Chapter 14
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Wynter
For the most part, visitors were minimal.
The funeral was still two days away. Mama was getting a ton of calls, but between me, my sisters, and my brothers roaming through town, talking to people at the gas stations, the grocery store, and the distillery, we’d managed to convince people that the reception at the Bailey ranch after the funeral was the best time to talk to Mama.
I was at the kitchen table. Dad’s spot was empty and would likely stay that way for months or years. I had my boots on with a yellow summer dress. Cool, easy. I’d felt like dressing up after a morning of getting dirty and helping with chores and cuddling with barn cats.
Lunch was over. Autumn and Summer had dumped bread, lunch meat, and produce on the table, and Junie had taken a tray of bars out of the freezer one of the neighbors had brought over right after Dad had died.
As if food were a silent signal to the boys, Teller and Tenor had shown up.
Mama had called Tate to see if the guys could bring Chance, but she’d strongly hinted that Tate and Scarlett and baby Brinley were welcome, too.
When Mama hinted at something, she got it.
We’d been programmed from an early age and had copied Daddy. Whatever Mama wanted.
Now the food was put away. Chance was in the living room with Scarlett and his baby sister, listening to Junie pluck her guitar strings. The quiet melody of her voice filtered through the house.
Mama hovered by the door like she was waiting on something. Every time Tate tried to shoo her into the living room, telling her we’d take care of the after-lunch cleanup and would let her know when the brownies were thawed, she brushed him off.
Every few minutes, she’d look out the window.
I paged through a Rodeo Magazine. Back in the day, I used to look through the pages and dream about the cowboy husband I’d marry.
Now the way they tucked their faces down, their expressions lined with concentration, and the rigid hold of their bodies while a bull or bronc tried to dislodge them, didn’t compare to the clean lines of a well-tailored suit and flashing blue eyes.
Autumn was cutting the bars. Summer was in the pantry on a work call. Teller and Tate were talking about the cattle and Tenor was peppering the conversation with numbers about calves, how many and when they’d be ready for sale, and the conception rate for the year.
Mama hitched a breath. We all stopped and looked at her. She stiffened and turned from the window. Determination was steeped in her brown eyes, and her mouth was set in a stern line. “I want you all to be on your best behavior.”
“Mom?” Tate’s gaze lifted to the window. He frowned and got closer. “Who’s here? Mighty nice car to be driving on country roads.”
Mama put her hands on Tate’s shoulders. For a short woman, she loomed over him like he was a six-year-old who’d sassed off to her. “The main thing you need to know is that he’s been invited here, personally, by me. You all need to remember that.”
Teller frowned, glaring out the window. “What the fuck is he doing here?”
My belly swirled, slowly tying itself in a knot. I didn’t like when my family argued, but worse, alarm bells were going off in my head.
There was a knock on the back door, the one between the house and the garage. Only people familiar with the sprawling family home knew that we never used the front door. Even delivery companies knew to use the kitchen door. That was where Mama would be.
“I don’t want to hear it.” Mama’s tone was sharp. “He is my guest.”
I exchanged a stunned glance with Autumn. Tenor’s eyes were narrowed, and he was frowning in the direction of the door.
Was it someone he had a history with? A former bully and Mama didn’t know?
Mama swung the door open, and my lungs seized mid breath.
Oh no.
I recognized those broad shoulders. That dark hair combed into submission. That impeccably tailored suit.
“Come in. Come in. I’m so glad you could make it.” Mama squeezed his hand and dragged him inside as if she knew a hug would send him running.
Myles.
His guarded denim gaze swung around the room. “Nice to see you again, Mae.”
His deep voice rumbled over all the nerve endings he’d lit up less than a week ago. Desire flooded my body, heedless that this moment was highly inappropriate.
My brain was spinning for a solution, for some way to save face and not look like I had ferreted myself into his organization to get close to him. Which was exactly what I’d done.
His attention swung over my brothers. His body was stiff, and Mama had let go of his hand.
He narrowed his eyes on Autumn, like he was trying to place which sister she was even though she’d had distinctive red hair her whole life.
The struggle for recognition stayed in his gaze when Summer appeared out of the pantry.
I felt Tate’s wall of disgruntled attitude before he growled, “Mom, what’s this all about?”
Myles dismissed him and continued scanning the room. Panic rose in my throat, choking me. Then that hooded blue gaze landed on me. Recognition flared as bright as a wildfire at midnight, followed by confusion, then startling hurt.
“Wynn?”
Myles
She was here. Wynn.
Blond hair hanging loose, long legs sticking out of a yellow dress with white daisies, and cowboy boots on her feet. Used ones.
Wynn.
I barely recognized Autumn. Summer or June was the one in the pantry and the other with pink in her hair was behind Tate.
But I knew who Wynn was.
Her wide eyes, open mouth, and stunned expression burrowed into my consciousness. Paired with her impeccable knowledge of bourbon and whiskey and all things distilling, I came to one disturbing conclusion.
She’d tricked me. “Or should I say Wynter Bailey?”
The guys crackled with restrained energy. They’d been about to kick me out, putting their mom in the middle of our beef, but the situation had changed.
Because one important fact had come to light.
My temp assistant, the girl I wanted in my bed more than anyone I’d met in my life, was a Bailey. The girl from a bourbon family who hated my guts would know damn well who I was.
So many tidbits clicked into place. Her sick dad. Her big family. The way she hadn’t shared specific details. I had been glad she hadn’t showered me with casual factoids. I’d wanted that distance.
Christ, I was an idiot.
“Myles, I can explain—”
Burning up with rage, I pushed backward out the door. Deep in my consciousness, I reprimanded myself for walking out on Mae like this, but I couldn’t stay for another second. Betrayal had been building, but the confirmation she’d known who I was detonated a bomb in my chest.
Did Mae know, too?
Was the whole family in on it?
Were they trying to destroy everything I’d worked for and take it for themselves like so many other foster families I’d had?
I stormed to my car. The squeak of the door resonated in the summer air.
“Myles, wait!”
Wynn’s boots clicked on the sidewalk from the driveway to my car.
I opened my door, not even looking at her. I couldn’t speak to her.
“Myles.”
The house door creaked open again. “Wynter, what’s going—”
“Not now, Tate,” Wynn snapped, her tone frantic. “Myles, come on, talk to me.”
I started my car and kicked it into reverse. I took my foot off the brake, then slammed it back down. A blond head was in my rearview mirror. “Fucking A, Wynn!” I yelled loud enough for her to hear. “Move!”
She pounded the trunk of my car. “Talk to me first.”
Growling, I contemplated how to leave without running her over. Baileys were piling outside. I could see them out of the corner of my eye, but I refused to look in their direction.
Ghost fingers walked up my spine. Memories started assaulting me. The stares. The leaving. The garbage bag full of shit thrift stores wouldn’t bother shelving. Coming or going, the feelings were too similar to now.
She skirted around the car, and I almost floored it backward. But her hands were on the car, and no matter what, I couldn’t risk hurting her. I had too many onlookers, but they weren’t the reason. If I broke even a nail on her body, I’d hate myself.
She ripped open the door and dove in. Before the door was closed, I hit the gas.
“Whoa.” She rushed to close herself in and gave her family a reassuring wave. As if that’d put their mind at ease.
Fuck, what’d it look like? Angry Myles storming out of the house and abducting their youngest sister?
Goddammit.
“Myles.”
“Wynn?” I bit out as I fishtailed down the driveway. “Oh, I’m sorry, it’s Wynter, isn’t it? Wynter Bailey?”
“We kept our last name. It’s Kerrigan. Remember?”
That got me to look at her. Same beautiful face. Same wild eyes. Her hair was mussed with a hunk sticking up on top of her head. My fingers twitched to touch her, to stroke across that soft skin and smooth the lines of worry on her forehead. “No. I don’t remember.”
When hurt darkened her brown eyes, I looked away and skidded onto the main gravel road. I would have chips in the paint galore after this drive.
“I knew it.” She slumped in her seat and stared out the window. I couldn’t look directly at her, or I might soften. “I knew you’d forgotten all about me.”
“Why would I remember you, Wynter Kerrigan? I was a teen, and you were like five.”
“I was six when you left. Without saying goodbye.”
Guilt lit deep in a pit in my gut. I refused to have regrets, but if I did, it would be the way I’d left the Baileys. Thanks to Gianna, I’d learned to be proactive. “I had to look out for myself.”
“And you’ve been doing that ever since.”
I hit the brake in time to take a narrow dirt road that wound above the valley.
“Do you know where this goes?” she asked.