Chapter 21 #2
“Did you finish your homework?”
“No.” She sighs. “I’m struggling with my history essay, and it’s due at the end of the week.”
“All right, well, get it out and ready. I need to do a couple of things, and then I’ll be up to help you with it, okay?”
“Okay.” Fallon excuses herself from the table and thanks Hazel for dinner before she disappears up the steps.
I make my way into the kitchen, grinning at seeing my youngest brother load a dishwasher.
He hated chores growing up and would do literally anything to get out of them.
Since he was the youngest, my mom usually gave him a pass.
So it’s fitting that Hazel doesn’t even have to ask on the nights she cooks.
I’d say, “If only I had a man like that,” but Bishop was always that man.
Full of yes, ma’ams and no, ma’ams around my mother, always asking if she needed anything from the store once he could drive, and forever helping her with things around the house.
I wonder if she knew the truth about my father. The thought hits me out of the blue. If she knew, she never let on. Not in all the years after.
“You all right there?” Bishop asks when he sees me leaning on the doorframe outside the kitchen.
“Yep!” I force a smile. That’s not a conversation I want to be having right now.
“Okay…” He eyes me warily. “Well, I’ve got to head up to the Springs. I’ve got a few things I have to do at my place. So I’m heading out. I was gonna ask how your visit with Grams was, but with that look on your face, I’m not sure I want to ask.”
“I’ll walk you out.” I nod to the door. I want to have this conversation away from my little brother. Bishop follows behind, letting me lead the way out onto the back deck.
“So how’d it go?”
“I think she’s skeptical but willing to play along. She said she’d draw up the papers this week.”
“Well, that’s promising.” He grins. “You must have charmed her. She doesn’t warm up easily.”
“I didn’t get to talk very much. A lot of it was her telling me things she felt I needed to hear.”
“Oh shit…” His smile falters.
“It’s fine. Some of it I needed to hear. Some of it was illuminating. I didn’t mind so much, but you weren’t kidding about her cutting deep when she wants to.”
“She’s one of a kind. That’s for sure.” He gives me an apologetic look, and I start walking with him toward the truck.
“At least it seems like it worked, and all of this won’t be for nothing. I invited her to the wedding.”
“Well, good. I’m glad. Speaking of, I’ve got something for you.” He pauses halfway down the pathway and pulls his wallet out of his back pocket, plucking a card from it and holding it out to me. “Here.”
“What’s this for?” I stare at the credit card with “Bishop Bradford” embossed on the corner that he holds out in front of me.
“Your dresses—you and Fallon. The cake. Anything else you want. I think Grant and Dakota have most of it covered. He wanted to handle all the details as the head of the family, and I think Dakota just wants to make you happy as her future sister-in-law, but I want you to pick out any of the details you want. I thought I’d handle the suits and the flowers unless you’ve got an objection. ”
“Oh, I don’t need to spend money on all that.
Grant’ll cover most of it. I’m sure they have a cake they can whip up in their kitchen for us.
You can pick whatever flavor you want. And as far as dresses go, Fallon and I have plenty in the closet.
” I feel weird at the idea of spending Bishop’s money or using his credit card.
Which probably didn’t bode well for our marriage.
“I’m not some broke ranch hand anymore, you know. I’m not nearly as rich as all your brothers or your ex, but I can afford to buy my daughter and my bride dresses for our wedding.” Bishop’s jaw tenses as he talks.
“That’s not at all what I was implying,” I answer, mortified that he thought I was. “I just mean it’s, well, it’s…” I stumble over my words when I realize the thing I’m about to say might not sound much better. “You know, with it being an on-paper thing for us, or us knowing it is anyway.”
“It’s not important enough for a new dress?” He fills in the blanks with a blunter version.
“I’m not saying that either. I just have plenty of fancy dresses in the closet that are beautiful and barely ever worn.”
“My grandmother might be getting older, but her eyesight’s still pretty damn good, and her tastes are still particular even if they’re not Stockton-level.
She’ll clock an old, repurposed dress no matter how fancy it is.
” He pushes the card into my hand, and I close my fingers around it.
“And frankly, I don’t care to see my wife in a dress she wore on the arm of some other man on our wedding day.
It’s my first wedding, even if it’s not yours. ”
“I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking about all of that.
I didn’t realize you were sentimental about this, but I’ll buy something new.
There’s a place in town I’ve been wanting to go anyway, and they have some bridal gowns.
I’m sure Fallon will be excited to have one as well.
” Fallon is going to yell about not wanting to have “this man” buy her anything, but that’s not what he needs to hear right now.
“I’ll take care of the cake.”
“I can pick something out. Marlowe might have time to whip something up for us if I ask nicely. Do you still like vanilla with buttercream?” I try to hold out an olive branch by letting him know I still remember things about him.
I used to think about him every time I went to a birthday party for one of Fallon’s friends, and they served vanilla birthday cake.
Wishing he were there with us to see her growing up and enjoy sharing a piece with her.
“No.”
“No? No, you don’t want me to get a cake, or no, you don’t like vanilla?”
“No, I don’t like vanilla. Not unless it’s you making it.”
“You don’t? I thought—”
“I never liked vanilla. You got it in your head that I did when we were kids, and you always made it for me. I ate it because you made it. Not because I liked vanilla.”
“Oh.” I’m quiet in the wake of that revelation, and he starts to walk off. “Well, what flavor do you want? You pick, and I’ll get Marlowe to make it. She and her bakery are the seventh wonder of the world.” I follow after him as he makes his way to his truck.
“Surprise me.”
“That’s not fair. I haven’t known your tastes for fifteen years. How am I supposed to guess correctly?” I call after him. As much as I’m still working through my feelings and anger, I do care about him. I want him to have something he enjoys in all of this, and I feel awful.
“Guess you’ll have to figure that out, won’t you?
” He reaches for the handle on his truck, and I dip in between him and the door, bringing us within inches of touching, our lips close enough that if we both lean in, we could kiss.
Right here. Right now. And, honestly, if it’d calm the stormy look on his face, I’d do it.
Especially after his grandmother’s lecture today.
“How?” I ask, softening my tone.
“Try,” is his only response, his eyes raking down my body and landing on the low cut of my blouse.
He normally averts his gaze and tries to make it seem like it was accidental when he does this, careful to maintain an air of plausible deniability, but he’s blatant now.
His eyes eat up my skin and sweep over the swell of my breasts.
Is it hot out here already? Maybe it was one of those way too early in the year eighty-degree days Colorado always manages. The one you get right before a blizzard and a foot of snow two days later.
“And,” he adds, breaking the tense silence that’s mounting in the tight space between us. “Get yourself some new lingerie to wear under the dress too. I know you won’t let me see it, but I want to know it’s there.”
“What color?” I try to offer another white flag. He starts to speak, but I cut him off. “And don’t tell me to guess. If I’m doing it for you, then I want to know I’m doing it right.”
There’s a flash of something bright in his eyes, and a small smirk spreads on his lips.
“Black, so it can match your heart when you say your vows, or red so it can match the color they were at that Christmas party when Ethan watched you disappear into a bathroom with me. Your choice.”
My lips part as the memory flashes through my mind like an old VHS tape I’d buried deep in the recesses of its archives. His hand slips under my chin, and he brings his mouth whisper-close to mine.
“Yeah, I know, honey. It’s one of my favorite memories too. I bet you two fought about that one long after I was gone. Didn’t you?” His smirk curls until it’s almost a full-blown grin.
“You’re…” I study his face, trying to make sense of the soft-spoken ranch hand I knew and the man who’s talking to me with such a callous disregard for propriety now.
“I’m?” He raises a brow in question.
“Shameless.”
A laugh rumbles from his chest, and he leans forward, pressing his forehead to mine.
“And what does that say about you that you like it so much, Jones?”
I like it far too much. Far more than is good for me, or either of us, really, given how desperate I am to have him kiss me again. I tear myself away from his grip, and he doesn’t fight me.