Words fail me as I stand there staring at her. I should be able to tell her all the reasons. She’s gorgeous and smart, but really the only good excuse I can give her is jealousy. I’d been fine allowing her to maintain her crush while I kept my distance until I saw another man’s hands on her.
“That’s what I thought,” she sniffles, before shifting to the side and gesturing toward her door.
Without another word, I leave her room. She’s right. I’m just a divorced guy who lives on the go, and I’ve got almost a decade on her. Head bowed, I exit the house and hop into my truck.
There are two choices: I can either take her as mine or I can do exactly what I should have done from the beginning. Keep my distance. Keep our relationship platonic as it’s always been. But I know I can’t do that. I’ve tasted her. I’ve touched her. That sweet pussy was seconds from pulsing around my tongue.
Yanking my phone out of my pocket as I fly down the road, I dial Hunt. “Don’t you have cows to wrestle or something?” he groans into the phone, his voice deep as if he’d been asleep.
“Funny. What do we have pending?” I grit my teeth, gripping the steering wheel so tightly that my knuckles turn white.
“Nothing has changed since yesterday. You’re supposed to be taking some time with your family,” he sighs. There’s a rustling sound in the background, as if he’s climbing out of bed. This man loves himself an afternoon nap, so he can burn the midnight oil and still get to the gym at five a.m. every day. “That was our deal, Nash. I handle the business, and you spend time with your mom, unwinding a bit. You’ve been so tense since last summer.”
My teeth grind again. Yeah, I have, and it has nothing to do with the fact that my mother’s heart is failing, or I’m now responsible for keeping my father’s business running; it’s Betty Hughes. The woman has me in knots, constantly battling myself and everything I’ve ever told myself I need and want.
“Let me know if anything changes,” I grunt, ready to hang up the phone.
“You know it’s okay to be happy, right? The divorce fucked you up, whether you’ve ever admitted it. You can want something different from the life you had here with Katherine.”
“Get out of my head.”
“Not a chance,” he chuckles. “Give me a call after your mom’s appointment next week.”
Angling my truck toward my parents’ ranch, I decide to take my friend’s advice.
It takes twenty minutes to reach my family home. Pulling up the drive, I spot my mother in her rocking chair on the porch, sipping lemonade she likely made from scratch this morning.
Her smile spreads wide as I hop out of the truck and make my way to her. Mine spreads too. There’s no stronger woman than my mother, both physically and mentally.
Raking my gaze over her face, her age is finally starting to show. She hadn’t looked so drawn the last time I was here. Her skin still seemed vibrant, and there was energy in her movements. Now I see the struggle. I can see the fight it takes her to push out of her chair and how her hand grips the railing tighter with each step down the front porch stairs.
“Stay there, Momma, I’m coming to you,” I scold her.
“Nash, you stop it. I’m perfectly fine. The exercise is good for me.” Her words are sure, but the labor of each word pushes through. She can’t hide from me, and I can’t hide from the fact that she’s getting sicker.
We meet at the bottom step, her hand slipping into mine. Does she feel even more frail today, or is it my imagination? I’ve always had a creative mind. That’s why consulting has worked well for me. I’m able to construct deals from nothing that turn the sale into everything for both sides.
“Come on, Momma, let’s get you back to your chair.” She snorts in annoyance, but leans on me as we trek the same six steps she just fought to come down. A heavy breath leaves her as she settles into her stark white rocking chair. Her chest rises and falls with increased exaggeration several times before she once again sips her drink out of a clear glass. “Can I get you anything?” I ask.
“No, baby.” She pats my hand lightly, smiling fondly at our land that stretches far enough you can’t see the main road from here. “Aren’t you supposed to be at the ranch? Gray says you’ve been out there every day.”
“When did you speak to Gray?”
My mother waves me off, her hand shaking slightly as she brings her glass to her lips before it clanks back onto the arm of the chair. “You know your father has clunky joints. He’s been seeing Gray’s wife, Dr. Thompson, over in Harper’s Hallow now. He happened to be leaving while we were coming a few days ago.”
I’d almost forgotten Gray had married a doctor. None of us could have ever seen that coming. He’d become a broody asshole to most, but that’s also because he was usually interacting with Tate. At least his brother felt something for him. My sisters probably wouldn’t even notice if I disappeared.
“Everything okay with him?” It hurts to swallow, like there’s a boulder lodged in my throat, waiting for her answer. Guilt settles in my stomach, knowing that I’ve stayed away long enough I’ve missed my parents’ aging. I forgot that they might have needed me.
“Nothing a few injections and some pills can’t fix for now,” she grins.
“Like pain medication?” I sit up a little straighter. Pop always insisted he wouldn’t take the stuff, not even when he broke his arm and needed surgery, or when he had an impacted tooth removed when I was ten. He didn’t touch any of the pain medication he was given.
“They’re not getting me addicted to those chemicals,”he’d said. We tried to convince him he was wrong, but my dad is as headstrong as they come. He suffered through the pain and didn’t complain once.
“No. No. Um, I think they’re called in-saids.” Her mouth screws to the side as if she’d had trouble saying the word.
“Ah, so just anti-inflammatories,” I sit back in my seat, breathing normally again. There’s only so much upheaval I can handle at once right now.
