Then it's just me and Colt in the kitchen, and the silence is heavy.
"So," he says slowly. "You got there fast."
"She called. I drove."
"From where?"
"Here. I was working on equipment in the barn."
"Must've driven like a bat out of hell to make it in ten minutes."
"I did."
"Because she's my best friend."
It's not a question, but I answer anyway. "Because someone I care about was in danger."
Colt's eyes narrow slightly. "Someone you care about."
"Yes."
"The same way you care about the rest of us? Or different?"
Fuck. Here it is. The conversation I've been dreading for three years.
"What are you getting at, Colt?"
"I'm getting at the way you looked at her just now." He leans against the counter, arms crossed, mirroring my posture. "Theway you've been looking at her for a while now, actually. Thought I was imagining it at first, but..."
"But what?"
"But then I saw her wearing your clothes. Saw you trying not to stare at her. Saw your face when I called her 'my girl.'" He pauses. "You want her."
My jaw clenches. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Bullshit. I've known you my whole life, Boone. I know what you look like when you want something you think you can't have. Seen it before with that mare Frank told you not to buy. With the land on the north ridge you wanted to expand into. With—"
"This isn't the same."
"No," he agrees quietly. "It's not. Because those were things. Nikky's a person. My person. My best friend since we were kids."
"I know who she is."
"Do you?" He steps closer. "Because from where I'm standing, it looks like you're seeing someone different than the girl who used to steal cookies from our kitchen and fall asleep on our couch during movie marathons."
He's right. I don't see that girl anymore. Haven't for three years.
"She's an adult," I say. "She's been an adult for a while now."
"She's twenty-two."
"I'm aware."
"You're thirty-eight."
"Also aware."
"And she's been hurt enough without—" He stops himself, jaw working. "How long?"
