It isn’t until about half an hour later that a truck appears on the horizon. Crew’s truck. It rolls down the long drive slowly, and the windows all begin sliding down. A woman with hair dark brown and thick emerges from the passenger side. She’s hoisting herself up to see over the top of the truck, and then she waves slowly, with a cupped hand, like a rodeo princess in the grand entry. Grace notices Renata start to wave excitedly with both hands.
The closer the truck gets, the easier it becomes to figure outwho the strange dark-haired woman is. The resemblance to her mother is uncanny—effortlessly beautiful and elegant. But her smile is all her father, lighting up her eyes and dimpling her cheeks. Whatreallygives it away, though, what makes it completely undeniable which family she belongs to, is the hard set of her brow and mouth when the truck suddenly starts bouncing, jostling her from side to side and interrupting her regal entrance. She slaps the top of the cab, cursing like a drunken sailor at Crew for tapping on the brakes. There’s not a single doubt in Grace’s mind. That’s Caia Caldwell. Crew’s little sister.
The truck slows to a stop in front of the house. Cooper is there in seconds, remarkably swift considering his still-recovering ankle, and he practically yanks his sister out of the cab and wraps her in a hug. Clint and Renata make their way over, and eventually, Grace turns away, feeling like she’s invading a private moment once she notices Clint trying to inconspicuously wipe his cheeks with the back of his hand.
The smell of barbecue wafts through the air, and Grace meanders over to the buffet, ravenous after skipping dinner to get ready for the party. She piles a couple of ribs and a chicken leg onto a plate, then covers every remaining inch of it with coleslaw, baked beans, and macaroni and cheese. Some of the guys are doing the same—Pierce’s pile of food is so high it looks like it’s about to topple over. Grace follows them back to their designated table and plops down, laying the denim napkin over her lap and praying she doesn’t get anything on June’s dress. Because she is about to shovel every last bite of this food into her mouth at warp speed.
The next time she looks up, feeling fit to burst, she finds the Caldwells have moved inward, all standing around their table,in the center of everything. Clint has his arm around Caia’s neck, and she is patting his cheek affectionately, talking to someone Grace doesn’t recognize. Cooper is gesturing animatedly at his mother, who seems quietly amused but only half listening, half laser focused on the cake across the way, which is currently being artfully stuck with small, golden candles.
Grace isn’t sure what she expected of the only Caldwell daughter—resentment due to the distance or Caia’s choice of career, maybe. But there’s nothing but warmth and familial recognition. It’s evident, between her and her parents of course, but even more between her and her brothers. Cooper yanks on a piece of her hair while she has her back turned, then points at Crew when she turns around. Caia reaches over and whacks the unsuspecting Crew’s shoulder, and he whirls around, indignant, and proceeds to drop his shoulder and lift her over it, sending her feet flying into the air and her fists slamming into his back. Renata and Clint, now standing next to each other with their fingers intertwined, seem completely unfazed.
Crew sets her down eventually, picking his bottle of Dos Equis back up, and tossing back a big swig as Cooper tests his luck once more with a wet willy in Caia’s ear. Caia practically tackles him, the two nearly tumbling into the grass. Crew watches them, content, and Grace watches him.
He hasn’t seen her yet. Hasn’t seen this…new look. For a brief moment, she contemplates running back to the bunkhouse to change into something moreher, because—does it look like she’s trying to fit in with the rest of these wealthy Texas ranchers? Is the makeup even still on her face? It’s hot and humid as hell this evening. Dozens of anxiety-inducing questions start tocascade through her head, and before she even realizes what’s happening, she’s standing up and leaving the table, removing herself from his line of sight. She orders a beer and then stands at the bar and drinks almost half of it in one go.
The sound of a clinking bottle echoes from her right, and she looks over to see Crew near a trash can made to look like a barrel, and now walking up to the bar. Grace stands frozen, just off to the side with her forearms pressed stiffly into the red-checkered cloth that covers the pop-up bar. She doesnotlook at Crew as he steps forward and asks the bartender for another beer. His voice is low and rumbling, and she can pick up whiffs of his scent from where she stands. His weird, spicy cologne is most prominent in his usual mix now, surprisingly intoxicating.Don’t inch closer,she scolds herself.And don’t you dare inhale as deeply as you want to.
She keeps her eyes trained on the mouth of her beer, but she can see in her peripheral vision when Crew turns his body and leans on his elbow, awaiting the dressing of his Dos Equis. His stare seems to drift over the party, taking it all in, until he finally spots her. For half a second, his head keeps moving, ready to look right past her.
But then he jerks his gaze back and goes completely still.
Even as the bartender sets the beer in front of him and motions for the next person, Crew doesn’t move an inch.
Grace decides then, even if just for a moment, she can be brave. She wants—needs—to see what he looks like, looking at her. Crew has looked at her many times, for many reasons, with everything from irritation and impatience to concern and curiosity. In his gaze now is something else. Something brand-newthat she can’t quite put a finger on. It’s more of a flurry of feeling than one specific emotion—somewhere in the realm of wonder, maybe a sprinkling of awe. She catalogs as much as she can, an exhilarating warmth starting to bloom in her belly.
“Hi,” she says, offering up a nervous smile. His appraising stare doesn’t falter; he doesn’t evenblink, let alone look away. Instead, his eyes drift down her body swiftly, and the heat in her abdomen starts to boil when she sees his breath catch, his jaw tic.
His voice is slightly raspy when he responds, maybe even a little dumbstruck. “Grace.”
Grace smiles. “Didn’t recognize me?”
Crew shakes his head. “No, of course I did—I just didn’t realize—” His lips pull together in a tight line, and his eyes seem to be moving independently of his brain, refusing to cooperate until they take their fill of her. “New dress?”
She almost laughs at the banality of it. The halfhearted attempt at having a normal conversation. “It’s June’s,” she says, giving a little twirl. Though the action, the showing off, is not something she’s adept at, Crew’sstilllooking at her. It sparks her confidence a little, and she holds out the hem near her knees, fanning out the flowy fabric. Showing it off, and, in the process, showing off her tanned, toned legs.
Crew’s eyes drop, and it happens again—that flexing jaw, unsettled and tense. He clears his throat, and Grace finds she is enjoying this maybe a little too much. This big, strong, stoic man turned fidgety and unsteady by a girl in a dress.
Byherin a dress.
She’s never had power like this before. She may as well enjoyit. “Do you like it?” she asks, because she’s enjoying playing with fire. It could be dangerous, calling direct attention to this tension between them, something that’s maybe always been there but is now buzzing and insistent, growing thicker by the second. It’s risky—it could be catastrophic, if looked at under a magnifying glass. But his eyes have turned wild, like she’s a five-course meal after years of bone-deep hunger—and it’s delicious, the anticipation radiating down her limbs, all the way to her toes. Crew’s mouth opens to answer; Grace sucks in a breath she’s unable to release.
“Grace—”
An unfamiliar female voice comes from behind her, closing in rapidly. Crew’s mouth snaps shut the second it hits his ears, and Grace can’t help but mourn whatever words he was about to say.
“Crew.” Grace turns to find Caia, short in stature but, like her mother, a titan of dominating energy. “Be polite and introduce me to your friend.”
Crew blinks, a too-long beat passing with him saying nothing at all. Caia grins, then turns to Grace. “I’m Caia,” she says, holding out a hand. “Sorry to interrupt.”
“Grace.” She shakes her hand. “Don’t be sorry. We were just—”
What?Grace bites the inside of her cheek.What were you just…?
Caia pays no mind to her stuttered sentence; she simply crosses over to stand near her brother and elbows him playfully in the ribs. “Flirting, it looked like. Or whatever crude imitation of it my brother could manage.”
Grace watches a subtle redness start to bloom on Crew’s cheeks. Caia grins up at him, then, to Grace, she says, “Grace, the magical horse whisperer, right?”
Grace flushes. Bashful and ill-equipped at taking compliments, she shakes her head. “I wouldn’t go that far.”
