Chapter 5
Griffin
“Did you know the Dover family owns the Armadillos?” I scratch my arm, still agitated from my earlier encounter with Cricket.
“Yes,” my sister replies from the kitchen in front of me. “Everyone knows that.”
“I didn’t.” Christine looks back at me over her shoulder, and her pointed glare and casual shrug kind of say what she’s thinking without saying a word. Sitting on a barstool, I chuckle, shaking my head. “I’m a little out of the loop on the goings-on around small-town gossip in Texas.”
“That’s not even gossip. That’s old news.”
Old news . . . like how Cricket Dover is the operations manager of the entire outfit, and everyone in a hundred-mile vicinity apparently already knows?
Or is it old news that I slept with the woman before being aware of who she was or her connection to the Greenes, which goes back generations?
Both those stories have run their course.
Let’s hope that they stay in the past and don’t make fresh news across the grapevines.
Her being a Dover bothers me. I didn’t think it did other than regarding not knowing her role out at the stadium, accusing her of stalking me, and thinking she was trying to kill me at the first confrontation. Mistakes happen. Assumptions get made. If someone acts like a fan, they usually are.
I slept with her. None the wiser, but I didn’t expect it to come back and haunt me.
Would I not have gone back to the hotel with her if I had known?
I smirk, knowing I would have. So this leaves us where we are—caught in an uncomfortable situation.
Nothing more. Nothing less. Though I still dream about her perfect tits some nights.
My sister brings a glass of iced tea and sets it in front of me. “Just found out?”
“Found out today in not the best of ways either.”
She’s struggling to hide her smirk. “That sounds like a good story.”
Twisting the glass on the counter, I reply, “I accidentally thought one of the Dovers was a fan.”
“Oh.” The cringe that drags the left side of her mouth down is how I feel on the inside, especially now thinking back on it. “And how did that work out for you?”
“Unsurprisingly, not well.”
Her ponytail swings wildly as she starts laughing. The added clap wasn’t necessary, in my opinion. “Glad I’m so entertaining to ya, sis.”
“It’s just funny.” She still laughs under her breath.
“The Dovers own pretty much everything in Dover County at this point, especially the fancy places. The winery. The stadium. The restaurant on Dover Creek near downtown. They’re old Texas money.
That wealth has traveled through generations and stayed in the family. ”
Thinking about the very ranch we’re on right now, I ask, “Does that make us new money? Because we sure as shit weren’t born with silver spoons in our mouths.”
“Only to the Dovers, I suppose, and their fancy friends.” Her laughter lightens as she busies herself in the kitchen again. I haven’t fully cooled down from the walk down to their house on the lower part of the property, so I take the opportunity to drink some tea.
“Only the Dovers” echoes, the words rolling around until Cricket’s face comes to mind again.
I don’t know why, but she’s gotten under my skin.
Was it because she was so smug with Coach around?
I assume she really felt like she pulled one over on me by not introducing herself from the get-go.
What was that about anyway? It’s almost like she didn’t want me to know who she was.
Or should I say, who she really was, since we’ve done way more than just met yesterday.
I remember her looking so fucking sexy lying in that bed with my hat on . . .
“You forget something, cowboy?”
“What’s that, babe?”
“Your hat.”
“You keep it. A little something to remember me by.”
“I don’t need a hat to remember you.”
She had no problem forgetting who I was when I left . . .
“I can’t believe you’re here,” my sister says, dragging me from my thoughts.
Christine looks at the clock hanging on the kitchen wall.
“And you’ve stayed more than twenty-four hours, too.
You’ve been here for twenty minutes. Breaking records.
” She hands me a fork with a teasing grin. “The jet not fueled?”
“The girl’s got jokes.” I grab my chest, feigning pain.
“Aw, that hurts, sis.” I start laughing, but I can’t hold on to it because I do feel bad, which is interesting since I didn’t feel much of anything while traveling.
Just like when I was flying from one destination to another, being back comes with its own baggage.
Good and bad. “Joking aside, sorry I’ve been gone so long—”
“The ranch. The family. Our lives.” She lightens the guilt with a genuine smile. “It’s been longer than it should have been, big brother.” She leans on the light-colored stone counter of the island and slides a pie between us. “But you’re here now.”
So many memories come flooding back that I can’t help but smile when I see it. “Blackberry pie. Damn, I’ve missed this.” This is way better than the turmoil of earlier.
“Mom’s recipe. Homemade like she used to make.” She digs her fork right in without hesitation and scoops out a bite. My stomach growls just from seeing that filling. “Dig in.”
I take my first bite, savoring the fruit and then the flaky crust. Memories of Mom and me sitting together at the table, eating and laughing while my brother and sister napped, come rushing back.
I try to remember her smile and the sound of her laughter instead of her sudden death dragging me down, which is what usually happens.
“She always made two pies. One for after dinner when Dad was there to enjoy it—”
“And one for her and us kids to devour as a treat before he even got home.”
“We were really getting away with something back then.” I take another bite. As soon as I swallow, I grin again. “It felt like robbing a bank.” I chuckle.
My sister’s smile reminds me so much of my mom’s that it almost catches me off guard.
The family sends me photos, but seeing it in person makes it hard to miss the resemblance.
I’m not sure when my pipsqueak of a little sister grew up, but it’s good to see that trait carried on even though the rest is uniquely her own.
“It kind of feels like we’re breaking the law right now.” Digging in again, she holds the bite in front of her, and adds, “I’ve carried on the tradition with the kids.”
“I’m sure they love it as much as we did.” I scoop another bite onto my fork. “You make a good pie, sis.”
“It’s even better because we’re totally ruining our dinners.
” We both laugh again like we used to. Christine was never as annoying as Baylor.
My brother is great, my best friend if I have one, but we’ve thrown down a time or two.
Dad had to separate us more than a few times, and Mom would send us to our bedrooms to think about what we had done.
It was always the same result. We were both fine with what we’d done, even if it was sitting in front of our parents sporting a new shiner. We fought, but we made up fast like nothing had happened. He should be here delving into the pie with us.
“How’s the ranch doing?”
She lowers her fork and grabs a napkin to wipe her mouth. Standing, she asks, “Is this an official meeting or are you asking your sister casually over blackberry pie?”
“I get the quarterly reports. I’m asking you off the record.”
“Tagger has really come into his own, running a lot of it while I was pregnant. I was living in the lap of luxury in my air-conditioned office here in the house. And now that Julie Ann is here, I have her with me.”
“You were doing the books anyway.” I may have made millions in the majors, but my wealth has only grown because she single-handedly created an empire for our family.
Even when Baylor and I gave her most of our shares a few years back because she had more than earned them, we still rake in the big bucks from the ten percent we each retained.
“He’s a natural and has taken over most of the physical duties—”
“Well, he practically grew up at Rollingwood himself and knows it like the back of his hand.”
The thought of him causes her to smile. She looks down as if she can hide it from me. Is that what love looks like? It’s how Mom used to look at Dad. I shift, tempted to drop my feet to the ground to find a more solid surface to rest on than this thin metal bar.
I don’t. I’m not giving Christine the satisfaction of proving she’s right.
Do I consider it running when I leave? No.
I’ve always had a backup plan. Even when it came to settling down.
I knew it was something I didn’t want at her age.
After all these years, though, and maybe being back in the Pass, my emotions are mixed up. I have no idea what I want anymore.
This is why I don’t stay in one place. I start to face reality, and I’m more lost than ever. At least, the ranch is a nice detour to give me time to figure out where I go from here.
She says, “We have solid ranch hands in place as well. Now I don’t have to do the outside chores, but I do miss riding my horse. I find her grazing out front most early mornings.”
“When can you ride again?”
“The doctor said it was fine since having the baby four months ago, but I—” She sighs.
“I just want to wait a bit longer. No need to rush it. I still spend time with Sunrise each day, though. And our little Julie Ann seems interested in horses already by how she wriggles when she sees them.” My niece was named after our mom, which I think is sweet.
Though hearing her name is still not something I’m used to.
I know I will in time. And she’s so cute that it fits her.
My mom would have loved having grandkids.
“Maybe she’ll barrel race like you did.”