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“You’re right. I do. I love her.” Those three words fall easily from my lips.

“I could have told you that.” He laughs, shaking his head, before the grin on his lips forms a flat line. “It’s going to get messy.”

“It already is,” I say raggedly.

I’ve lived this last week like I’m waiting for the boot to drop. Too good to be true, especially in Tempest. But we have security. Cameras. She doesn’t leave the ranch without me.

“You ready for this? Her here in Tempest? This town takes, Cole.” Warren shoots me a concerned look. “She’s already come close.”

“She has.” I think of Jack, I think of my parents, and my heart wrenches. The thought of losing Delilah, of someone taking her is more than I can bear.

“You gotta show her it’s permanent.” Warren holds out his palm, flashing his scar. “Not this dark. But this deep.”

Forever.

Loving Delilah is easier than breathing. Because not once, not since I lost my parents, since I lost Jack, have I wanted to stop.

“She’s got you to come around.” Warren nods slowly. “This summer we’ve seen more of you than we ever really have.”

“I know,” I admit, scrubbing a hand over my jaw, letting myself feel the weight of the past. “I shouldn’t have stayed away as long as I did.”

“We’ve all run in our different ways,” Warren muses, a distracted tone to his voice.

I understand what he means. Ezra took over the distillery. River retreated to the safety of his mountain. Wells rescues others because he never had a chance to rescue himself. I left home because ghosts haunted every corner of it. War needs to win at everything he does, because if he doesn’t, everything he gave up would mean nothing.

“Do you blame me? For leaving?” I stare at his hockey picture behind the bar. He played two years before he returned home to take care of our brothers.

“No. You did what you had to do, and I did too.” He shifts his eyes to me. “You had a life, Cole.”

“So did you.”

“Yeah. But you all became my life.” He cracks a grin. “Too late, too old to get out of it now.” He slaps my back. “Forgive yourself. We have. Jack would.”

I swallow hard. I didn’t know I needed my brother’s words, but they crack my chest open. Make that dark hole shrink.

“You’re back now. That’s what matters.” He tilts his head. “You got a good woman. I hope she stays.”

“I hope so too.”

“You look like you’re about to climb on the back of one of your bulls.” Warren chuckles, amusement dancing in his blue eyes.

“That’s what it feels like.” A flurry of nerves floats through my stomach, and suddenly I wish I had a glass of whiskey to cut through the hard hammer of my heart.

I know what I want. Now I have to figure out how to say it.

38 Delilah

It’s a Weston family affair, bottling whiskey.

We sit on stools at a long metal table in the Coop, assembling the limited-edition whiskey bottles. The bottling room is loud with the hum of machines and lively conversation. Tonight, it’s Cole’s choice of music. The Red Clay Strays’ lively guitar pulls blast from the speakers. Cy, Bo, and Leon head out for the day, shouting goodbyes as they exit the Coop.

At the filling rods, Ezra and Vaughn wait as the whiskey is poured into amber bottles. River works as a conveyor belt, quickly moving them down the line to where Wells, Hassie, Warren, and I seal them with a cork.

In a corner, Cole assembles boxes, then labels them with the bottling date. Evangeline dances to the music. Waldo and Jelly Belly weave around the distillery floor, their soft mewls a plea for a pet. Wyoma bustles between stations, humming her own song and pouring shots.

“Shots!” Wells, freshly back from Cheyenne’s rodeo circuit, pounds on the table, rattling bottles and glasses, and everyone lifts a glass to their lips. It’s Weston custom to take a shot every hour. Currently, we’re on hour three.

Strike that, hour four.