Chapter 3 #2
“You should get some sleep. We can talk some more tomorrow,” I tell her.
The glow of the side table lamp casts over her beautiful face. Her eyes close and she hums out a response. “Mmkay.”
But then her gaze finds mine again. “Wait, where’re you sleepin’?”
“On the couch.”
“Are you sure? I feel bad but also your bed is so comfy, so I don’t feel that bad.”
I chuckle as she sinks deeper into the mattress. “It’s fine. I’ve crashed there hundreds of times.”
Plus, I like that my bed will smell like her after she leaves.
My spare room is mostly random shit. I never got a bed for it because I never needed one.
“Good night, Delilah. Sweet dreams.” Standing, I kiss her forehead again and then click off the lamp.
“Night,” she murmurs softly.
“WILDER GARRETT HOLLIS!”
“Oh fuck,” I mutter at the same time Waylon snaps his gaze to me. He’s mucking the stall next to me.
“What the hell did you do?” he asks.
It’s rare for our mother to scream at us, even more rare to drop our full names—it’s usually Dad—but it was only a matter of time before she found out.
“You got arrested last night? When were you gonna tell me?” She stands in front of the stall gate with hands on her hips.
“Uh…now?” I flash her my boyish grin that usually gets me back into her good graces. Although I’m a fully grown man, Mom still sees me as a sixteen-year-old boy who can’t stay out of trouble.
I glance at my twin, who looks less than amused. “I thought you were with Delilah?”
“She was there,” I confirm.
“What’d you do?”
I don’t get the chance to respond before Mom continues. “Betty Fields told Miss McWilliams that you beat up one of Sheriff Wagner’s deputies and put him in the hospital!”
I roll my eyes at the exaggeration. Good ole rumor mills are already spreading misinformation.
He gapes. “You did what?”
“That’s not entirely true…” I lean the rake against the stall. “I punched Wesley, only once, and he hit his head on the cement. He has a concussion, but he’ll be fine.”
Mom’s eyes are wide with fury and her cheeks are bright red. “Have you lost your mind? Who raised you?”
Waylon snorts and then quickly hides his face when Mom scowls at him.
“He’s gonna press charges!” she exclaims, crossing her arms. “Why on God’s green earth would you hit a deputy?”
“He was harrassin’ Delilah and then called her a whore! I knocked him out on his ass because he deserved it. Dad woulda done the same thing if any man spoke to you that way.”
“Your father would do it out of love, not spite.”
Arching a brow, I stare at her in silence until it dawns on her.
“Oh, Wilder…” She sighs, resting a hand on her chest.
“What?” Waylon asks, clearly missing the obvious.
“Nothin’.” I retrieve the rake and go back to work. “I’ll go in front of a judge tomorrow and deal with the consequences. If Wesley wants to press charges, then he risks gettin’ himself in more trouble too,” I say without explaining all the details.
Sheriff Wagner can be a hard-ass on many things, but one thing’s for sure—you talk badly to a woman in his town, he ain’t letting you off the hook with only a slap on the wrist.
Considering the Fannings have a soft spot in his cold, black heart, I’d be surprised if he lets Wesley off the hook at all.
He was there when Mr. Fanning got hurt and saw him fighting for his life under that tractor that took his leg.
The following year, he was the first one to arrive at their house when Harlow was unconscious after being assaulted by one of the intruders. She had two broken legs, cracked ribs, and was put on life support due to swelling in her brain.
Then, on the day Harlow was kidnapped, he was the one who found the two guys in the barn after Waylon and I rescued her. Harlow took a bat and beat the living shit out of the one guy who was trying to kill her, and I shot the other, who was using a paintball gun to keep us out.
She was bruised and banged up but made a full recovery.
He knows their family has been through hell and back.
And Delilah had to witness most of it. She stayed home for years instead of getting her own place because her dad and sister needed her. Their mom’s a nurse and works twelve-hour shifts, so someone always needed to be home.
With the full realization of how much their family has been through, I think a kickboxing class is just what Delilah needs. Or maybe a rage room where she can smash everything and anything she wants until all the weight of the stress and grief lifts off her chest.
“You’re lucky the sheriff didn’t lock you up all weekend,” Mom says.
“Trust me, I know. Delilah waited while I got processed and then I drove us back to my place.”
“She’s there now?” Waylon asks.
“Yeah, she was exhausted. I didn’t want her to take me home and then drive herself back to town that late.”
Mom grins, then pats my arm. “See, now that’s the Southern gentleman I raised, who makes sure a woman is safe.”
“Safe in his bed…” Waylon muses under his breath, but I hear him.
“Thanks, Ma. I’m gonna check on her during my lunch break.”
“Alright. Well, you better talk to your father afterward because he’s not happy with you either. I’ll call John so he meets you there in the mornin’.”
Figured he wouldn’t be.
“Will do. Thanks, Mom.”
She leans in to hug me, and I wrap an arm around her, then kiss her cheek.
“Does she know?” Mom asks softly.
I lift my shoulder because it’s more complicated than that.
“You should tell her before it’s too late.”
As if it’s that easy.
“I’ll try,” I admit.
“See y’all at supper tonight,” she says, waving at us while she walks out of the barn.
Every Sunday night, my siblings and I go to our parents’ house for dinner. Everyone has busy schedules between their families and working on the ranch, so we use this time to catch up.
My grandmother and younger cousin, Mallory, also live with my parents, which means when everyone’s there—including my siblings’ partners and kids—it’s jam-packed. Mom sets up two large tables between the kitchen and dining room, but we still step on each other’s feet with how crammed it is.
Gramma Grace loves to bake and cook with Mom, so they put on a whole feast. Afterward, they bring out scrapbooking supplies and everyone works on a few pages while they eat dessert.
Since Waylon and I have evening chores at the retreat barn, I don’t usually stay after dinner, but at least once a month I try to stick around because it makes Mom happy.
Once my half of the stalls are mucked and water buckets refilled, I take my lunch break. Trail ride tours are usually at ten in the morning and four in the afternoon, but once it cools down, we only do them once per day at two.
I don’t mind doing them twice a day during the summer since the trees provide shade throughout the trails, but during the winter, we have to bundle up to avoid freezing our asses.
But that means less work and more time to get shit done.
“Something goin’ on between you and Delilah?” Waylon asks when I pull out my keys and walk toward my truck.
“Like what?” I play dumb because he doesn’t need to know. I’ve gone this long without telling him about our past, it’s easier at this point if the truth never comes out.
“I dunno. You tell me,” he says, following me outside. “She’s never slept over before, has she?”
I spin on my boots, facing him, and he nearly collides into me. “Not that it’s any of your business, but no. And I slept on the couch, so you can stop lettin’ your imagination run wild.”
He shrugs, then folds his arms over his chest. “Alright, just checkin’.”
“Why? You’d take issue if there were?” I fire back.
“I don’t want her to get hurt. She’s gone through a lot, especially this past year.”
“I’m aware of that since I’m the one who’s been with her almost every weekend. The last thing I wanna do is cause her more issues, which is why I told her I was done going out and set her free of babysittin’ me.”
Saying those words again causes my chest to tighten. I won’t have any excuses to see her unless I make up a reason.
“Well, that was noble of you.” He grins. “Harlow says she hardly hears from her and when they celebrated their dad’s birthday, she barely spoke a word.”
“She’s grievin’,” I remind him.
“Yeah, Harlow too. I hate that for ’em.”
“I could tell somethin’ was off last night even before the bar fight—”
“There was a bar fight, too?” he exclaims.
Shit. No one else knew about that.
“The asshole who spilled his beer on Delilah swung at me and I gut-punched him.” I wave him off. “It’s no biggie. He walked away with all his teeth and limbs.”
Waylon snorts, rolling his eyes.
“Anyway…we’re just friends. So you don’t haveta worry about me doin’ anything to her.”
Even as I speak the words, they sound wrong coming out of my mouth.
Especially since she kissed and begged me to touch her, I want to be much more than friends.