Tate doesn’t push, or say much otherwise, but agrees to meet me later for training. Then I head inside and upstairs,and before I even open the door to my room, I know Quinn is inside. I swear I feel her footfalls vibrating from the first floor. I push inside and find her in her pajamas—a cropped T-shirt with Britney Spears on the front and boxer shorts rolled at the waist a trillion times. Her blonde hair is in one of those wads that women call a bun, and when she stops in front of the window, sunlight illuminates her freckles.
“You look beautiful,” I tell her, because I can’t not tell her, that’s how overwhelming her beauty is. She blinks at me, her bottom lip wobbles, and then she erupts into tears.
Tears do something to a man. They shuffle his brain around, I think, because I had no intention of coming up here to touch her and yet the moment she starts crying, she’s in my arms, in my lap, while I sit on the edge of my bed.
“What’s the matter, baby?” I stroke my fingers through her hair, but the calluses have gotten thick from all my hours on Tate’s bronc lately, and her hair sticks. Still, I drag them through as best I can, hoping my arms and words bring her comfort.
She clings to my shirt and I let her, and finally when she’s caught her breath, two mossy eyes blink up at me. “I feel so bad,” she sniffles. “I haven’t told my mom and sister about us. I mean, it’s not just that I haven’t told them, it’s that I went and did the most sacred, precious thing ever and didn’t even invite them!”
Iwantto make some good counter points.
For one, I want to remind her that this marriage is fake, and that missing out on a courthouse marriage that has a decided lifespan isn’t that big of a deal. But somehow I don’t feel like pointing that out. In fact, pointing that out makes my stomach twist and my energy go all haywire inside. I could also nudge her to calm by telling her Tate’s take, which is thatif we’re planning to annul this thing, she could forgo telling them altogether. What they don’t know can’t hurt them.
But none of that is the right thing to say, because she wouldn’t be stewing over this if it weren’t for me. So I say the only right thing to say. “I’m sorry, Quinn. I’m sorry I put you in this position and that it’s causing you strife.” I press a kiss to her hairline, and that seems to break the spell. She twists out of my arms and gets to her feet, and I stay on the edge of the bed, watching her.
“Can I tell my mom the truth? She won’t tell anyone, Laney won’t tell anyone, I promise they won’t. And I can make them sign an NDA or something. I mean, I don’t just walk around with a blank one but I?—”
I grab her wrist and tug her back down to my lap. “Of course we can tell them the truth. They don’t need to sign anything.” I motion to her phone. “Let’s call them up.”
She nods but then stops. “Video call?”
I shrug. “Sure.”
CHAPTER 19
TURNED TO MUSH BY A SMILE
“Mom,Lane, I have a few big things to tell you.”
Lane takes a bite of her cereal, not bothering to look at the phone when she guesses, “You got knocked up by the bull rider dude you’re filming.”
“Bull rider?” Landry mouths.
“He’s a bronc rider, Lane,” I correct, and now she looks up, glaring at me through the phone.
“You said bull rider. Mom, she said bull rider, right?" My sister is always trying to make me look just a little bad because that’s what little—and big—sisters are about. I flop down on Landry’s bed, tipping my head against the headboard, and sigh. “Listen,” I say, adjusting the grip on the phone so that I don’t accidentally lock thescreen. “I was wrong about that. I didn’t read the email clearly and… I didn’t know there was more than just bull riding at a rodeo.”
Landry clears his throat so loudly that the walls rattle, and I cut him a sympathetic glance, mouthing the words “I’m sorry” as he glares.
“Anyway, he’s a bronc rider and?—”
Mom appears in the frame. “Who’d you just mouth I’m sorry to?”
It occurs to me as Landry shoves his way onto the bed, poking his head into the frame, that calling her on video would have been better in any other room than this one. “Is that— Oh, it is,” Mom says, her voice softening as Landry lifts a massive hand to say hello.
“Mom, this is the star ofThe Comeback Rider, Landry Vaughn.” I introduce Landry to her, then turn and face him. “Landry, this is my mom, Diane Farley, and my sister, Lane Farley.” I look at the screen, where my mom’s face hogs most of the camera. “Mom, sit back so Landry can see Lane.”
“Oh, my goodness, excuse me,” she says, sitting back, her mug of coffee between her hands.
Lane looks up and does a double take, her eyes sticking to Landry on the second pass. “Holy shit.”
Mom nudges her with an angry elbow only moms can throw and not look mean doing. “Lane,” she scolds.
“Hi,” Lane says. “I’m Lane.”
“Hi there, Lane,” Landry greets, his deep voice and Southern drawl setting off the usual flare of desire in my groin. Lane’s cheeks get pink, and she smiles. “And hello, Ms. Farley. It’s very nice to meet you both.”
I’m really ready to hard launch the whole situation, skip the preamble and small talk, but Landry does something I never expected.
