That tells me that I’m about to get screamed at. My brother doesn’t do calm. He’s a loose cannon, and he’s about to blow.
“Yes.”
“And you left that part outwhy?” he asks with the same calmness that sends a shiver down my spine.
I laugh once, faking a bravado that is meant to hide my irritation at my big mouth. “Why do you think? Maybe because you all react like this, every single time anyone brings up their names.”
Momma clears her throat. “Tristan is who helped you when you got stuck in the storm?”
“Yes, Momma.”
“Why?”
I blink. “Umm…because I was stuck and he saw me…?”
I don’t know what other reason there would be.
She looks to my father. “Did you know he was who helped her, George?”
“No.” That one word is like a bullet.
The room stays quiet, and I know I need to fix this, because they were enjoying their usual Stone bashing, and I went and ruined it. Time for some damage control. I make my voice a little nonchalant like I didn’t drop a bomb on them and scoop up some potatoes on my fork. “All I’m saying is that Tristan was kind to me. He drove me home, made sure I was safe, and…I asked him about the pranks, and he said it wasn’t them. He didn’t know who it was, but maybe we’re all so convinced that it’s them that we’re missing something,” I suggest. When I look at my family’s blank stares, I realize that I’m really, really bad at this. “Maybe?”
I pop my fork into my mouth and pray I choke or something, so I die by potato instead of my brothers.
Ryan scoffs. “We’ve been dealing with their bullshit for decades, Lark. You know this. How the hell can you defend them?”
I swallow and do not choke.
Damn it.
“I’m not defending them. I’m just pointing out that we are so hell-bent on saying they’re doing it, thatmaybewe’re blinded by hate. Also, it’s not been decades.”
My father speaks up. “I think you’re wrong there. I’ve been dealing with it my entire life.”
“And maybe they feel the same about us,” I challenge. “Besides, we don’t know they’re doing it.”
I’m going to stick to those facts. My family fails to remember that they have also been a part of the long-standing feud between the families. My father, grandfather, and his father before him were all part of it. They’ve done petty things back and forth. There’s a rumor that my great-great-great-grandfather slept with a Stone’s wife. It’s very muddy, and truly not everyone’s finest moments.
While I’m not saying this current batch of Stones isn’t causing the drama on our land, we’re not exactly innocent over the decades either.
He crosses his arms over his broad chest. “Then who’s doing it?”
“I don’t know,” I say quickly. I look to Momma, hoping that the kind, loving woman who resides in her heart will make her way out.
Her gaze moves from mine to my brothers’, then to my father’s. We all wait, because as much as my father likes to think he’s the head of the house, we all know it’s Momma. She and Daddy have some unspoken communication, and then my father places his fork and knife down and folds his hands together.
“He didn’t ask for anything in return after helping?” Daddy asks.
“No.”
“He just…was kind to you?”
“Yes.”
He also is who returned my truck to the driveway, but I leave that out. No need to stoke the fire.
Daddy nods. “And you believe the tale he spun that he’s not doing things to our farm? The farm that has nurtured your love of horses, fed you, kept you safe for your entire life?”
