Chapter 23
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
AVA
Iwake to the sound of a distant hum, a whirring that sweeps against my mind and pulls me from dreams of saltwater kisses and sun-warmed sand.
I know before I even open my eyes that Kasey’s not here, not in this bed or anywhere in the cabin.
My heart can sense it: his absence. An emptiness I’d gotten so used to I almost forgot what it was to be full.
Until he made me remember.
Stretching lazily in a cocoon of blankets, I turn to the window where sunlight streams in across the room, wondering how long he’s been gone, if it’d been hard for him to leave. Did he kiss me on his way out? Does he have any regrets about what happened last night?
You’re going to make it good for me again, aren’t you?
My face instantly heats with a warmth that sinks all the way to my belly.
I didn’t think I’d ever have Kasey again like that, and now that I have, I can’t imagine anything else.
I dated other people after leaving Saddlebrook Falls—it took a while to open up to the idea, but eventually I did and life started to move on.
A couple of boyfriends even made it past the six-month mark, and then there was Tobias, of course, but even he only lasted a couple of years.
Still, no one ever compared to Kasey. Not even close.
At some point I started telling myself that no one could, that my relationship with Kasey existed in the perilously beautiful vacuum that is young love, full of naivete and the intensity that only two kids with varying degrees of formed frontal lobes could possibly accomplish.
So I’d stopped comparing anyone to him altogether.
Figured, what was the point, if I’d never have something like it again anyway?
I didn’t anticipate Kasey asking himself the same question, but coming to a wildly different result.
I tried, a few times. But . . .
I swallow down a painful pang of regret. I can’t imagine Kasey was somehow waiting for me—he had no idea I’d ever come back. I shamefully left without so much as a note. No explanation. And yet . . .
I can’t help thinking about the almosts, the girls who were turned away.
How far did things get before veering off track?
Did he try to bring girls home? Did they make it into this bed?
Did he stop, mid-kiss, and change his mind?
Did he politely drive any of them home, walk them to their front door with a quiet, sullen apology?
I groan, pulling a pillow over my face as the humming around the cabin grows louder.
A motor of some sort. Machine, I think—not a car.
Curiosity gets the best of me as I scramble out of bed, pulling an old rodeo T-shirt from Kasey’s dresser and shoving my head and arms through it.
The hem reaches halfway down my thighs and it’s baggy enough to hide my stomach, so I don’t bother with pants.
There’s a mug of coffee waiting for me on the kitchen table and, by the looks of it, Kasey’s dumped all the creamer in Texas into it. A single white flower sits through the handle, one that matches a wild cluster growling along the bottom of the front porch steps.
The smile that grows on my face is easily a mile wide.
Suddenly the sound outside is blaring. I move to the front door and swing it open, finding a shirtless man wearing a black cowboy hat and jeans, straddling a riding lawn mower as it moves along the fence line of the pasture. I squint, trying to see his face, and quickly realize it’s Rhett.
He must feel me watching him, because he turns to look at me, throwing a hand up in a friendly wave.
I wave back.
“Sorry!” he shouts. A shit-eating grin blooms across his face, and I make a show of rolling my eyes. I don’t know if he’s pleased that he woke me at this late morning hour or if he thinks he caught me red-handed wearing his brother’s shirt, but either way I’m not going to overthink it. Probably.
Disappearing back inside, I decide to leave the screen door open to let in some fresh air.
It smells like cut grass and horses—all things earthy and so very Kasey.
It’s comforting. Soothing, even. I go back for the coffee, tucking the flower in my ear, and grab my laptop from the guest bedroom before falling into the plush corner of the couch, throwing my feet up on the coffee table.
My conversation with my father has been gnawing at me since yesterday, enough to make me want to look and see if there’s anything I might be able to scrounge up regarding Bennett Rescue Ranch or Huck Bennett himself.
But once the internet browser opens on my screen, my mind turns to something else entirely and I find myself typing Ellis Rustler and Colt Rustler’s names into the county search for public records.
A handful of arrests and criminal charges comes up for each of them, but nothing on a major scale.
Definitely nothing recent. All of it reflects the typical kind of trouble that bored young men with impulse control issues might find themselves in.
Ellis was caught stealing a pack of cigarettes from a convenience store three years ago, and before that there are documented instances of drunken fights and illegal gambling.
Colt has fewer marks, mostly around underage drinking.
I’m thrilled to find no active warrants for either of them.
It doesn’t mean charges can’t still come regarding the night of the shooting .
. . but if cops had anything substantial on a case like that, they’d be quick to make arrests, and my gut tells me they’d go over the Rustlers’ before coming after Kasey.
It’s a bone-deep relief.
The search for Huck Bennett yields a much longer list of results.
In his near-sixty years of life, there’s a lot to sift through: an early criminal history around bootleg moonshine and illegal gambling, property deeds for various residential homes in the Houston area, a handful of marriage licenses to various women and just as many petitions for divorce.
This guy clearly hasn’t learned the concept of happy wife, happy life.
There’s an old record of foreclosure on a commercial property in Galveston for some sort of business in tourism and—
I blink. Lean forward toward the screen.
In the section for civil suits, a new petition was filed only three days ago. One day before our wedding.
I click to open the file.
“Knock knock,” someone calls from out front.
I slam my laptop shut, turning to the screen door. “Who’s there?” I call back.
A sigh. “Less kid jokes and more grown-up gossip!” It’s Layla. I’ve been wondering when she might try to corner me.
“Less-kid-jokes-and-more-grown-up-gossip, who!” I counter, stuffing my laptop into the couch cushions. When she doesn’t respond, I follow up with a curt “Coming!” as I work to wiggle off the couch and hurry to the door, where I find her peeking in from the other side of the screen.
I pull it open, giving her my best smile, and watch her eyes glide down my body. “Okay, so you guys are definitely at least sleeping in the same bed.”
I look down at the rodeo championship shirt I’m still sporting. “It’s not what it looks like,” I say quickly.
She throws me a I couldn’t possibly believe you less look.
“Okay,” I relent, rolling my eyes. “It’s exactly what it looks like. Just . . . come in.”
“I brought snacks.” Layla holds up a canvas tote as she passes. “Kasey mentioned you had a pretty fierce sweet tooth.”
I frown. “Kasey explained my eating habits to you?”
“God no. That would be weird.” She laughs, moving to the kitchen to set the bag down. “But he made sure his mom knew to have dessert on hand during dinner. You know, in case you sprouted an extra head and needed to be tamed by something quick.”
I groan. “Wow, that’s not embarrassing at all.”
She turns around. Leans against the counter. “I have a feeling it has something to do with you being pregnant.” She says it as plainly as if she were presenting the weather, but I can see the excitement dancing around the edges of her face.
“Okay,” I relent. “Let’s just get this over with. What do you want to know?”
She smiles, and it’s . . . genuinely happy. “When did you find out? Do you know the gender? Oh my god, I bet Kasey is over the moon—”
I laugh. “Slow down, killer. I found out a few weeks before I left Miami. I don’t know the gender yet, but I should know in a month, maybe? I still have to set an appointment . . .” I trail off, realizing that Layla’s frowning.
“Did Kasey go visit you or something?”
“No.”
Her eyes drop to my stomach.
And I realize what’s happening. “It’s not Kasey’s,” I hurry to say. “It’s, uh—I was already pregnant. Big reason why I came home.”
Shock slips over her face. “Wait. Does he know?”
“Of course he knows, Layla.”
She seems relieved, though her frown deepens.
“I told him before the wedding. I wouldn’t have . . .” I pause. “I made sure he knew.”
She nods. Pushes her hair behind her ear, like she’s trying to choose her words. “I know it’s none of my business, but it seems like you two are . . . close, again.”
“Yeah,” I draw out. “Guess so.”
“And you just admitted to sleeping in his bed.”
“Yep.” I nod, forcing a smile.
“What does he think about—” Her eyes dip to my stomach again.
Sugar, I don’t think I’ve ever been more unbothered about something in my entire fucking life.
“He’s . . . supportive.”
“Huh,” Layla hums, studying my face. Geez, the girl’s good—I’ve got to remember to be careful with this one.
“Well, great!” She claps her hands together, like now that we’ve gotten that out of the way, we can get back to our regularly scheduled programming.
“Do you like honey buns?” She turns back to the bag on the counter.
“I’ve also got cinnamon rolls or these chocolate waffles shaped like dinosaurs that the boys really like. ”
My mouth waters as she pulls out various packages of food. “Layla,” I say sincerely, “you might be my favorite person today.”