14. Brock
CHAPTER 14
Brock
“O h, for the love of God, Toby, will you please hurry the fuck up!”
I’m losing patience with both my brothers and the entire night in general. It’s on the tip of my tongue to throw the entire night’s plans in the trash, but I don’t dare yet. These social obligations are part of the business, but if Toby takes much longer, I might just throw him in the garbage.
“I’m coming,” he insists, hurrying around the corner of the bedroom hallway in his tux.
To my surprise, he looks pretty damn good. It’s been a while since he’s dressed up in a real suit. Usually, he’s a wrinkled, rumpled mess. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised to find a lipstick stain on his collar most nights, even this early.
“Did you hire a stylist or something?” I joke. “You almost look good.”
Owen follows him out and nods in agreement. “Emerson got him situated.”
“Ah!” Maybe I should get Emerson to do all our pre-party planning from here on out. “Is she here?”
I don’t mean to sound so hopeful, but I wish she’d change her mind about joining us tonight. I want nothing more than to dress her up in an evening gown and take her out on my arm to this fundraiser.
“I’m here,” she sings, trailing out of Toby’s room.
To my disappointment, she’s in a pair of sweatpants, her auburn hair pinned in a messy bun on top of her head. She’s not going to any fundraiser.
“You sure we can’t convince you to join us tonight?” I cajole her. “I’m sure you’d look pretty as a picture all dolled up.”
She gives me an odd look, a smirk touching the edges of her lips. “No, thanks.”
“We’ll take you out somewhere better than a fundraiser before the baby comes,” Toby promises with a chuckle. “Brock wouldn’t know a good time if it punched him in the face.”
“You’re welcome to hang out here tonight,” Owen offers. “We have a better entertainment system than the coach house—and more streaming services.”
“Or you could go by the bunkhouse,” Toby adds worriedly. “Be around people.”
“I’ll be fine,” Emerson tells them quickly. “But maybe I will stay here, if you don’t mind.”
My brothers look to me for confirmation, and I hesitate, thinking of what the staff might think if they saw her here, but I shove the thought away. I’d rather have her here than alone in the coach house if anything were to happen.
“You’re fine here,” I agree. “And we won’t be late. We’re just going to make a quick appearance and come home.”
“Help yourself to whatever you want in the fridge.”
“If you’re tired, you can sleep in my bed, darlin’,” Toby adds, winking suggestively.
“Or mine,” Owen tells her.
I sigh, hanging my head. They’ve both had sex with her, it seems. Weaklings.
Or am I the weak one because I’ve denied that I want to be with her, too?
“Come on,” I growl. “Let’s go already.”
“What’s with the mood?” Toby demands as we leave the house.
We pile into my truck. I drive as always. The mayor’s mansion sits on the outskirts of Pine Sky on a sprawling estate encompassing over fifty acres of cattle farm.
The who’s who of Pine Sky will be there tonight, plus some Austin elite. According to the mayor, even a governor and several Washington power players are making appearances.
Mom always stressed the value of mingling with influential people. “You never know when you’ll need a favor,” she’d say.
Her advice still pops into my head now and then, but it’s more fleeting these days, like her voice and face. I don’t have anyone to pass all those tidbits of advice on like she did.
I weave through the dark country roads, thinking about Emerson’s baby and how they’re going to grow up, not unlike how we did.
“Has she talked to you about the baby’s father yet?” I ask my brothers, cutting off their conversation.
I hadn’t even heard what they were talking about. They fall silent, and Toby leans forward from the backseat.
“No,” he says. “You?”
I shake my head. “What do you think the situation is there? Abusive? Ex-husband?”
Owen doesn’t speak, but Toby has his theories. “One-night stand.”
The thought occurred to me, too, but it didn’t explain why she hightailed it out of Austin so quickly.
“What are we going to do down the line?” I ask as the mayor’s house appears on the horizon.
“Why are we having this conversation now?” Owen sighs.
“And without Emmy?” Toby adds irritably. “What’s wrong with you tonight?”
“I’m just wondering if some random guy is going to show up on the ranch one day, causing drama and stirring up shit. Shouldn’t we know the whole story?”
I pull the car up to the security gate and present ourselves to the guard. As I roll up the window, I ponder the question honestly. What is wrong with me tonight?
My brothers fall silent with my explanation, but I know it’s not really the threat of another man that worries me, but the idea that Emerson might belong to one.
We exit the car and head inside the event, but as I take a flute of champagne, I can’t bring myself to socialize with anyone deeply. My mind is only on Emerson and her baby. I don’t want to be there without her.
“I’m going back to the ranch,” I tell Owen. “I’ll come get you later.”
He doesn’t ask why, and his triplet instinct intuitively understands as I leave without telling Toby. I know he’ll explain it to our youngest brother.
I barely remember the drive back; my mind is only focused on what I’m about to say and do when I get there.
I leave my truck in the garage next to the bunkhouse and walk the rest of the way to the ranch house, passing the quiet property. Most of the staff has retired for the night, but hints of music whisper out from someone’s room, and echoes of laughter ring out periodically as I wind my way up the hill.
I enter through the back door, expecting to hear the television in the living room, but the house is startlingly quiet.
Is she asleep already?
I’m careful not to make any noise, lest I wake her up. Kicking off my dress shoes, I pad across the kitchen floor and peer over the leather sofa, but Emerson isn’t in the room at all.
Perplexed, I backtrack through the hall toward the bedrooms and check Toby’s room. The lights are off, and his unmade bed shows no indication of anyone.
Oh, she went home.
More disappointment sweeps through me as I head toward Owen’s bedroom, but as I’m passing mine, movement catches my eye, and I see her emerging from my bathroom with my toothbrush in her hand.
Pushing open the door, I stare at her, and she freezes in place, a paralyzed deer in headlights behind her glasses.
In her other hand, she holds plastic bags, each one labeled with our names.
Owen.
Toby.
Brock.
Uncomprehendingly, I merely gape at her. “Emerson, what the hell are you doing?”