Whit
We steal down the moonlit driveway, Colt’s hand firmly wrapped around mine. The music becomes faint; only the low humming of bass echoes into the night. I’ve been to the ranch more times over the last few months than ever before—mostly because Blair is here as often as she can get away with and also because Jonas frequently needs a ride. But I haven’t ventured beyond the big house and the swimming hole.
When I mentioned that to Colt, he suggested a tour. Naturally, I happily went along with it, assuming the tour would have one stop: his bedroom.
But to my surprise, he veers us toward a massive white barn. My gait slows, head racing with the desire to tell him I don’tactuallywant a tour, when he says, “I want to show you something Jonas has been working on.”
Everything else can wait.
Inside the barn, overhead lighting slowly flickers to life, casting cool light over the space with a dull hum. The door shuts behind us, cutting off the remaining party noise, and Colt gives me a quick smile over his shoulder.
“So he really wants to raise an animal in the spring, right? One of the stalls in here was a bit of a catchall for things.” His fingers interlace mine, and we walk lightly down the longrow of horse stalls. Most of them seem to be empty, but in a few, horses briefly lift their heads to watch us. “It was a mess, and Austin told him he could use it if he cleaned everything up.”
With his free hand, Colt grabs the metal handle on a stall door and throws it open to reveal a nearly empty space. The gray concrete floor is clean, walls spotless, and a few saddles are resting on wooden saddle racks off to one side.
“I’m not joking when I say there was so much random shit in here a month ago, we took an entire pickup truck load to the dump after he was done.”
“Yeah, how much of the cleanup did you do?” I raise a dubious brow. “Because my son can’t even pick up a single dirty sock off the floor.”
“I lifted a few of the heavier things, and I helped him build these saddle racks—only because I assumed you wouldn’t want him using a table saw unsupervised.”
I stare at him wide-eyed. “Um, no.I definitely donotwant him using a table saw unsupervised. Or really using one at all.”
“Well, guess you’d hate to know he knows how to use an axe, too.”
My open palm smacks against his firm chest, and I do my best to hide the way their relationship inflates my chest. “Colt! He could chop a leg off.”
“It would take multiple whacks with an axe to chop a leg off. If he’s dumb enough to keep going after the first cut, he probably deserves to lose a limb.” He chuckles, dragging our clasped hands behind my back as he steps in close. “Don’t worry, Mama. I wouldn’t ever let him get hurt.”
“Yeah? You think you’re fast enough to step in and stop the axe before it hits him?”
“I’d damn well try. And anyway, if he’s gonna be a farm kid, he’s going to be around things like axes. At least now heknows how to safely use one.” His lips press to the delicate skin behind my ear. “Don’t worry. Odessa has him doing plenty of arts and crafts for balance.”
My laugh comes out breathy and wavering. Something heavy and uncomfortable settles on my shoulders like an itchy wool cloak.
“He’s going to be the best big brother.” The words scratch their way up my throat and taste bitter on my tongue.
“That’s becauseyouraised him to be the best kid.” The side of his head knocks against mine as a reminder that he’s got me. “Want to see my favorite of their art projects?”
“Absolutely.”
With that, he’s pulling me back through the barn and shoving a heavy wood door open. A single light bulb hangs in the middle of a room filled with saddles and horse equipment, none of which I know anything about. While my sister was spending her teenage years barrel racing and doing farm chores around Wells Ranch, I was playing video games and smoking pot in Alex’s basement.
“I don’t give a shit what the other guys think—we needed colorful name tags for each horse’s tack.” He steps forward, tapping his index finger against a piece of lime green construction paper that readsHankin bubble letters embellished with tiny flowers. “Odessa’s spelling is…a work in progress, so Jonas wrote the names.”
“I love how much he loves it here. Reminds me a lot of Blair when she was younger.” My eyes meander between strips of paper, and I smooth a hand over the soft leather of a saddle, then mindlessly pick up a thick, deep green rope draped over it. “She came here once and we basically never saw her again. She became a Wells.”
Still looking around the room, smiling to myself at both the ridiculous name choices and Odessa’s attempts at drawing horses, I twist and loop and knot the rope in my hands.
“They kind of have a way of doing that here,” Colt says. “You come around one time, and suddenly you’re part of the family. If you aren’t careful, you’ll be next. Suddenly you’ll be wearing overalls and slinging horse crap like the rest of us.”
He playfully nudges me with his shoulder at the same moment I create two perfect loops with the singular rope. And I tug one circle tight around my wrist.
“I do lookverycute in overalls.”
“Oh, I have no doubt about that.” He glances down at my hands, then his eyes cut back to mine. “Overalls with nothing underneath, so I have easy access to your perfect tits anytime I want.”
“And here I thought this was a family-friendly place.”
