Chapter Colt #2
“What the hell?” Jonas grips the box in one hand, clinging to the door handle with his other to stop from toppling sideways during the sudden, jarring turn.
“Dude, we forgot the most important part of any girl’s birthday.” The truck barrels down the road, through deep potholes and across a cattle guard. “Luckily, I have a spot where I grab flowers for my mom from time to time.”
Around one last bend, I pull to the side of the dirt road and look out at a field of wildflowers.
At one point a few years back, it was a logging cut block.
And the absence of thick forest, combined with a lot of rotting logs and branches to provide nutrients, means the field’s covered in a variety of wildflowers from May to September.
Each vying for sunlight, they stand knee high and sway softly in the slightest breeze.
The pickings are slimmer today than they would be if Whit’s birthday were even a few weeks earlier, but we have enough options with vibrant red paintbrush, pale blue lupines, and yellow balsam root coating the earth.
“I don’t think Mom cares about flowers.”
“Women like to pretend they don’t care about flowers—my mom used to insist they were a waste because they wilt so quickly. But her face lights up every time I bring her a bouquet from this field.” Tossing open my truck door, I let Betty scramble out before me.
Jonas stands at the edge of the field, tossing a stick for Betty while I scour the sun-soaked wildflowers, picking only the best. About ten minutes and one bee sting later, my arms are loaded, and I hop back into the pickup.
· · ·
Keeping Betty off both the flowers and the cupcakes is wildly stressful, and a loud sigh of relief fills the cab when we finally pull into the driveway. I barely get the flowers out of the way before Betty’s scrambling over me to get out.
Jonas pushes the front door open, letting Betty run inside ahead of us. And when I’m kicking off my shoes, Whit traipses down the stairs in a pair of tight black trousers and a white button-up blouse. She must’ve clocked out of work mere moments ago.
“Happy birthday, Mama.” I hold out the bouquet, and something in my chest soars when Whit’s gaze travels from the flowers to my face. She comes alive, her gorgeous smile spreading to her glimmering green eyes.
Jonas hops over some sneakers scattered on the floor, jutting the white box toward her. “We made you cupcakes.”
“Wait, really? You made them?” She gets choked up on the words. “How…how did I get so lucky?”
Whit pulls Jonas in for a hug, which he groans about, and rests her cheek on top of his head. They stay there for a beat, until he’s groaning even louder, mumbling something about being unable to breathe and how her tears are messing with his hair.
“Thanks, you guys.” She kisses his head, slowly letting go of her intense hold. “This is the best present ever.”
“Don’t say that until you’ve actually seen the cupcakes,” I say.
The three of us walk into the kitchen, and I lean my hip into the counter right next to Whit. A snort escapes her nose when she opens the box, her free hand shooting up to wipe away the tears suddenly streaming down her cheeks. It kills me to not be able to reach out and wipe them myself.
“Th-they’re…uh—I’m sure they taste better than they look.” Whit laughs, plucking a sour key from the top of a cupcake and slipping it between her lips.
“Promise they’ll be the best you’ve ever had. Beryl’s the magic behind them. We mostly stuck to decorating,” I say.
“Love the color choice.”
Arms folded on top of the counter, Jonas beams at her. “I picked it.”
“I can’t wait to try one.” She grabs a cupcake from the box and carefully peels back the wrapper. “You guys better have one, too.”
Jonas eagerly reaches in. Beryl let him try one back at the ranch, and every second since has been a lesson in self-control.
Taking a large bite, Whit tosses her head back with a moan. It’s clearly exaggerated to hype up her kid, but my dick doesn’t get the memo. Then her tongue pokes out to lick away a dab of orange frosting, and I have to set my cupcake down so I can grip the counter for stability before I pass out.
It should be a crime to have lips so plump and soft-looking—so deserving of worship—and not have somebody kissing them every chance they get. Ideally that somebody being me.
I look over at the little boy happily eating cupcakes with his mom, and my own mother’s unsolicited guidance rings in my ears.
Take it slow. All I want is for you to be happy. Don’t do anything to add to the instability. Find someone to marry and give me grandbabies to spoil.
Talk about conflicting advice.
Jonas loves me. Surely he would be thrilled about me dating his mom. I just have to tell him the truth.
Jonas, I like your mom and would love your blessing to ask her out. Maybe kiss her, too.
“Why are you staring at me?” Jonas pulls a face. “It’s already weird enough you look like discount Riley Green with that”—he holds his finger across his upper lip to mimic a mustache—“and now you’re staring like you’re about to sing me a love song.”
Whit coughs, choking a bit on a piece of cake.
“My brother is discount Riley Green. I’m going for discount Burt Reynolds.” I shoot a glance at Whit. “I have it on good authority that women love him.”
Jonas narrows his eyes. “I don’t know who that is.”
“Hrm. I definitely see the Riley Green resemblance, between the mustache and cut-off shirts and general cowboy-ness.” Whit taps a thoughtful finger against the side of her jaw. “Not a bad comparison. Riley’s hot.”
Jonas, I’m going to kiss your mom whether you approve or not. Sorry, buddy.
“Jonas,” Whit says as she licks her thumb clean of frosting. “Go grab all your stuff for your sleepover with Grandma and Grandpa tonight.”
He stares at the box. “Can I—”
“Yes, you can take a cupcake for the walk over there.” She shakes her head with a smile, watching him bound up to his bedroom.
“Thank you,” she whispers to me once Jonas is out of earshot. “I know this was all your idea.”
With mock confusion, I reply, “Nah, this was all little man. He wanted to make sure you had a good day.”
“It’s definitely shaping up to be pretty great.” She shifts her weight from one foot to another, and her hip knocks against mine. Neither of us makes a move to separate, and I’m tempted to slide a hand around her waist to pull her even closer. Feel the heat of her body against mine.
“I hear we’re going out for drinks tonight?”
“Somehow Blair and Denny talked me into it. I don’t get out much…gives people more ammunition.”
“More ammunition?”
“Yeah, I don’t know if you’ve been a victim of the Wells Canyon gossip mill, but it’s not fun.”
“What’s there to say about a grown woman celebrating her birthday?”
“Easy for you to say. You don’t have moms on the playground making snarky teen mom jabs at the age of twen— Ew I’m thirty today.” Her index finger reaches to buff out the finest of lines between her eyebrows, like it’s something that’s been bugging her since long before this conversation.
Because she’s hot as hell, and she’ll probably be pissed at herself later for rubbing a red spot between her eyes, I shoot my hand out to grab her wrist. She lets her hand fall to her side, fingers catching on mine in a breathless movement, and we’re holding hands.
Or something like it, anyway. Her finger hooks around mine to keep me with her, and zaps of electrical current skitter under my skin like Pop Rocks.
My gut’s tied up in so many knots I could crap crochet.
“Thirty is hotter than twenty-nine. Nobody says ‘Oh, I love a twenty-nine-degree Celsius day,’ but if the weather app says it’s thirty, I’m grabbing a case of beer and heading for the river.”
Whit blinks at me. “That doesn’t even make sense, but somehow it made me feel better.”
“Good. That’s what I’m here for, Mama.”
Her green eyes swirl with wonder, holding steady on mine, our silence full of words.