Page 105 of Saddle Storm

“We don’t have to talk about why you don’t like me—we can talk about Storm.”

I chuckle and take a sip. “Like there isn’t a lecture hidden there.”

“Wh—I don’t lecture you.”

I glare at him.

“All right fine, so maybe I do. But I was only going to ask how . . . things are going.”

I don’t answer that loaded question. Instead, I take the opening to thank him. “They’re going. And thanks for giving her the cottage, I feel better with them there.”

“I didn’t. You did. Sure are doin’ a helluva lot for her and Max.”

“I care about them.”

“So do we. But we’re not givin’ away hundred-thousand-dollar cars.”

I glare up at him. “You know what I mean.”

He considers it for a moment, with a distant look that reminds me of Dad’s the other day. “Yeah, I know what you mean.”

He stands. “Been seein’ updates on my feed about you two. It’s out there. Sure you know what you’re doing?”

“Is this concern for me or for Storm?”

“Neither. Storm’s a big girl. She’s handled a broken heart before.”

“Your confidence in me is overwhelming,” I mutter.

He chuckles. “Just be careful.”

“No one cares more about Storm and that boy than I do.”

He nods. “I believe it. I’ll see you tonight.”

33

I help Max out of his Spider-Man costume and into the shower after the long night at the Halloween festival and enough candy to last through New Year’s, then meet Silas in the kitchen. He’s unloading the refrigerator like he plans on cooking. But we’ve already eaten plenty tonight.

He’s in a Henley that hugs his chest and biceps. It hangs loose over his abs, but I can still see his muscles flex as he starts to chop celery absently.

“What are you doing?” I chuckle, leaning on the kitchen island.

He’s got a boiling pot going and chicken soup ingredients spread across the counter. “Haven’t you worked that arm enough tonight?” I wince as he attempts peeling carrots with his left hand. It’s so aggressive, I’m afraid he might miss and peel skin off.

He doesn’t stop. He doesn’t even look up, his eyes laser-focused. “Silas?”

He blinks up, noticing me. “Hey.” Then glances toward the shower. “Everything all right?”

I narrow my eyes. “I was going to ask you that. Did you forget it’s ten o’clock and we’re all stuffed from the festival?”

He stares down at the counter with the spread of vegetables. “Just thought I’d make something warm for the two of you, it was cold out there tonight.”

I watch him curiously, pursing my lips and hopping on a stool to watch him.

He glances up, brief hesitation in his expression. “You said something the other day about going to plenty of rodeos. When was your first?”

The question catches oddly in my chest, but I mentally shake it off. “Oh, I was twenty? I think. I was just shy of drinking age, so it wasn’t as fun as it could’ve been.”