Chapter 28
Someone pounded on his apartment door hard enough to rattle the frame. “Seth! Get your ass up! We gotta work!”
The racket drilled straight through his skull. He groaned and buried his face deeper into the pillow, but another round of pounding made the entire room seem to vibrate.
“Tucker,” he muttered.
His head felt as if someone had driven a railroad spike through it. His mouth was so dry it might as well have been packed with cotton, his eyes burned, and his stomach rolled a warning whenever he moved.
He cracked one eye open and winced.
Bright sunlight streamed through the gap in the curtains.
Shit.
He'd overslept.
Dragging himself upright only made the agony in his head worse.
He sat on the edge of the bed for a few seconds, elbows braced on his knees, until the room stopped threatening to tilt beneath him.
His boots lay where he'd kicked them off the night before.
His jeans were draped over the chair, and the stale smell of beer clung to everything.
Another round of knocks. “You alive in there?”
“Barely,” he croaked, still loud enough to be heard.
“You look half-dead.”
“I ain't even opened the damn door yet.”
“You don't have to. I can picture it.”
Seth snorted, immediately regretting it when the motion sent another pulse of pain through his head. Pushing himself to his feet, he shuffled into the living room and unlocked the door.
Tucker took one look at him and winced.
“Damn. You look like crap. Put some damn clothes on.”
He glanced down. In a tee that hung low enough to cover the bulge in his boxer briefs, he was decent enough. “Fuck off.”
“I already did with my husband and wife this morning, so I’m good.”
“TMI, boss.”
Tucker offered no apology as he stepped inside, wearing his usual ranch attire and carrying a large brown paper bag in one arm.
“Mya made you bacon-on-toast sandwiches with a side of pickles. Best breakfast for a hangover.” He held up the bag.
“And Paige sent acetaminophen, a couple of Gatorades, and ginger candies in case your stomach loses the argument. Trust me, they work.”
Seth blinked. “You brought all that over here?”
“Figured you weren't in any shape to hike up to the house.”
“Thanks.” He rubbed a hand over his face. The uncomfortable pressure in his bladder since he'd gotten out of bed intensified, and that was his first priority. “Be right back.”
Tucker jerked his chin toward the hallway. “Take your time. I'll make myself at home.”
He disappeared back into the bedroom and entered the bathroom. A long piss took the edge off one problem. Cold water splashed across his face helped with another. He brushed the nastiness from his tongue and teeth, rinsed his mouth twice, then stared at his reflection for a second.
He still looked like hell.
At least he smelled a little less like it.
When he stepped back into the living room, this time with his jeans on, Tucker had unpacked the bag and arranged everything on the small kitchen table.
“Don't get used to the delivery service,” Tucker said.
No. Under any other circumstances, his boss would've made him drag himself up to the house and endure the good-natured ribbing that came with drinking too much. Today was different.
Seth eased himself into a chair. His legs still felt unsteady, whether from the alcohol, dehydration, or both.
He twisted open one of the Gatorades, tossed two acetaminophen into his mouth, and chased them with nearly half the bottle.
The cold drink soothed the desert in his mouth and eased the throbbing behind his eyes.
It wasn't a miracle cure, but it was a start.
He reached for a sandwich and took a bite. The bacon and toast tasted better than they had any right to after the night he'd had.
For a minute, the only sounds in the apartment were the occasional crinkle of the paper bag and the hum of the air conditioner.
Finally, he looked up. “When we talked after the barbecue... you already suspected, didn't you?”
Tucker rested a hip against the counter and took a moment before answering.
“No. Not then.” He shook his head. “The first Sunday dinner got me wondering. She looked too much like Peter, and the timing fit. But wondering isn't the same as knowing.”
“So, you never lied to me.”
A flicker of guilt crossed the other man’s face. “No. Not at first.” He sighed. “But I did yesterday.”
Seth stared at him.
“A lie of omission. When I told you to invite Shylo to dinner, I already knew—the P.I. called me yesterday morning.” Tuck shifted his weight. “I should've told you then, and I'm sorry I didn't.”
“Why didn't you?”
“Because I didn't know any other way to handle it.” He took off his cowboy hat and rubbed the back of his neck. “Shane deserved to hear it in person, and I wasn't about to confront Shylo without him there. I figured getting everybody in the same room was the best way to do it.”
Seth was quiet for a long moment. “You should've told me.”
“I know.” Tuck nodded. “If I had it to do over again, I would've.
But yesterday... I was trying to look out for Shane.
I wasn't thinking about what it'd do to you, and I'm sorry for that. I never meant to hurt you.” He held Seth's gaze.
“You're like the younger brother I never had, Seth.
You're family. But I was so focused on how Shane was going to react and what Shylo wanted from him that I didn't stop to think about you. Please, forgive me.”
Seth waved him off. “I get it. There's nothing to forgive. Shane, Paige, and the kids are your top priorities. That’s the way it should be.” He picked at the crust of his sandwich. “I just wish you'd found out sooner... before...”
“Before what?”
He shook his head. He wasn't about to admit he'd fallen for Shylo. Not now. Maybe never.
“Never mind.”
Tucker waited until Seth finished another bite before speaking again. “So... what're you gonna do about Shylo?”
He took another long swallow of Gatorade, letting the cold drink wash away the taste of bacon and pickles. “Nothing.”
His boss studied him for a moment. “You sure?”
“She lied to me from the day we met.” His grip tightened around the now-empty bottle until the plastic crackled and popped. “I don't care if Shane accepts her. That's between them.”
“And you?”
For several long seconds, his gaze rested on the work boots he'd left by the door before going to pick up Shylo yesterday afternoon.
“As far as I'm concerned...” He shrugged. “I'm done with her.”
Shylo and Shane sat across from each other in a booth at a diner on the outskirts of Wexler, fixing their coffees to their liking. Neither spoke nor looked at the menu.
After driving her back to the Moody Moon the night before, he'd asked if he could pick her up for lunch today so they could talk, explaining he needed a little time to process everything. She'd agreed without hesitation, grateful that he wanted to talk to her at all.
The drive to the diner had been filled with little more than comments about the weather, the wheat fields ready for harvest, and a tractor that had slowed traffic on the highway. Now that the conversation they'd both been anticipating had finally arrived, neither seemed to know where to begin.
The aroma of bacon and fresh coffee drifted through the air while dishes clattered somewhere behind the swinging kitchen doors.
A waitress moved from table to table with a coffeepot in hand, chatting with a couple of regulars who looked like they'd been claiming the same corner booth every morning for years.
Around them, life carried on as though nothing had changed.
But everything had changed.
She'd spent most of the night and early morning wondering what he would say once they sat down. Had he already decided she was nothing more than an unwelcome complication? Someone entitled to a share of the ranch and little else? Or had he started to see her as something more?
As his sister.
The possibility seemed too good to be true.
She wrapped both hands around the warm coffee mug, grateful for something to do other than fidget. The heat seeped into her fingers, but it did little to calm the nervous energy buzzing through the rest of her.
Shane finally drew a slow breath. “I've been trying to figure out how to start this conversation all morning.”
A nervous smile touched her lips. “That makes two of us.”
Before either of them could say anything else, the waitress stopped beside their booth with an order pad in hand. “You folks ready?”
Shylo glanced at the untouched menus before giving a small shake of her head. Shane looked up at the waitress. “Could you give us a few more minutes? We need to talk for a bit.”
“Of course, hon.” She smiled politely. “Wave me over when you're ready.”
As the woman moved on to the next table, the awkward silence returned. Shylo resisted the urge to fill it with meaningless small talk. She'd waited all night to hear what Shane had to say. Now that the moment had arrived, she wasn't sure she wanted him to speak at all.
“First things first,” he said, meeting her gaze. “Tucker suggested we get DNA tests, and I think he's right.”
She'd expected that. In fact, she would've offered to do that if he hadn't brought it up. “I agree.”
“I don't want you to think it's because I don't believe you. I just think it's something we both need before we make any decisions that'll affect the rest of our lives.”
The tightness in her chest eased, if only a little. His request wasn't a rejection. It was simply the sensible next step. For the first time since they'd sat down, it felt as though they were moving in the same direction.
Shane took a sip of coffee before setting the mug back on the table. “So... once we get the results—I'm pretty certain they'll tell us what we already know—what do you want then?”
The question caught her off guard. “I don't know what you mean.”
“What do you want your life to look like?” He met her gaze. “Do you want your share of the ranch and then head back to West Virginia? Or do you want to stay?”
Stay?