered hands together. “I bet Jackson that you’d be dating Blair before the end of the summer.”
“Don’t go buying anything with your big winnings just yet, then. We’re not dating.”
“It’s only June, and you’re driving to Wells Canyon midday to visit her. If you aren’t dating yet, I’d wager you’re well on your way.”
I wish that were the case, but Beryl doesn’t know our history. This isn’t as simple as Blair moving away for college and us losing touch.
“Wouldn’t count on it. I’m going to have to pull some miracles.” My knuckles scrape across my jaw. “I really messed up back in the day.”
She leans across the counter, grabbing my hand in hers. And after a comforting, motherly rub of her thumb across my knuckles, she raps them hard with her fingers. “Then quit wasting time. Go show the girl how much has changed since she left…how muchyouhave changed. Nothing you did as an eighteen-year-old should carry so much weight when you’re in your thirties.”
“You should use that as your platform for justice reform. Get all the eighteen-year-old serial killers out of prison before they turn thirty.”
“Making jokes isn’t going to get the girl.”
“Works pretty well for me most of the time, actually.”
She tilts her head, silently calling me out.
