Colt
Whit: Jonas is sitting right next to me. He could’ve looked over and seen that.
Getting out of the truck, I glance over at where Whit’s slapping her phone down on the weathered wooden picnic table, green dress fluttering mid-thigh, lifting as gently as the notes of country music from the Bluetooth speaker.
Her brown ponytail falls to one side of her head, then the other, as she busies herself helping Beryl prepare food.
Standing there, doing nothing but slicing a cucumber, she’s the best thing about this place.
Betty runs and throws herself into my legs with a force that nearly dislocates my knees. Lapping at my hands until they’re drenched in dog slobber. You’d think I’d abandoned her here for weeks.
“Sorry, girl. You know you’re always number one, but I couldn’t turn down a sleepover with my other lady.
” Her ears flop around with my rough neck scratches.
Apparently it feels so good she has to sit down and join in with the wild kicking of her back foot.
Her nails catch on my hand, and I pull away to let her hit whatever spot I wasn’t quite getting.
“Anyway, I brought you home a puppuccino.”
Leaving her to scratch and roll around on the gravel, I turn and grab her treat from the cup holder. She practically inhales it, leaving creamy residue on her whiskers and muzzle. Oh yeah, I’m forgiven.
“You’re a wreck,” I say to her through a laugh, strolling toward the party.
Practically feral barefooted kids weave between adults and picnic tables and coolers.
I narrowly avoid collision with Kate and Jackson’s toddler, Rhett, as he wobbles his way behind the older kids.
If there’s one thing the Wells family likes to do, it’s host a family gathering.
And the Labor Day party is always open invitation to ranch hands, friends, family, and whoever wants an excuse to drink beer around a fire.
Thanks to the scorching summer we’ve had, a fire ban prevents us from having a bonfire to gather around, but there’s a makeshift propane firepit and enough liquor we could sit around an orange traffic cone and nobody would care.
But Whit is here, and despite my promises to keep things platonic, my feet automatically move in her direction.
When Whit takes notice, the drift of her eyes over every inch of my body drenches me in sunlight.
And it takes damn near everything in me not to run, grab her by the waist, and spin her around in front of everyone.
There’s something primal and caveman-esque in the way I look at her with all our friends around, wanting to kiss her—claim her—for everyone to see.
Except, for Jonas’s sake, Whit and I are nothing more than friends today.
Friends who lock eyes and let the entire world fall away.
But yeah…just friends.
Finally reaching the picnic table, I pick up a cracker and wink at Whit. “Hey, Mama.”
Fucking hell, do I love the way she reacts every time I say those words.
I don’t even know if she’s aware of how obvious her wanton expression is, but the way her lips battle a smile and the change in her breathing are clear as a damn bell.
I can’t help but wonder if she’s already getting wet under that pretty little dress.
“Hey.” Her eyes cut to Jonas, who’s clearing the table of cheese and sausage faster than Beryl can cut it. “What did the mechanic have to say?”
I killed forty-five minutes at Anette’s after leaving their house to make it believable that I went back to the mechanic. That’s how they beat me to the party.
“Oh, you know…wallet’s a few hundred bucks lighter.”
Around a mouthful of cheese, Jonas mumbles my name, stealing my attention away from his mom. Wide-eyed and clearly eager to tell me something, he races to swallow his food before exclaiming, “Austin gave me money for working here all summer.”
“Are you offering to pay to fix my truck, moneybags?” I ask.
Jonas aggressively shakes his head. “No way. The money’s all mine.”
“For college,” Whit clarifies. “You’re too young to have an actual job, but the ranch generously contributed to your college fund…like a scholarship.”
“So I bust my butt all summer and my reward is school? This is a scam.” With a snarl, he turns back to the cheese platter.
Laughing under our breath, Whit and I focus on each other again.
Her squint in the afternoon sun has me reaching for the dark glasses sitting on top of her head without a second thought, and her nose crinkles slightly when I slide the black frames over her eyes.
The self-control it takes not to kiss her is waning fast, so I nod my head toward the guys circled up in lawn chairs.
“Come sit when you’re done,” I say, reaching into the cooler at her feet.
Beer in hand, I grab a folded-up lawn chair and drag it across the ground, the metal legs bouncing and clinking over rocks.
And I set it up on a shady patch of lawn next to Red, who has his sleeping baby tucked into the crook of his arm.
He glances at me in his periphery when I plop down, nodding a hello.
Denny and Blair are spread out on the lawn, lost in their own conversation. They got engaged a few days ago, and apparently also found a way to permanently conjoin their bodies. I haven’t seen Denny without Blair at his side in weeks.
“How’s the little one?” I peer over, pulling my sunglasses from my face and hanging them off the collar of my sleeveless T-shirt.
Hazel’s all passed out and floppy in a pink T-shirt and diaper—no pants.
Damn, babies really do have it made in the shade.
I’d kill to zonk out like her right now.
I was so paranoid about oversleeping and breaking Whit’s trust that I barely closed my eyes last night.
“She ate her weight in pureed carrots and apple sauce before this nap, so pretty damn good day for a six-month-old.”
“She’s sleeping like Austin had her up for work at three a.m.”
“She’s up at four every morning like clockwork, man.” Red slips a finger into her splayed hand. “Born to be a cowgirl. Cass fucking hates it.”
Denny pipes up. “Put her in a baby carrier and bring her to work. We already listen to Rob’s crying every day. What’s a little more?”
“I’d rather hang out with a cute baby at four a.m. than Rob.” I twist my fingers around the long neck of my beer bottle and pull it to my parched lips. “I like babies.”
Cassidy sinks into a chair next to Red, reaching out to massage the nape of his neck. “Are you guys talking about babies? What bizarre alternate universe did I walk into?”
Hazel stirs in Red’s lap, waking up with a slow blink up at the sunny sky. Scooping under her arms, Red lifts her so she’s sitting in his lap, yawning and simultaneously shoving her entire hand in her mouth.
Blair stretches her casted foot out in front of her. “Hazelnut’s so cute, even the boys are getting baby fever.” She leans over to nudge Denny, letting her head fall to his shoulder.
I need my mom to give her whole take it slow speech again so I can record it and keep that shit on loop in my ear at all times. It’s fucking killing me not to publicly declare that Whit and I are together so I can pull her into my lap.
“Nah, we just like getting practice for making the baby. Speaking of which—” Denny’s focus veers to me, bringing everybody else’s eyes along for the ride. “Heard you didn’t come home, and Betty was howling outside your door all night.”
“A gentleman doesn’t fuck and tell, okay?”
Cassidy slaps a hand over her mouth to keep from spitting pop everywhere. “It’s kiss and tell.”
“Even if we did more than kiss?”
“Jesus Christ, man.” Red shakes his head, ignoring the way his kid has now started trying to shove her hand into his mouth.
“That’s all I’m saying about that.” I slump farther into my chair with a discreet peek at my girl.
Betty trots up alongside Kate, and she circles around at my feet to get the perfect spot before craning her neck to lick my hand—Betty, that is. Not Kate.
Although Kate does kind of circle around before she sits on the grass. No hand licking though, just guzzling cold beer.
“Doesn’t matter because we can all guess who Colt’s sleeping with anyway.” Denny hucks a pine cone at my head. It misses, and Betty tears it to shreds in retaliation.
“We can?” Blair twists to look at him. “Who is it?”
Whatever the opposite of a poker face is, that’s what Kate’s wearing.
“Anyway.” I slap my hands against my thighs. “I think I saw Beryl trying to wave us over for some food. Smoked brisket, I think?”
“Nah, I was just over there, and she said it’ll be another hour or so,” Kate says, extremely unhelpfully.
“So, who is it?” Cassidy echoes Blair.
Denny lifts his beer bottle to his lips with a devilish smirk. “You should’ve invited her to the party.”
All eyes cut to me.
“Oh, uh…it’s a bit complicated. She has a kid, so we’re keeping it on the down-low for now.”
I’m not the smartest guy around, but even I know I said too much. Blair looks over at me with narrowed eyebrows and an unwavering iciness, and it feels eerily similar to Whit’s intense stare. My armor was only made of papier-maché to begin with—shit’s crumbling fast.
To avoid eye contact, I study the label on my beer bottle. “You guys ever think about the first person to get drunk? Did he think he was possessed or some shit?”
“He definitely thought he was dying when he woke up the next day,” Denny adds.
I nod. “Oh, fuck, yeah. I know what a hangover is, and I still think I’m dying.”
When Whit saunters over, I realize I fucked up big time by only bringing one chair in the first place.
I’m left with no choice but to quickly stand and offer her mine.
It’s making the look from Blair burn a touch hotter.
And when I’m pulling up a new chair right next to Whit thirty seconds later, it’s pretty damn clear we’ve been exposed.