Page 29 of Saddle Storm

“Wow. You sure? I mean, she looks like she freaks out easily.” I chuckle.

“More sure about her than I’ve been about anything.”

“Does Wes know?”

“You’re the first one I’ve told.”

I glare at him.

“Okay, Dallas . . . and Dad. And he probably told Ginger.”

I shake my head. “Well at least I’m not last.” I chuckle. “Geez, can you guys keep a secret at all?”

Guilt flashes in his eyes before he drops his gaze. “As a matter of fact, we can.”

A little after lunch, I park my car outside The Shack and step inside the restaurant for my afternoon caffeine fix. The smell of grilled meat and low hum of conversation wraps around me.

Wesley’s behind the bar, helping the waitstaff as usual. He winks when he sees me and says something to the girl at the coffee bar and she nods.

“Hey,” Wes calls, glancing out the window. “Pretty ballsey driving that thing with one hand.”

I grin. “We understand each other.”

He huffs a laugh, shaking his head. “Not a risk I’d take. Come on back to the kitchen. They’re all in there.”

I frown and it’s followed by a resigned sigh.

Great. More people.

Where I lived in the city, I have my own place, my own quiet. Noise and company came in predictable doses. Practice, games, locker rooms, the occasional bar where camaraderie is a choice but more importantly, temporary. Things I didn’t always have growing up out here, where space is shared and opinions are loud, with no way of shutting it out or knowing when the next one’s coming.

And heck, I might have even missed that under different circumstances. Right now, everywhere I turn, there’s someone keeping an eye on my recovery, weighing in, offering advice I didn’t ask for. A nearly newlywed couple tangled up in each other. Wedding plans, babies. My dad dropping his wisdom in careful, half-phrased sentences. And one angry, beautiful blonde I can’t seem to read no matter how hard I try.

Now I can barely stop in for my iced coffee without someone pulling me into the kitchen like it’s some group sport.

I nod, because saying no feels rude, and it’s not like I have an excuse to bail.

I follow him into the large gourmet kitchen. Equipped with appliances Dad would have never spent the kind of money on when he ran it. There’s a large island with a built-in sink. It’s not industrially bright, there’s still that natural light beaming in from the windows, but still pretty modern.

Dad is sitting on the bar stool along with Ellie and that kid I met yesterday—Max—each with a bowl of ice cream. Dallas is pacing along the opposite side of the counter on the phone, stressed enough to make me think it’s a wedding vendor. He doesn’t stress like this over work.

All but my brother turn when Wes and I enter.

I look at Max first, giving him a wink as his eyes stretch wide.

“Uncle Silas!” Ellie jumps off the counter and races to me.

“Ellie, he can’t—”

I lift my niece up with one arm—proving Dad wrong—and bring her in for a quick squeeze. She just turned eight and is noticeably heavier than when she first joined our family last summer. “How’s my favorite girl?”

“Grandpa let me have chocolate ice cream with sprinkles.”

“I can see that,” I say, eyes roaming over the chocolate smudge around the lower half of her face. I set her on the counter.

“Everyone can see that,” Dallas adds, still on the phone as he walks over with a wet paper towel. I take it from him and start wiping Ellie’s face.

“Hey, kid.” I glance over at Max. “Good to see you again. What flavor you got?”