He continued blocking the doorway. I could push past him, but then he’d know I was hiding something, and he’d guess it was that I knew what Jonah looked like naked. Intimately.
“He’s doing okay?” he asked again.
I softened. In all my drama about what to tell Jonah about me and Eli and when, and how Jonah would react, and when would we tell others that we were a thing now, and what did being “a thing” actually entail... I’d forgotten that Teller had lost his best friend.
“He is doing really well.” I leaned against the desk and looked out the window at the tree-lined parking lot. The view wasn’t as busy as the one out of my office in Bozeman, but it was more familiar. More comforting. I’dgrown up gazing out of the distillery windows. “He won’t admit how much he misses doing things like hunting and fishing and camping, but he’s found woodworking and he’s good. Really good.”
Regret lit his eyes. “Yeah, I’ve seen his stuff. He’s got a gift.” He contemplated the floor. “You think he really can’t... do everything he used to?”
I tilted my head and considered my brother. Growing up, Teller and I hadn’t been close. He’d been a fresh teen when I’d arrived with my sisters and happy to do his own thing. Other than messing with me when it came to chores, he’d done his thing and I’d done mine. But we had Jonah in common.
“Do you blame yourself?” I asked.
Teller scowled, but scuffed the tip of his boot against the floor. “Nah.” He shrugged and crossed his arms over his chest. “Maybe. I made him stick around until we caught one more fish, so I had enough to feed everyone for supper.”
Eli’s death had had a ripple effect on all the relationships between the people around him. My silence had only added to all the guilt. I’d told Jonah. Teller needed to know too. “I broke up with him, and he accused me of liking Jonah, and I didn’t argue. What happened was definitely not your fault.”
Teller’s arms dropped and he regarded me, his stare incredulous. “Shit, Summer.” He shoved a hand through his loose, dark curls. “Shit.”
“Yeah. I should’ve said something years ago, but I was also—god, this sounds so bad—I was so upset with Eli for putting me in that position.”
“Of course. Why wouldn’t you be?” It was my turn to gawk at him. He held his hands up like he was wardingoff an argument, yet I wasn’t sure I could argue. “He was young and a lot of young guys make stupid decisions and nothing terrible happens. But in this case, it did. We all lost Eli, but I also lost my best friend.”
“He’s still there,” I said softly.
Teller snorted. “He was there pushing me right back out the door whenever I asked him to hang out.”
“It’s been hard for him since the accident. He doesn’t open up easy.”
“But he did. To you?”
I sensed more curiosity rather than his normal teasing, so I nodded.
“Just how close did you two get?”
I sighed and hugged the computer bag to myself. “Honestly? I don’t know. I’d like to think we’re very close, but I also feel like he’ll cut me off any minute. I worry he still blames me, and now that he’s alone again he can convince himself it’s better that way.”
“Did he treat you right? He’s not like that douche?”
I let out a gusty exhale. “Why didn’t anyone say a thing about Boyd at the time?”
“Would you have listened?”
“Yes!” I snapped, then sighed. I went back to gazing out the window. Maybe I would’ve listened. Or maybe I would’ve dug in harder and become the next Mrs. Harrington, the blond trophy wife Boyd had wanted.
“Sure.” He pushed off the doorframe. “This last week, I’d like to say Mama’s been worried about you, but that’d be bullshit. Every time I caught her looking out the window in the direction of the mountain, she had a little smile on her face.”
The heat in my face was back. “How much should I tell her?”
After our talk, Teller would understand the privacy issue.
He let out a low whistle. “It’s not going to matter. She’s going to take one look at your blush when his name is brought up and know. You’d better hope Wynter goes into labor before you get to the house.” He lifted his chin toward the desk. “I stopped by for another reason. Know the James place?”
“Of course.” Everyone knew the James place. As landowners, we coveted the property. The Jameses had acreage that could be both farmed and ranched, and had been, but the land had fallen into disuse. The house, a once-great masterpiece of log construction, hadn’t been kept since Jenni James had passed. Her husband, Henry James, was doing better than he had been, but we’d all seen his sad stock, the broken-down equipment, the neglected fields, and the pastures that were either overgrazed or underutilized, be it from lack of herd rotation or haying.
My brothers had been chatting about the place, murmuring about it going up for sale. Henry and Jenni’s only son, Gideon, had moved to Las Vegas to be some big shot out there and hadn’t been back to Montana once. Gideon was slightly older than Tate, and Teller thought there was a chance he wasn’t interested in keeping the land in his name.
“Henry James called Tate.”
