Lane comes inside. “I tried to tell them.”
“Don’t worry about it.” I slump on the couch. “If we were in Bourbon Canyon, I wouldn’t have gotten left alone. I don’t intend to complain about people caring about me.”
He chuckles and returns to his seat. “True. Still hits odd though, doesn’t it?”
“Always.” The second I mentally returned to the old, dirty house I grew up in, a Bailey would magically show up to chat, and it didn’t matter where I was on the ranch. “I just want to help her. Even if I lose her, I have to know she’s safe.”
“You don’t think that guy will leave her alone?”
“Not him and not her ex.”
“Her ex in jail?”
I lift my head. He’s frowning, and my gaze strays to the office I barely use. I pay any bills that aren’t automatic and keep important documents in it. Junk mail gets tossed there. Along with the letters I don’t read from our dad.
I stare a little longer. Her ex needs to be stopped.
“You should talk to Mae,” Lane says carefully, “before you do anything impulsive. Maybe even Myles.”
“I’m not going to do anything impulsive.”
He gives me a hard look.
I did deck a guy today. I would’ve stomped on him, hooked him to my hitch, and dragged him out of town.
Talking to Myles or Mae is a good idea. They set me on the right path a long time ago and kept me there. “I’d like to go over this in person, but I don’t know when I can get to Bourbon Canyon.”
“Tomorrow. I can cover the distillery with Haven. The guys won’t mind. You know that. Go do what you gotta do.” His attention touches on the office. “Take as long as you need.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Cruz
Shortly after lunch on Sunday, I walk into the back door of Mae’s house and wipe my boots off like I used to do. Voices and laughter fill the air of the sprawling log cabin. The kitchen opens to my right and the rest of the house sprawls beyond it. To my left is the laundry room. So damn familiar and more homey feeling than my own place.
Tate Bailey, Mae’s oldest kid, rounds the corner from the dining room and slaps me on the shoulder. His beard is still neatly trimmed, but there’s gray in it when there was none when I first met him. “Nice to see you back, but you missed the meal.”
I spent the morning helping with chores to clear my head before the drive and to wake me up after a restless night of sleep. Torn between whether I should reach out to Elodie or wait for her to do so first, I looked at my phone a million times.
It’s her choice to reach out to me. I’ll leave her alone like she asked. Doesn’t mean I won’t take care of her.
“Did I make it in time for dessert?” My appetite hasn’t made an appearance, but I forced myself to have toast for breakfast. Eggs would’ve stolen the urge to eat a single morsel.
“It’s always time for dessert.” Tate grins. “Madison keeps Mama stocked with goodies, but Mama made a pie with the cherries from this year.”
I’ll stay away from Madison’s baked goods. I don’t know if I’ll get to take Elodie to Scooter’s Confections one day. If I have a single cupcake from there, Mae will find me wallowing in a corner.
I leave the kitchen and its many good memories to enter the dining room, where I’m greeted by Tate’s family. Myles and Wynter are there with their kids, who push away from the table to give me hugs.
My niece, Elsa, leads me to a seat, and a plate of cherry pie is slid in front of me. Chatter resumes like I never interrupted, and I appreciate that no pointed questions are aimed my way.
I cut a giant piece off and shove it into my mouth. Questions fill my head. Does Elodie like to make pie? Are they too time-consuming when she’s the only baker? She mentioned rhubarb and— My throat grows so thick I have a hard time swallowing. Goddammit.
Elodie and her damn independent streak is going to be her undoing.
But it won’t be her fucking ex.
I somehow finish the rest of my pie, barely tasting it, and that’s a shame. Each bite makes me think of Elodie and one of her baked goods. Does she ever use cherries? What if Mae gave her some? Would she like some even if she’s done with me?
