Fired Up

Chapter Eighteen

Leaving shouldn’t be this hard.

Layla packed her suitcase in the morning, having already showered. Avery was still feeding the cowboys but returned quicker than normal.

“Want me to make you breakfast before you go?”

“Thanks, but I’ll grab something on the road,” she told him. “Todd and Brodi left town about an hour ago so she can make her mani/pedi appointment in San Antonio. Then we’ve got some reviewing to do for the upcoming week, and I have errands to run. Clothes to wash. Repacking to do. Flight to Tulsa is an early one tomorrow.”

“Making thoughts of our Monday nights together dissipate.”

“Most times we don’t fly out until later,” she told him—though she heard his point loud and clear. “Brodi found a screaming deal to Tulsa that bumps us up to first class, and she never passes on that.”

He nodded. “I understand.”

They stood a distance from each other, the silence stretching between them.

Chitchatting wasn’t going to get them through this moment. Nor was pretending that a part-time romance would work. She was already botching it by leaving today.

Not Brodi’s fault at all. She didn’t know what Layla and Avery had talked about. They hadn’t really committed to whether one night a week would suffice anyway—had let the suggestion simmer. Probably because they’d known, even back then, this was an impossible venture.

She zipped her suitcase, and he grabbed the handle while she collected her tote.

“I’ll walk you out,” he said.

They left his room, in no hurry. In fact, their pace was so slow, she could practically hear their feet dragging along the hallway.

Layla took that time to think about where they stood. But facts were facts. She had three weeks to film the remainder of the season and then had the finale to shoot. Plus, she had Brodi delving into themes to consider for season six, if they chose to continue with this show, and that meant a lot of scouting would be on the agenda. Regardless of what she opted to do next, Layla would have travel on her schedule. No skirting it.

Avery escorted her to her rental. Put her suitcase in the trunk and then opened the door for her, taking her tote, then rounding the front of the car and placing it on the floorboard of the passenger side.

He returned to her, still standing there, racking her brain for something to say that wouldn’t send either one of them spiraling.

It was too late for that, really. Her stomach twisted, and her eyes misted as she gazed up at him.

He swept his thumb over her cheek. “Don’t go cryin’ on me, darlin’. You’ll break my heart.”

Notthe thing to say to a woman who was falling apart.

“This just doesn’t seem right,” she whispered.

“Doesn’t seem right ... or doesn’t feel right?” he quietly challenged.

She nodded. He’d know what term was most accurate.

Admitting it out loud wouldn’t help their plight, keep them from a further tailspin.

His teeth ground. His eyes darkened.

She told him, “We can’t draw this out, cowboy. We’re only torturing ourselves.”

“No lie.” He groaned. “Be sure to text me that you arrived home. And landed in Tulsa.” He kissed her forehead. Kissed her lips. And murmured, “Safe travels to you, darlin’.”

More tears crested the rims of her eyes.

This long goodbye was one of the hardest things she’d done since becoming Layla Jenson. It was downright excruciating.

“Honey,” he said, as he tried to keep up with the streams along her cheeks. “Don’t go leaving me in a worry.” He hitched her chin with his crooked finger. “You have to drive.”

She sniffled. Tried to blink away the last few drops. Was unsuccessful because they still fell.

He pulled her to him, and she cried on his broad shoulder.

For sure, her emotions had not been this tumultuous, this tormenting, over the past few years. Not until she’d met the hunky bunkhouse cook, his cowboys, his partner, his family. And had heard his story. All of it. The good, the bad, and the ugly.

And knew he was still drowning in the latter two, related to his dad. An old wound freshly opened.

It felt cruel and selfish for her to “move along” while he was just now confronting the resurrection of his father—because of her show.

She’d been instrumental in bringing Caleb Reed back into Avery’s life.

And she was just going to walk away from that emotional upheaval?

It wasn’t what she wanted to do.

But it was what she had to do.

She pulled away, brushed her hands over her damp face, and said, “If I don’t go now, I won’t go ever.”

“So stay.”

Their eyes locked.

For several suspended, unwavering seconds.

Her heart nearly stopped.

But then he heaved a breath and said, “Go. Layla. Go.”

She nodded. Yet couldn’t quite move.

He kissed her one last time—so exquisitely painful.

Then he directed her into the seat. Helped with her belt and even turned the key in the ignition.

Layla drew in a long stream of air. Reached for a tissue in her tote and dabbed around her eyes. Blew her nose.

She settled back and said, “Don’t worry about me, Avery. I’ll be fine.”

She gave him a shaky smile. He gave a weak grin in return. Then closed the door.

Layla backed out of the drive and took the road toward the main gate, her gaze flitting to the cowboy in her rearview mirror.

Until he was out of sight.

“Well, that fucking sucks.” Avery plopped into a chair in front of Jack’s desk. Whisked off his hat and added, “You were miserable to the core when Jillian left this ranch, and I knew it. I saw it. And then I willingly—willingly—invited that same misery into my life.”

Jack dragged a hand down his face, rested his elbow on his blotter, and scratched his chin.

Didn’t say anything, though. As if he was well aware of how this conversation would proceed. One-sided, on Avery’s part.

And he was right.

Avery lamented, “Can’t compare the remainder of the situation to yours, Jack. Jillian went home to her peppers, but realized she could grow them here. Layla’s got the world sprawled beneath her feet now that she’s free from her past. And thirty-five thousand feet above the ground is where she prefers to be. A jet taking her to every destination she can think of for her show. And a few I recommended, goddamn it.” He scowled.

“There is that proverb about lovin’ something and settin’ it free.” This came from Chance as he entered the office and plopped onto the sofa facing the fireplace.

Avery’s head dropped back on his shoulders, his eyes squeezed shut, and he let out a low grunt.

“The point is that it comes back to you,” Chance contended.

Avery opened his eyes, rolled his head, and speared Chance with a sardonic look. “If it’s yours to begin with.”

“Well, there is that.” Chance grimaced.

“You left the door open—literally ... right?” Jack asked, drawing Avery’s attention.

He sat forward and propped his forearms on his thighs, clasping his hands between his parted legs. “She also has the gate code,” he said. “When we change it, I’ll let her know.”

“Maybe give her a little time,” Jack suggested.

“To do what?” Avery asked. “Get back into her traveling groove and realize she doesn’t have time to pop by the ranch because, oh, yeah ... it’s not just poppin’ by. It’s a three-hour drive from San Antonio.”

“Bit of a haul when you’ve just flown back from somewhere and have to fly out the next day,” Chance concurred in an empathetic tone.

Avery nearly reached for a fountain pen on the desk to stick it in his temple.

Instead ... he said, with as much reason as he could muster, “I don’t begrudge the woman having a career. In fact, I encourage it. I applaud it. She’s had some tough shakes, and yet she perseveres. I admire and respect that. No matter how it affects me.”

“That’s commendable,” Chance offered.

“There’s more.” Avery jerked his chair around to face his brother. “More than just the dad sighting at Layla’s hotel, he’s also posted on her socials.”

“I haven’t been checking them,” Chance admitted. “Not really my jam.”

“Nor mine. But he left a comment—for me. And he has a whole profile thingy that claims he’s a reformed alcoholic and has a new family.”

Chance’s gaze narrowed. “Say again?”

“A wife and a stepson. Small boy. Maybe seven or eight.”

“Jesus Christ,” Jack murmured.

Chance stood. And paced. Aggravated, for sure. The contained fury rolled off him in waves, though he didn’t erupt.

Avery could tell his brother was trying his best to think this through. As Avery had done ... until he’d deemed it futile.

What the fuck did it matter if Caleb Reed was alive, remarried, living a county over, and apparently happy as a goddamn clam for his good fortune?

Chance whirled around and said, “I can’t say as though I believe this.”

“Yeah, I know the feeling,” Avery told him. “Seems sketchy.”

He glanced back at Jack, who was on his phone, scrolling rapidly. Then tapping. Then squinting.

“What’s that all about?” Avery asked.

“Well, it appears to all be fact, except ...” His gaze lifted to meet Avery’s. “I don’t buy it either. I mean ...” He let out a sharp, humorless laugh. “What the hell, right? He’s just goin’ about his business like he never devastated anyone, never put this ranch in jeopardy?”

“That’s my thinking exactly,” Avery averred. “Which worries the crap out of me.”

“Makes two of us,” Jack agreed.

“Three,” Chance chimed in. “I don’t feel the least bit comfortable about this. Especially given the timing. Spidey senses are tellin’ me this is a part of his ruse. And it could hit us hard if we’re not careful.”

Layla drove through Serrano to that four-way stop.

To her right was the road that would take her out of town and to the interstate. Get her back to San Antonio.

To the left . . .

She stared at the sign as the other cars took their turns.

To the left was the next county over.

Where Grant was located.

More specifically ... where Caleb Reed’s supposed ranch was located.

Supposed.

What a funny word. Subjective, hypothetical. Sarcastic, even, due to it denoting a lack of merit toward something that could be an honest reality.

Because Layla still felt tremendous guilt over having inadvertently brought Caleb back into Avery’s life—Chance’s and the family’s as well—and her curiosity was burning a hole through her brain, she flipped on her left signal.

She used her speakerphone to call Brodi, asking, “Can you give me some directions to the Caleb Reed ranch in Grant?”

“Um, ’scuse the fuck out of me?” Brodi retorted. “Not!”

“Jesus.” Layla hissed out a breath. “I just want to see for myself—”

“Then I’m turning this car around and meeting you there,” Todd cut in.

“Why am I on your speakerphone, Brodi?” Layla demanded. “And for God’s sake, Todd, you’re over an hour ahead of me.”

“So pull off to the side and wait for me to come back,” he insisted.

“Or just let Brodi give me some guidance. These roads aren’t really roads around here. They’re farm-to-market routes, and I’m guessing I need actual GPS coordinates, not street signs.”

“So,” Brodi said in her best Meryl Streep voice, “you head down to the Robertsons’ farm and—”

“Brodi. This isn’t The Bridges of Madison County. And that’s not even the correct line. It was the Petersons’.”

“Whatevs.” She sighed with exasperation. “Not helpin’ ya out. Come to San Antone. Now.”

“What she said,” Todd iterated.

“I’m already headed toward Grant, so either help me or don’t. And do you even know the difference between a farm and a ranch?”

“I’m from Dallas, if you’ll recall,” Brodi said. “City girl.”

“So let’s be country girls for a moment.”

“I swear to God,” Brodi ground out. “You’re out of danger, and now you’re putting yourself back into it?”

“Maybe not,” Layla said. “Just tell me where I’m going. Please.”

If ever there was a true pregnant pause ... this was it.

“Oh, for the love of—” Layla started to say.

“Okay, okay.” Brodi huffed. “Two secs.”

Layla just continued driving along. What else was she to do? There were no indications of where the hell she was headed. Just huge acreage with a farmhouse after huge acreage with a farmhouse. Then some ranches with horses and cows. Then more farms and general homesteads.

Brodi came back on the line. “When you see a community recreational area with picnic tables, ramadas, and lawns for soccer or whatever, drive past that and turn right.”

Layla did as instructed, looking for a stoplight but not finding one. So she took the first street she could veer off on.

“And now?” she asked.

“Just keep driving. There’s a barn you’ll come across before the house. Take the dirt road there.”

“Every road is a dirt road,” she informed Brodi.

“If you pass the rooster signage, as it looks like from the landscape view, you’ve gone too far.”

Layla was starting to think she’d gone too far when she’d bypassed the route to San Antonio.

But a gnawing deep inside her told her to stay on this particular course.

And when she saw the appropriate signage with hens gathered around a strutting rooster, she knew she couldn’t turn back.

“I’m here. Give me forty-five minutes to call you back.”

“Oh, girl, you’re killin’ me! Forty-five minutes??”

“I think everything will be fine,” Layla asserted. “Just let me investigate.”

“With your cell camera on.”

“Promise.”

Layla exited the car just as a woman came from the screened-in porch to greet her.

But Caleb emerged from the barn and called out, “Go on inside the house, Grace.”

Layla instantly recalled Caleb’s profile: “Ne’er-do-well given a second chance by Grace.”

That said so much.

Grace smiled at Layla, nodded to Caleb, and did as he requested.

Caleb approached Layla and said, “Don’t hold her guilty by association, Miss Jenson. That’s a fine woman who doesn’t need to be judged.”

Layla stuffed her phone in her back pocket and held up her hands. “Wasn’t judging her. And I do respect that you protect her.”

“I could’ve done better in the past. I didn’t. She has nothing to do with who I was before. My atonement is my own.”

Layla let those words permeate her psyche.

Her personal ruminations had much to do with not being a hypocrite. Not looking down on others when she’d shamed herself.

Also ... she placed value in penance.

That was one reason she was here.

The other was . . .

“Nice setup you have,” she commented in as casual a voice as she could, given there was still tension arcing between them.

“Got a chicken coop that generates eggs we trade for produce around the county. My wife has goats and makes products from their milk—soaps, lotions, what have you. Sells them at craft fairs. We have pigs up for auction, and some heifers. And I have three pits that I work for various catering events. Weddings, anniversaries, birthdays, and the like. We turn a decent profit.”

“So this is real.”

“Is that why you came here? To see if I’m now on the up-and-up?”

Her eyes connected with his. “Is that a surprise?”

He chuckled, low and deep. “I guess not. Why don’t you come in and have some iced tea?”

She tore her gaze from his, and it swept the ranch. Though she remained a bit hesitant, she nodded and said, “That’d be lovely.”

She followed him into the house, to a modest-size living room. There were multicolored foam golf balls scattered on the carpeted floor, along with cutout numbers and equation symbols.

Grace brought her son over, who had light hair and freckles.

Caleb said to him, “Michael, this is Miss Jenson. She’s a guest of ours.”

“How do you do?” the boy asked with a crooked smile.

She shook his proffered hand as she said, “Quite nicely, thank you. And you?”

“Very well, thank you very much.”

“Oh my, with the manners.” Layla pressed her palm to her heart.

He shoved his hands into his front pockets, now beaming.

Layla glanced at Grace, who also extended her hand.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Grace said.

“And you,” Layla replied.

Grace stared down at Michael, telling him, “Put all your learning tools away, and you can watch cartoons.”

“Yes!” he blurted. Then got to work.

Grace explained, “He’s homeschooled, and I find that using the golf balls adds a visual and physical component to studying math and holds his attention. He’s also an early riser, so if he can get through half his curriculum before lunch, he gets to watch TV during his ‘recess.’”

“Interesting how he lollygags through the second half so that he’s not in a rush to do his evenin’ chores.” Caleb grinned. “But ends up feeding the goats and the chickens anyway.”

The free-flowing exchange with heartwarming levity confused Layla.

Seemingly catching on, Caleb suggested, “Why don’t we sit?”

She followed him to the round table situated in the middle of the small kitchen that was brightened by sunflowers in ceramic vases and light-wood tones. It couldn’t have been much bigger than her daddy’s kitchen, and yet it didn’t have that pressed-in feeling. She wondered why that was ... whether the “stifled” sensations truly were linked to her mother’s lingering spirit—and Layla wallowing in the remorse that she’d been the cause of her death.

Caleb pulled out a chair for her. He then washed his hands and retrieved two glasses from a cupboard as Grace got the pitcher of tea from the fridge.

Caleb poured while his wife collected two plates and forks.

“I have lemon bars fresh out of the oven,” she said.

“And they smell wonderful,” Layla commented, still perplexed by this whole scene.

Grace served dessert, telling Layla, “You’re even prettier in person. How is that possible?”

Layla fought the twinge over the compliment. It was well received, yet her life was a dichotomy.

“I hadn’t realized y’all were watching the show, until recently,” she said as a buffer.

“I still have ties in the BBQ world,” Caleb informed her. “That’s how I heard of Jack’s YouTube channel. Then Avery’s name started cropping up, and I wanted to see how he was faring.”

She nodded. “I got a little puzzled over what you thought I could do for him.”

“You did it last night.”

Grace bowed out of the conversation, saying, “I’ll leave you two to it.”

“Thank you for your hospitality,” Layla told her.

“Anytime.” She kissed Caleb’s cheek, then returned to the living room with her son.

Caleb continued. “I don’t think Avery would have included all those key components that are central to the ranch if he hadn’t been encouraged.”

“That wasn’t just me,” she stated, thinking back on Ale quizzing them all about the bigger, better mousetrap.

“Avery is damn good at what he does,” his father said. “He just sometimes forgets that he has more to offer, only thinking competitions are about the meat. There’s so much more that brings together a complete package.”

“I saw him building upon that during the week. He just needed to count on his family to give him a little extra oomph,” Layla said.

“And I figured you’d give an additional nudge in the right direction.”

“Everyone’s free to do as they please during their airtime,” she reminded him. “But this was definitely a case of ‘If you have it, flaunt it.’ They did it to the perfect degree. Nothing overboard, not too fancy. Just a casual evening at the TRIPLE R.”

“I’m glad it panned out.”

She picked at the powdered sugar topping on the shortbread crust with her fork, giving herself a few seconds to word her next question properly. “Even though it happened at the ranch?”

He nodded. “That’s his home. His sanctuary. The place where he belongs.”

“Not everyone embraces that concept—at least not right at this moment. Riley likes living in Nashville, and Luke’s in town with his cantina. And then—”

“There’s me.”

He sipped his tea. Set aside the glass. And said, “First, if you’re wonderin’ if I’ve traumatized my new family in any way, I assure you I pulled myself together before Grace and I got married. And she and her son have done nothing but strengthen my belief in redemption. She knows my past. She didn’t absolve me of my sins. She accepts my faults but holds me to a higher standard. She’d never let me fall back on my bad habits and old ways. She wouldn’t leave me ... she’d kick my ass out.”

“I like her,” Layla said, her gaze level with his.

He nodded. “This is her family’s home.” He winced, then added, “Not that there’s anything left of the family. They passed in a wildfire that spread through the plains during a camping trip. She was widowed. Michael no longer had a father. And somehow ... I don’t know, Miss Jenson.” He combed a hand through his hair. “I was making my rounds with the cowboy outfits in the county when the fire broke out, and some of us saved a few people. That’s how I met her and her son. And we just ... bonded. The three of us. Out of the blue. Can’t even explain it.”

Layla’s throat tightened. She couldn’t speak for a spell.

She and Avery had experienced something similar, the moment they’d met.

The connection had been visceral. She’d felt it in her soul.

But it wasn’t a “meant to be” scenario.

However, it seemed that for Caleb, Grace, and Michael ... it was.

She cut into her lemon bar. It tasted even better than it smelled. She took a long drink of tea and then told Caleb, “I guess for you, all’s well that ends well.”

“Oh, no. Not at all.” He let out a breath. “That’s never how I feel. Yes, I pray to the Lord every night that this isn’t a dream I’m going to wake up from. And I do everything in my power to prove I’m now worthy of this life—that I’m worthy of Grace and Michael. This ranch. What we’re creating together. But that doesn’t make me a good man, Miss Jenson. It doesn’t exonerate me.”

“What’s so different this time around for you?” she asked.

“Every single thing. This ranch feels like home. The TRIPLE R? It was just a pit of despair for me. My mama died of cancer not long after my brother Royce was born. About five years. So I did what I could to help out with taking care of him. But there was something that had shifted in my dad after her death. Royce became this crown prince, like he was the only gift our mom had left him. The favoritism wore thin with me. And I started to resent not only my brother but my family. And the ranch.”

“Is that why Royce took over operations when your father passed?”

“His reign was decided well before that.” Caleb ate a bite, sat back, then said, “And that bothered the hell out of me because I was the one working the pastures and the stables from sunup to sundown when I wasn’t in school and only taking that span of time as a break when I had classes to get to. Meanwhile, Royce was sitting in Dad’s office, watching him reconcile the books and learning about ranchin’ from A to Z from an intellectual, not a practical application, standpoint. He never mucked out stalls, is what I’m sayin’.”

Layla could see where this was headed.

Caleb told her, “The animosity festered like an infected wound. And I was the pus.”

He let out an agonized laugh.

Then he said, “Shoot, I shouldn’t have made that analogy while you’re eating.”

She put the forkful in her mouth, chewed, and said, “Not much stands in the way of me and food.”

He grinned, apparently liking that she’d lightened the dark mood.

“I’m guessing that’s one of the many things Avery admires about you.”

“He has talent, without doubt.”

“Absolutely, he does. And it’s unfortunate I hindered him rather than helped him.”

“Why is that?” she pressed, feeling the secrets start to flow. “Why were you antagonistic with him?”

“Because he was too good. Making him one more person I was jealous of. Hell ...” He took a long drink, then said, “I was jealous of Chance too. My own sons. Avery had mad BBQ skills from the start, and Chance had a way with the cattle and the cowboys that made him a natural leader. He was born to be the foreman of that ranch. And I knew it was only a matter of time before Avery usurped me as the bunkhouse chef. I just never felt like I had a place there. And it pissed me off.”

“Did you ever discuss this with your brother?”

“Royce didn’t have time for my pettiness. Rightfully so. He had his hands full from a young age. So I crawled into a bottle and let the booze soothe me at times, though mostly it just led to me making bad choices. Hitting rock bottom and then realizing I still had levels I could fall. The gamblin’ gave me a high when I’d win. But losin’ cost me more than I could cover. So I got clever and started diverting funds from my annual bunkhouse budget. Found other ways to funnel money my way. Hoping I could score a hefty sum on the ponies or at a poker table to pay it all back before Royce noticed it was gone.”

“But you couldn’t.”

“No, I could not.” He rubbed the stubble on his jaw. Finished his dessert and drained his iced tea.

Then he stood and crossed to the far counter, where there was an antique breadbox and three matching canisters in a pale-green shade.

Panic skittered through Layla, thinking maybe he was reaching for a weapon. She shoved back her chair and got to her feet—it was habitual.

Caleb’s head whipped in her direction. He held up a hand. “Please, just wait. Nothing to fear here, I promise. I just want you to know ...”

He groaned.

Then he removed the lid on the tallest canister and extracted four white envelopes and a thicker folio.

He said, “Part of my recovery is working a program that focuses on making amends to people I’ve wronged. Some of those amends aren’t so difficult. Others are. Please sit. Let me explain.”

He returned to the table. She slipped back into her chair. Now more curious than wary.

He spread out the envelopes, with names scrawled across the front.

One for Jack.

One for Brett.

One for Chance.

One for Avery.

Layla’s breaths were shallow as she said, “I don’t understand.” Though she kind of did.

“Direct amends for your trespasses ought to be done in person,” he said. “That’s humiliating and humbling. Painful as all get-out, so that you don’t have a scrap of pride left. But you can muscle your way through them in hopes of getting closer to forgiveness—and rebuilding your pride, your dignity.”

He sighed. Ground his teeth.

Then he told Layla, “With some of the people you owe amends to, however ...” He shook his head. “There might not be verbal words to express your regret. Your sorrow. So you write them down. And you pray that the person reading them can not only ‘hear’ your remorse but also feel it.”

“Did you write one for Royce?”

“Yes, I did. I keep it in my nightstand drawer.”

Emotion pricked the back of her eyes.

He wasn’t done. He pulled the thicker folio from his back pocket and unraveled the twine around the fastening. Peeled back the flap and dropped the packet onto the table.

Bills of various denominations spilled out of it.

Layla gasped.

He said, “It’s nowhere near what I stole. But I’ve been saving for years. I wanted to have more to offer Jack—and the ranch—before I handed it over. Now seems to be a good time, though. With the caveat that I’ll keep paying on my debt.”

“Oh, geez.” Layla stood again. And paced.

A lump lodged in her throat, and she wasn’t sure she’d be able to speak around it.

Caleb said, “I have the nigglin’ suspicion that what drove Avery to join your cook-off was the prize money. And if he wins any, he’s going to give it to Jack. Am I right?”

She nodded.

“And that’s his way of showing everyone that he and Chance aren’t like me—they’re better.”

Another nod.

He said, “Somebody raised him right. It sure as hell wasn’t me.”

“Oh, God.” She couldn’t contain the sudden waterworks.

Caleb was quick to grab paper napkins from the holder and hand them to her.

“I only ask one thing of you, Miss Jenson. Layla. To please take these envelopes to the ranch. I’m not welcome there, and again ... I can’t verbally express what needs to be said. It’s cowardly. But it’s the best I can do.”

“I’m so sorry.” She shook her head this time. “I can’t.” Through her tears and her still-constricting throat, she told him, “I’m not going back to the TRIPLE R. I have a flight to catch. I have a job to do. I’m just ... I can’t.”

She sobbed into the napkins.

Why the hell had she come here?

Why had she put herself in the position of getting more emotionally invested in Avery? In the Reeds? In the entire ranch?

What on God’s green earth had she been thinking?

Caleb said in a consoling voice, “No need to fret, darlin’. I’ll give all this to Luke.”

“That’s a good idea,” she said around a sniffle.

“Now, now.” He gently patted her arm. “Don’t let all this drama ruin your mascara. It’s one more thing Avery won’t forgive me for.”

She lifted her head, blinked with damp lashes, and said, “You’re right again. He’s not going to forgive you for anything, Caleb. He’s cut to the quick. I don’t have to reiterate why. Just know ... he’s not wired to let things go. He might acknowledge your amends and your contribution toward your redemption. But in his heart ... you’re not his daddy.”

More tears fell.

Caleb collected additional napkins. And quietly said, “I know that, Layla. But I kind of needed to hear it.”

She stared up at him. Saw the mist covering his eyes. The agony rimming his deep-blue irises.

He wasn’t giving a cock-and-bull story as Chance had surmised he would.

This was all genuine. She felt it in her soul.

Making it even more complicated that she’d initiated this entire conversation. Asked all those questions.

He wasn’t an interview subject. He was Avery’s father—despite what she’d just claimed. And she’d drawn out his darkest secrets.

Only to do ... what with them? Stash them away, keep them to herself?

She had no idea.

She had no clue what was written in those letters. She didn’t know if Avery would read his. Or if everyone else would hold in silence the information they’d gleaned, out of respect for Avery not wanting to be informed.

And that brought on another quandary.

How would Avery feel if he learned she’d visited Caleb and his new family?

She swiped at the rest of her tears, blew her nose, and dumped the wad of napkins into the trash bin.

“I have to go,” she said. “But I do appreciate you being forthright—and forthcoming. You don’t know me. You don’t owe me a thing. Yet it still had to have been difficult to share your story with me.”

“Every retelling is a stab to the heart, I won’t lie. But I did this to myself, Layla. It’s all on me.”

She shook his hand.

He said, “I’ll walk you to your car.”

Grace met them at the door.

“Thank you again for welcoming me in,” Layla told her.

“I don’t expect we’ll see you again,” Grace said. “I’m sorry for that. But if you do find yourself out this way, know we’d be happy if you stopped by.”

“You’re very kind.”

Layla stepped out onto the porch and unlocked the door to her rental with the remote. She told Caleb, “I’ll be fine from here. You take care of this family.”

“Count on it.”

She slipped behind the wheel. They waved to her as she drove off.

As though they were relatives.

She stymied a new flow of tears. This wasn’t her drama to get caught up in. What Caleb did or didn’t do with those letters and the cash was none of her business. It was all up to him.

Embracing that theory helped her to reach a better frame of mind as she assured Todd and Brodi she was safe and made the long trek home.

She dealt with all her errands and took an OTC sleeping pill so she’d get a good night’s rest. Was up and about early and picked up Brodi to drive to the airport. They discussed the week ahead while they were on the plane, and Layla also batted around ideas for endorsements, narrowing down a few she felt were the most sensible.

And prosperous.

There was that to consider.

Todd met up with them later in Tulsa, inviting them to the downstairs restaurant that was more of a nightclub, with dim lighting and dancing.

They had a high-top table in the corner to observe the activity as they sipped cocktails. Brodi’s stool was a bit close to Todd’s, Layla noted. And hid her smile.

Sure, she was envious they were able to explore their attraction to each other, while being on the road together. She did, however, fear both her friends getting involved and then ... getting derailed by career choices.

Brodi had said she wanted to go where Layla went.

And Todd had indicated he was moving on from the production at the end of the season.

But again, it wasn’t her place to intervene.

Or was it?

Should she warn Brodi of the impending heartbreak that comes with falling for someone who is on the opposite end of your spectrum?

Or should she just mind her own business and figure out what the hell her next steps were?

No-brainer there.

Neither Brodi nor Todd were the “fools rush in” type.

So she polished off her amaretto on the rocks and said, “I’m out.” She grabbed her purse and added, “I’m letting you pay, chief. While you’re still the chief.”

He chuckled.

“Y’all don’t do anything I wouldn’t,” she quipped.

“That leaves the door swingin’ wide open,” Brodi joked in return.

“Indeed, it does.” Layla blew them a kiss, then headed to her room.

The best thing she could do right now was focus on the next several weeks.

And that’s what she set her mind to.