Chapter Twelve
The sun set at six fifty-five p.m. in the fall, so Zoey had told Hunter to pick her up around five-thirty. He’d immediately replied by saying he’d be at her house at five-thirty on the dot, but knowing him, Zoey suspected he’d actually be a little earlier than that.
She primped more than she would have for Rooster, but it wasn’t like this was any old ride. It was a date. Ah, the wonderful way that word wrapped around her when associated with Hunter Westbrook. She loved the way he made it all official and clear that he was asking her out. She stood by the door at five twenty-five, way more eager than she should be and not at all worried about letting it show. Every sound, every tap of a bare branch against the window had her dashing to the door and swinging it wide, a smile on her face.
When five-thirty came and went, she felt her ire rise. What she’d thought was going to happen—being swept off her feet at the door—was wishful thinking on her part. Guys had been a few minutes late to pick her up before, and she’d never cared. Though she hadn’t given a fig about any of those guys, which explained why she was upset over Hunter’s tardiness.
She cared.
She cared so much that when five forty-five blinked on the microwave clock, she stormed over to Brandon’s house for some company. Keeping a cool head would be easier if there were witnesses. And if she was stood up, Brandon could sneak over to Hunter’s and shoot holes in all his hats.
Brandon and Allie had the night off from the festival, and they were vegging out and watching a movie. Honey sprawled out over half the couch with his head on Allie’s lap, and he wagged his tail with loud whomping thumps when Zoey came in. Zoey couldn’t blame them for kicking their fuzzy socks up on the coffee table. She’d only been here about three weeks now, and she had to admit that they worked hard from sunup to sundown—and not just at the festival but on their property too.
Brandon had even taken it upon himself to finish up the arena by installing panels. They were temporary and would eventually be replaced with a permanent fence line, but they worked. Zoey had felt a little bad about him taking over her project, but it wasn’t like she’d made him do it. In fact, she hadn’t even asked him to. She’d come home one day, and he was out there driving T-posts into the ground. Which kind of ticked her off. But right now she was mad about Hunter being late—and possibly not showing up at all—and she couldn’t spare the head space to be mad at her brother too.
Besides, there was still the possibility that he’d need to black ops his way into Hunter’s and remove the buckles from all his belts, so she wanted Brandon on her side.
Zoey plopped down in the small space left between her brother and the end of the couch, and he sucked it in a little. She was a little amused that neither her brother nor Allie had thought to make Honey move. Zoey certainly wasn’t going to say anything; if an animal put his head on your lap and fell asleep like Honey did with Allie, there was an unspoken rule that you just left them.
Brandon had his arm around Allie, and Allie was leaning into him as she stroked Honey’s head. They were watching some old black-and-white cowboy film, of all things. Her brother was such a nerd.
“What is this?” she asked, and even she could hear the slight note of grumpiness in her voice. It didn’t help that her hair smelled like vanilla and honey—thanks to the conditioner Allie had given her. The scent reminded her that tonight was supposed to be a special occasion.
“Hondo,” Brandon said.
Yep, definitely a nerd. Like their dad. He’d loved Louis L’Amour too. That thought almost made her grin. Almost.
Brandon ran his hand through Allie’s hair as he spoke to Zoey. Honestly, it didn’t bother Zoey all that much. She’d grown up climbing onto his lap during a number of his dates. No biggie. “I thought you were going out with Hunter tonight?” he asked.
She cleared her throat and tried to speak as calmly as she could. At five thirty-five, she’d shot off a text to Hunter to see if he was okay. Five minutes after that, she’d called him. No response. She was ticked because all signs pointed to him standing her up. But she didn’t want her brother to know that. Not yet. When the time was right, she’d find a screwdriver so Brandon could get the rowels out of all of Hunter’s spurs. See how he liked that!
“Yep,” she said, not wanting to risk saying more and getting her overprotective big brother unnecessarily upset at one of his best friends.
Allie chuckled. “Trouble in paradise?”
“Nope.” Zoey folded her arms. There was no trouble—yet.
They left her alone after that. She set her phone to vibrate and put it on her leg. It remained silent and unmoving. Ten minutes passed and not so much as a buzz, let alone a knock at the door or a truck tire on the gravel road.
By six, she had a full-blown hurricane inside of her head. She popped up off the couch, her frustrated energy getting the better of her and sending her to pacing—something she never did.
Brandon and Allie looked at her curiously—even Honey sat up and stared. “What’s up?” Allie asked.
“Just going to go meet Hunter,” she said, faking enthusiasm. She couldn’t believe he’d stood her up! She’d never thought him capable—not without a phone call and a darn good excuse at the very least. The man had better be half-dead in the barn, or that’s where he’d find himself when she was done with him.
Brandon leaned forward. “Wasn’t he supposed to pick you up?”
Zoey narrowed her eyes at her brother. For all her planning revenge that included Brandon, she wasn’t really going to drag him into this. “This isn’t some prairie dance where big brothers stand around with shotguns and threaten potential dance partners with steely glares. Women can meet men places for dates, Brandon.”
He blinked. “Okay then. Go meet him.” He waved her off.
She stormed out of the room, already regretting snipping at her brother. It wasn’t him she was mad at. It was Hunter, and he was going to get an earful. Right now.
But Brandon followed. She rushed to the door, wanting to get out before he reached her, and yanked it open. Brandon’s hand shot out, slamming it closed again. “Zoey, wait.”
She rounded on him and snapped, “What?”
“The Westbrooks are my friends.” He stepped back from the door, hands up. “Don’t break Hunter.”
