Chapter 6 #2
“All right. We’re outta here.” Cord gives me a one-armed hug I pretend not to need, avoiding getting slammed in the face by a volleyball bag with his name written on it. “I’ll have her back… in two days?” He tips his head to one side, assessing his luck.
I sigh. “Three days. You can hang out at Coyote for three days,” I tell my offspring, not looking up at my brother.
Their matching whoops tell me I got it right, though I can’t help but wonder if I somehow also managed to get it terribly wrong all at once.
Please, please, God. Let her be safe.
Not that there is any reason that Sally won’t be safe out at Coyote. Cord can get her to medical care anytime she needs it. Plus, I trained him, so he’s more knowledgeable than half the hospital staff. And Billy, and West… shit. I push the ex-Coyote foreman as far from my mind as I can manage.
Which is about as far as I ran from him earlier before he laughed at me and left me in a fresh hot flush all over.
“Bye, Mom,” Sally calls pointedly from a foot in front of my face when I don’t respond to what’s obviously been several attempts to draw my attention.
“Bye, chicken. Have an awesome time. Look after her,” I direct to my brother as I strangle my child in a chokehold hug of epic proportions. “Love you,” I whisper in her ear soft enough for the entire townhouse complex to hear.
“See you in a few days!” Sally disappears out of my line of sight.
A pang hits me at chest height the moment she’s gone. “Bye,” I mutter, wrapping my empty arms around myself. Ten years old. You’d think I’d get my asylum-grade abandonment issues under control sometime.
“I’ll take care of her,” Cord reassures me in his quiet way.
I know you will. Otherwise I’d never let her stay with you.
I grab her forgotten oboe in its case instead and shove it into his arms, and then top that with her music stand and folder of sheet music. “I’m sure you can just ship in anything else that she’s forgotten. Sally knows where she’s going and when. Don’t let her get distracted. No junk food!”
“We won’t,” Cord promises me, pressing a kiss to my temple.
Then he’s gone too, and I’m left staring at a capybara whose axolotl suit looks as distressed as my clothing, its feathery frond gill things wilting visibly with each breath that tries to heave from my chest.
She’ll be fine. She’ll be okay. He’s safe. She’s safe with him.
I grab my phone and send a flurry of texts to Lanie.
They’re headed your way. Your wishes are coming true!
Please do NOT let her ride a bull.
Or chat up a cowboy.
She’s too young for that.
It’s okay, you hyperactive piece of amazingness. She’s safe with us. And you get to sleep (or not). Go Hottie McNurse it up!
Or something.
We have to catch up at some point. I’m so over everything right now.
And you’re offering to take my offspring? You are crazy, lady.
Sally’s super sweet. And she’s just like you.
Therein lies the problem.
The worst thing is that I know Sally’s safe with Cord.
I love my brother to pieces. I always have, regardless of how I feel about him train-smashing into our life with his enthusiastic brand of affection trying to fill the gaping holes in mine.
Sally adores him too. We have some other trust issues that run deep, mostly about money, independence, and control, but Sally shouldn’t come into those.
At least, I try to make sure she doesn’t. My issues are mine and my brother’s.
I tuck the lonely capybara under my arm as Cord’s truck pulls away from the front of my house, the engine the loudest thing around town. Without either of them here, my overstuffed home is more silent and empty than ever.
With three days off before my next shift—the three days I just handed my offspring to Cordell for—I have nothing to do.
I pad about the rooms, picking Sally’s things up aimlessly and putting them in safe places where we both probably won’t find them later.
My phone buzzes on the sofa. I spend five minutes digging the device out from beneath the laundry pile to find West’s name flashing on my screen.
Just saw Cord’s truck scream past with Sally. Do you need an assist?
Rand?
I cough at his prompt even as my thumbs betray me, typing back a quick response.
Cord’s taking her for a few days. They’re running errands today then back to Coyote. I’m free for me time. It’s perfect.
…
…
Spit it out. Don’t be shy, cowboy suit man.
Now there’s an image. But you’re full of shit.
I beg your pardon?
You watch too much Brit TV. I saw the watchlist that you binged back at Coyote.
Stop avoiding the question.
Bossy woman. You hate time by yourself.
Do not.
Cute, Rand. Denial suits you. Want company?
…
I sit on his offer, reading over the conversation. My thumbs type out yes/no over and over again, deleting my answer until I put my phone down. It buzzes again. I groan, like he’s annoying me.
That offer doesn’t expire, Rand.
The one where you leave me alone?
You’re the one who asked for a ride the other night. A full-service date to the door, right?
I bite my lip. Shit. I did say that. So I was a little mouthy at West. Hell, that cowboy deserves plenty of sass, and I usually deliver to him in heavy doses. Post-midnight Winnie is no exception.
Good to know I have a booty call when I need one. Thanks x
I lick my lips, waiting on his response.
My phone stays silent. Either I’ve flirted past his comfort range—possible—or I’ve pissed him off. Also possible.
A creak from the doorway (which is still open. Cord will have a field day) tells me I have a creeper who forgot her stuff.
I toss my phone back at the laundry pile just as it buzzes. Timing. Now I want to know what West says in response to my sass, but he’ll have to wait until I deal with my irresponsible offspring.
“You know you need more time to pack than what you took,” I call out, not looking up as I berate my child.
If I give Sally time enough to creep her butt down the hall and get whatever she forgot to take with her—shoes for volleyball, her phone charger, her toothbrush—then the ensuing argument afterward will be less volatile.
Still, it’s in me to snark. Plus, I’m her mom.
I get liberties, right? “Do you want a laminated list on the fridge here or at Coyote?”
“Are you that irresponsible with our kid that you let her wander around with anyone and not care?”
The voice that fills the townhouse isn’t the one that I expect, though somewhat horrifyingly it does belong here. Hell, we even still share a name, because I wanted continuity for Sally.
I take a step toward the laundry pile as my head snaps upward, meeting Brad Hamilton’s crystal-blue eyes. Eyes that once drew me in with all the promise of a happy life together and picket fences and all the bullshit we were supposed to do together.
Now those eyes simply remind me of how cruel he can be.
“Get out,” I muster enough volume to hiss at him as my throat clenches on the two words. My hand brushes the screen of my phone, but my trembling fingers knock it sideways. The device tumbles off the top of the laundry pile deep into the mass, useless. “You’re not supposed to be here.”
Brad saunters up a step and pauses on the threshold like it matters if he puts his pristine boot that’s never seen mud on the carpet. “I own this house, Winnie. That gives me the right.”