Chapter 4 #2
Is it wrong that I wanna see that side of him again? Being with him when he was like that—relaxed, real—was comforting.
I wonder if I could convince him to dust off his guitar.
It’s a breath of fresh air I could really use after a hellish day. Truth be told, I’ve felt lonely at night. Xander’s been bugging me to get together, since I haven’t seen him since my fall. I know he only wants to have sex—it’s what he always wants—and I wasn’t up for it then.
I’m definitely not up for it now. Which is kinda strange considering how I was always the one initiating sex with him prior to my accident.
Yeah, I’d definitely rather go hang with Ryder. First, though, I gotta get through my first family supper since the accident. We don’t eat together every night anymore, but Mom always invites everyone over when she’s cooking.
Walking into my parents’ kitchen, I’m hit by familiar smells: Ivory dish soap, baking bread, a hint of Mom’s jasmine-scented hand lotion. My chest cramps.
I may hate work, but I love my family, and I’ve missed being around them. Even if I have loved the excuse to rot on my couch every night for the past three weeks.
“There she is!” Beck flashes me a shit-eating grin from his perch beside Mom at the stove. “Glad you’re joining us for dinner again, sis.”
Taking a deep breath through my nose, I paste on a smile. “My freezer is stocked for the next hundred years, thanks to all that takeout you dropped off. Sorry not sorry I’ve been pigging out on that.”
That’s why this is one of the first times I’m joining my family for supper since the accident. They’ve brought over so much food that I haven’t had to come to Mom and Dad’s for meals.
“Just out here doing the Lord’s work.” Beck taps the metal tongs he’s holding to his forehead in a salute. “The food’s good, right?”
I set down my phone on the kitchen island. “Delicious. You should be proud.”
Usually I’d roll up my sleeves and help set the table or wash whatever dishes are already dirty. But that’s physically impossible at the moment, so I stand there, not quite sure what to do with myself.
“Sit, honey.” Mom reads my mind. “You’re still healing, and I imagine you’re pretty dang tired. How’d the first day back at the office go?”
It was even more awful than I thought it’d be.
“It was fine.”
“Just fine?” Beck raises a brow. “Try not to sound so excited.”
“Not all of us are lucky enough to have cool jobs like you.”
He grins. “I do have some pretty cool jobs.”
Beck, who’s a major foodie, recently invested in the Homestead Hen, Hartsville’s very first farm-to-table restaurant. He had the chef make me a ton of food after my accident, which Beck delivered to my house when I got home from the hospital.
My parents wanted me to live with them after I graduated high school and began taking online accounting courses. I did that until I convinced them to let me move into the teeny-tiny apartment above an old equipment barn on our property. I’ve been happily living there for close to three years now.
In terms of the food Beck brought over, we’re talking a whole tray of butternut squash lasagna, two roasted chickens with the most delicious jus ever, and quarts of autumn kale salad dotted with goat cheese and the gala apples a local farmer grows in her orchard.
Truth be told, the Homestead Hen is Hartsville’s only restaurant. When a fancy chef from Austin decided to relocate to the country and open her dream restaurant that served up American classics with a casual, elegant twist, Beck jumped at the chance to be involved.
Now he’s a ranch hand by day, restaurateur by night. Since we eat supper so early here on the ranch—we’re usually at the table by five—he’s able to head to the restaurant afterward. I have no idea where he gets the energy, but my older brother loves his new gig.
“I am mighty proud of you.” He turns back to the stove, where he gives a cast iron skillet a quick shake. “Haven’t told you in person how great you looked out there in the arena.”
“You were riding so fast, Auntie Billie.”
Glancing over my shoulder, I smile when I see Dean and Colt enter the kitchen from the side door.
“Faster even than your dad?” I lean down to give my nephew a hug, planting a kiss on his mop of dirty blond hair.
Dean grins up at Colt. “I think so. Bet I could ride that fast.”
“We gotta get Miss Ava to teach you how to stay sat in the saddle first.” Colt leans in to kiss my cheek. “How ya feeling, Billie? First day back go okay?”
My heart squeezes. This is why I’ve stayed in a job I hate for so long.
It’s because my family is great.
Really, really great. And sometimes I think that I just need to suck it up and do what’s best for us instead of what’s best for me.
There’s six of us Wallace kids. Beck is the second oldest, after Colt. I’m number three in the birth order, and after me there’s Nash, Mack, and Tate.
Mom only had one sibling, my Aunt Lee, and Dad had none.
They both wanted a big family of their own—I think they were both lonely growing up—and only after six babies did they give up on tying to have another girl.
Because girls are the best (obviously), and Mom also loves having a sister, so she always wanted one for me.
Don’t get me wrong, I loved growing up with my brothers. But I really do wish I had more girlfriends. Especially now that I’m getting older and everyone is starting to pair off.
I wasn’t especially close with Colt’s wife, Abby. I was only sixteen when they got married, and then there was all the shit that went down before she got sick. I had a hard time liking her after she did my brother dirty like that.
“I feel better. A little sore. Pretty tired. But otherwise, I’m all right.” I give Dean one last squeeze. “I appreciate y’all coming to visit me so much. Believe it or not, Dean, the flowers you picked for me are still alive. I love them.”
“Dad says girls love flowers.”
“Everyone loves flowers. They smell good.”
Dean wrinkles his nose. “Sometimes I don’t smell very good.”
“Stinky feet?”
“And armpits.” Colt wags his eyebrows.
Dean laughs. “And butt cheeks!”
Colt rolls his eyes as he saunters in and hangs his Stetson on the rack beside the pantry. “Why does everything have to be about butts?”
“Hey.” Tate is hot on Colt’s heels. “What’s wrong with butts? They’re awesome.”
Dean high-fives him. “They smell bad, though.”
“Not if you keep your cheeks clean. Hey, Billie.” Tate loops an arm around my neck and gives me a hug. “Happy you’re back.”
“Are your cheeks clean?” I ask.
Tate grins. “Always. Mind’s not, though.”
Mack slaps him on the back as he moves past us. “Filthiest out of us all for sure. Hey, Billie. You recovered yet?”
“Getting there.” I carefully raise my arm to show off the six-inch scar on the back of my elbow.
“I mean, have you recovered from embarrassing yourself in front of everyone you know in Texas?”
Nash appears at the side door now, along with Dad. They both wipe their boots on the mat before coming inside and hanging up their hats too. They smell like fresh air and sunscreen, scents that have my chest cramping for a different reason.
I wish I could be out there with y’all.
“My timing is perfect as always,” Nash says. “I feel a fistfight brewing.”
“It’s not a fair fight when she’s only got one good arm.” Mack motions to my sling.
I roll my eyes. “Please. We all know I could take out any of y’all with one arm, no problem.”
Mack grins, his dimples popping. “You win. Still sore?”
“It’s not so bad anymore.”
“Good. Hasn’t been the same around here without you.”
“Yeah, it’s been much more peaceful.” Dad’s eyes twinkle. “But a lot more boring too.” He moves toward the stove. “Hello, Wife. Whatcha makin’? Smells good.”
“Hello, Husband.” Mom puts her hand on Dad’s face, and he leans in for a kiss. “I’m making your favorite—smoked pork chops with ’shrooms and potatoes.”
“Kissing is gross.” Dean makes a face. “That’s how you get germs.”
Nash ruffles his hair. “I believe the scientific term is ‘cooties.’”
“Coo-ties!” Beck singsongs, and I immediately think of Ryder singing because apparently everything makes me think of Ryder right now.
I must have the worst case of lady blue balls ever from that kiss-slash-lifesaving-CPR-moment. How the hell do I come back from that?
Was it the most romantic—erotic—thing to ever happen to me even though Ryder got nowhere near my pants?
“I’ll take Mama’s cooties anyway,” Dad says.
Colt gives them a look. “I still think it’s weird that you call her Mama. And Wife. And Love Dove.”
“I don’t care what you think,” Mom replies. “I like it, and that’s what matters.”
Dad gives Mom’s backside a playful tap. “That’s right, Love Dove.”