30. Lennox
lennox
. . .
“Bout damn time,” Dad grumbled as the back door opened. “Was beginning to think you’d never surface for air.”
All eyes turned to my sister and her boyfriend standing in the shade. Josie’s cheeks flamed bright pink as Lincoln wrapped his arm around her middle. “Sorry. Lincoln had to… unpack.”
Dad snorted, leaning against the cedar pillar near the grill. “That what the kids are calling it these days?” He shook his head. “Back in my day, we just called it knockin’ boots.”
“God, Dad. Please stop,” she said, turning to bury her face in Lincoln’s chest. He wasn’t fazed in the slightest. If anything, he looked proud.
“I’m just saying!” Dad said, raising his hands. “I don’t like hearing it any more than you do, but if you’re grown enough to do it, then you’re grown enough to call it like it is.”
He walked over, pulling Josie from Lincoln's arms and kissing her forehead like he hadn’t seen her earlier. Then he and Lincoln shared the typical dude embrace, which wasn’t quite a hug or a handshake. Bishop followed, doing the same thing. “How was your trip? Tell me all about it!”
Callie lay at my feet, snoozing away while I watched Bishop from my seat on the patio, bringing a cold beer to my lips.
He looked so happy here with everyone, laughing and joking while tending the grill.
Every now and then, my dad would clap his shoulder, and I swore I saw him stand a little taller.
I’d known a little bit about Bishop’s history from overhearing Mom and Dad talk from time to time, but I’d never known just how tough he’d had it.
I couldn’t stop thinking about his childhood while we packed up the picnic and rode back to the barn.
He was right. It’d been a hard truth for me to listen to when my parents were truly special.
Growing up, they had a very open-door policy.
We could come to them about anything bothering us, and they always agreed to help us sort it out.
I’d never had to think about what the alternative looked like because it never applied to me.
How privileged I was to never worry about money or hear sharp words wielded like weapons by the people who raised me.
Bishop deserved so much more than the hand he’d been dealt, but I wondered if somewhere along the way he’d gotten too mixed up in it to appreciate what he might draw next.
When he talked about wanting a family earlier, a place to call his own, I wanted to shake him and tell him to look around.
I mean, he’d attended every Friday night dinner since I could remember.
Dad wouldn’t have invited him if he wasn’t family.
There wasn’t a person on this ranch who didn’t care for and respect him.
And I was no exception.
As if he could feel my stare, he looked up and winked before continuing his conversation. It was quick. So quick that I might’ve missed it if I hadn’t been paying attention, but I think I always had been.
Whenever Bishop walked into a room, I gravitated toward him, keenly aware of his every move.
If he glanced my way in a crowd, I felt his gaze like static skittering along my skin.
It was something I’d shrugged off as an annoyance.
Of course, I knew where the most aggravating person I’d ever met was.
But it was more.
It'd always been more.
Josie and Cleo plopped beside me, talking about the branding. It was always a big weekend around here. All hands would be on deck to move through the calves as quickly as possible. Last I checked, we had about 175 to push through, which was more than we’d seen in previous seasons.
“Any of your old boyfriends coming to help?” Josie asked, kicking me under the table.
“What?” I asked, focusing back on their conversation. My gaze drifted over her shoulder to where Bishop was standing. If he’d heard anything, he didn’t show it.
Josie rolled her eyes. “I asked if any of your old boyfriends are coming tomorrow? You know… To help out?”
“Uh, I don’t know,” I answered honestly. “Haven’t talked to anyone, so I guess we’ll see.”
Usually, I wouldn’t think twice about who would be out here, but I’d already seen how possessive Bishop could get. Honestly? It was a turn-on. Did it make me a bad person if the thought made my panties wet?
Cleo leaned back in her chair and sighed. “At least we’ll be eating good tonight, because tomorrow will be hell. I always hated branding days. Tensions are high, and there's always a lot of yelling.”
“Yeah, but most of that came from Dad, and he’s sidelined this year,” I said.
She raised her brows. “And you think that’ll stop him from yelling?”
“Fair point,” I chuckled. “I think it’s going to kill him to just watch. I’m sure Lincoln and Bishop will get a talking to on Monday about how they could’ve made things run smoother.”
“I love Dad, but I really hope the boys surprise the hell out of him,” Josie said, dropping her chin on her palm. “Lincoln always gets crabby when he thinks Dad’s mad at him.”
“Bishop, too,” I added, taking a sip. When I set the beer down, both my sisters were staring at me like I’d lost my mind. “What? Is there something on my face?” I turned in my chair, looking around. “Oh god, please tell me there isn’t a spider.”
Josie and Cleo glanced at one another before my eldest sister spoke up. “No, it’s just that?—”
“Did the two of you finally bang?” Josie finished, whisper-shouting as she leaned on the table. Bishop choked on his beer, turning just in time to spew it out on the grass and not the steaks.
“Well, I’ll take that as a yes,” Cleo mumbled under her breath.
“OH MY G?—”
“Cleo, gag her!”
She slapped a hand over Josie’s mouth, who at least had the decency to look sorry. “Are you dick drunk or something?” I asked. Normally, I was the one they had to worry about for volume control. “Did you suddenly forget how the fuck to keep quiet?”
Over her shoulder, I saw Lincoln pat the center of Bishop’s back. “I’m good, man,” he said, wiping the spilled beer off on his pants. “Just went down the wrong pipe or something.”
“I’m sorry. Was I supposed to not be excited that one of you had finally made a move?” she asked.
“Finally? What do you mean finally?”
Cleo threw her hands up. “Come on, Lennox. Don’t act like you haven’t been panting after him since you were a teenager. I distinctly remember you doodling Mrs. Lennox Bryant in your diary for at least a year.”
“And don’t get us started on the sexual tension between you two. It’s nearly suffocating,” Josie said, putting her hands around her throat as though she couldn’t breathe .
Oh, I was going to kill her. Actually, I was going to kill them both. From that moment on, I was a single child.
Especially as Bishop’s shoulders shook with restrained laughter.
“I hate you both,” I hissed between my teeth.
Josie waved me off. “No, you don’t.”
I crossed my arms over my chest. “I beg to differ.”
“Dinner’s ready!” Dad called, mercifully changing the subject and giving me a chance to escape this new-found hell.
“Don’t think we’re done talking about this!” Josie called over her shoulder as I grabbed the trash they had left behind.
“Yes, we are!” I shouted back. We were so done, and I had no problem pulling the barn sex card on her if I needed to get out of it. At least when Bishop and I were in my loft, we were alone.
Except for poor Callie.
I’d have to buy her all the chew toys and treats she wanted to make up for what she’d seen.
I looked up, breath catching, as I saw Bishop staring at me through the window. His eyes were soft, the edges around them slightly crinkled. Something about the sight made all my frustrations fade away.
The word mine echoed in my head with each steady beat of my heart.
For the first time, it didn’t scare me. It didn’t make me want to run for the hills and never look back.
If anything, I wanted to shout it from the rooftops for everyone to hear.
I wanted to claim him, to give him the comfort he was desperately searching for.
I just hoped he felt the same because I wasn’t sure how to return to a world where I didn’t love Bishop Bryant.
“Everything ready for tomorrow?” Dad asked, scratching his goatee as he settled into his favorite armchair.
Bishop and Lincoln sat on the couch beside him, beers in hand and bellies full.
There was some old western show playing in the background that no one was paying attention to.
I was pretty sure Dad could recite every word anyway, so it didn’t matter much.
Mom peeked her head around the corner, narrowing her eyes. “How long have you been waiting to ask that question?”
“Probably since the last time he asked it when they were cooking the steaks,” I chimed in before Dad could open his mouth. I came around with my arms full of empty plates, narrowly missing his playful swat.
“Smartass,” he muttered.
I paused, turning around and giving him a wink. “You always told me it was better to be a smartass than a dumbass.”
His laughter followed me into the kitchen, and I swore I heard him chuckle, “That’s my girl.”
Mom, Josie, and Cleo washed and dried the dishes as I finished putting away our leftovers.
As much as I loved eating as a family, this was my favorite part.
Sometimes we worked side-by-side in companionable silence, listening to Dad’s antics in the next room, while others we blasted music and danced around the kitchen island drinking margaritas.
Tonight was a quiet night, which I was thankful for. This weekend would be exhausting, but I loved that Dad made a big deal out of these big events because they weren’t for the faint of heart.