CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Jonah
Summer was tucked into my side in my bed. I stroked circles on her shoulder. I was drowsy in my post-orgasmic state, but I missed these moments of cuddling whenever she went back to her life in Bozeman, maybe even more than the sex.
She shifted against me and turned to face the ceiling. Usually, she cuddled into me and drifted off to sleep first. I’d succumb to sleep after listening to her even breathing and marveling that she wasn’t a dream. Tonight, she was restless.
“What’s on your mind?”
“Nothing,” she said quickly.
“Summer.”
A sigh left her. She rolled into my side and put her head on my chest. “Thank you for coming to eat with Mama tonight.”
“Anytime.” Oddly enough, I meant it.
“But something was bothering you.”
Yeah. It was bothering me. Sure, I hated the reminder that my going off the grid had affected the Baileys. Mae might’ve thought she was joking about saving money with the hunting efforts of me and her boys, but she wasn’t wrong. When she had a minimum of seven kids to feed, besides herself and Darin and additional foster kids coming in and out, the meat we’d hunted had been important to filling her freezer. They’d been able to take an extra head or two of cattle to the market, which translated to thousands of dollars.
Then I’d dropped off. Could I have figured out how to hunt as effectively? To contribute like I had before?
I didn’t know, and everyone had moved on. The Baileys weren’t hurting for money, but Teller had said once that the family fortune was tied up in the land and the distillery. Feeding all those mouths had been a challenge.
Summer was quiet, waiting for my response. I thought of how to tell her without saying I felt like a loser.
“It’s different. I’m different. She’s different.” Teller probably was too, but I hadn’t talked to him in a long time. He’d rightfully given up on me.
“We would’ve been anyway, accident or not. No one’s the same at forty and at twenty-five.”
“Thirty-nine,” I said, grasping for the distraction.
She giggled and patted my chest. “What should we plan for next weekend?”
“You’ve been here two weekends in a row. I can go to Bozeman.”
“Oh. Okay.” There was still something in her voice I couldn’t identify. A hint of nervousness? Of disappointment?How was I letting her down while making plans to see her?
“What if we went out tomorrow?”
My chest constricted. “What do you mean?”
“I miss Curly’s buns.”
“I hope you’re talking about food and not that crusty man’s ass.”
“He is crusty, but we all agree his buns are the best in the state.”
“I haven’t had many other buns in the state. Maybe we need some road trips to verify the claim.” I wouldn’t ask her to fly anywhere, ever.
“Or we can just go have Curly’s.” Her words were quiet enough that this must be what she’d been worried about bringing up.
She wanted to go out. I wanted to go out, but not in Bourbon Canyon.
“I told Mom and Dad about us.”
She propped her elbow on the mattress. The night-light in the hallway outlined her features. “You did? Why didn’t you tell me?”
