Clarke
We arrived back in Opal Springs just as the sun dipped behind the church steeple.
“God, I could eat an entire horse right now,” Avalon groaned as we walked into Claire-Anne’s Bistro. It was the nicest restaurant in town—probably the only one that would qualify as a restaurant in the city.
Ethan swung open the door, ushering us inside with a polite sweep of his hand. “Well, I can’t promise horse is on the menu, but Claire-Anne sure knows how to make a mean steak and fries.”
His eyes flicked to mine, and I offered him a small smile. Ethan looked good—but then again, he always did. His tall, lean frame had filled out while I was away, and he nearly matched Colton in height despite being several years younger.
“It’s nice to see you, Annie.”
He wrapped his arms around me, practically suffocating me in his coat. Ethan smelled like hay and lumber—exactly the way he had when we were kids.
Stepping back, I gave his arm a light punch. “Hey, you know I told you to stop calling me that. I’m not thirteen anymore.”
Ethan’s booming laugh followed us inside. We found an empty table, and conversation flowed easily as we waited for the waitress.
“Call you what?” Avalon asked, eager to be included.
“Annie,” Ethan replied, sliding into the seat beside her. He sat across from me, Colton on my left; Avalon and I were directly across from each other, closest to the wall.
“Is that like a nickname or something?”
Her eyes were wide, hungry for embarrassing details about me—of course she was.
And naturally, the boys were more than willing to indulge her.
“Annie, short for Annaliese—” Colton began, but I cut him off.
“I was named after my mother, and I am proud of that, alright.”
I couldn’t hide the laughter in my voice as my brother’s eyes sparkled mischievously.
“True,” he said, “but we never called you Annie because you were named after Mama.”
He raised his brows, lips curling beneath his mustache.
“Annie Oakley.”
“Annie Oakley!” Ethan shouted, throwing his arms up. Avalon looked around, confusion painted across her face.
“Who the hell is Annie Oakley?”
Silence fell over the table like someone had hit pause on a remote.
Three pairs of eyes turned toward her. Avalon’s widened. Ethan slowly lowered his arms, leaned forward, and placed his large hands on the table.
“Annie Oakley? Are you being serious right now?”
When Avalon didn’t respond, he sat back dramatically, hand over his heart.
“Oh, Avalon, you’re breaking my heart here, girl. Do you really not know—she doesn’t know.”
Avalon let out a nervous laugh, spinning the rings on her fingers. “Was I supposed to know who she is—or was?”
“Is,” Colton corrected. “Her influence still lives on today.”
“Okay, but she died over a hundred years ago,” I said, trying to ease the pressure on Avalon.
She already looked out of place, even with the cowboy hat she’d bought to blend in.
“You can’t fault her for not knowing someone who didn’t have much influence in her world. She is from California, after all.”
I meant it sympathetically, but the look on Avalon’s face told me I’d missed the mark.
“You say ‘she’s from California’ like that’s a bad thing,” she huffed. “We’re not all bad out there.”
Colton took a sip of water and cocked a brow. “Well, there are more bad ones than good—at least in my personal experience.”
“Oh, and you’ve had personal experiences with everyone in California, or just the buckle bunnies?” Avalon shot back.
Beside her, Ethan snorted, choking on his water.
“I’m sorry,” he wheezed, “you have to admit that was pretty fucking funny.”
Colton shook his head, a smile ghosting his lips. He didn’t argue—because he knew she was right. We all did.
My brother had a reputation that stretched far beyond being one of the best bull riders this side of the Mississippi.
He left a trail of broken hearts behind him.
It was one of the reasons I dreaded talking to my best friend about his proposal.
I loved my brother, but I couldn’t always defend him—and I couldn’t let her throw away everything she wanted just for him.
Colton had always been good-looking, even before the money and fame. Girls chased him everywhere, and he made each one feel like she was the most important person in the world.
That was the problem. They believed he loved them. Until they woke up alone.
I’d always felt bad for the girls he left behind—but I never understood their pain until it happened to me.
Until Avalon.
Clearing my throat, I steered the conversation away before it wandered somewhere dangerous. “Annie Oakley was a sharpshooter, a performer, and an inspiration to young girls in the West for generations.”
Avalon’s storm-grey eyes met mine across the table, occasionally flicking to my mouth as I spoke. “Was she also a singer? Is that why you have that nickname?”
Beside me, Colton shook his head. He’d removed his hat, leaving his dark curls in an unruly mess. “Annie Oakley didn’t sing. Clarke here became the best sharpshooter in Opal Springs by the age of twelve. You should’ve seen her—no one stood a chance.”
His face beamed with brotherly pride, and my cheeks burned. I looked away, blushing into my water. “Alright, I was not that good… everyone else was just terrible.”
Ethan laughed loudly, drawing annoyed glances from nearby tables. Lowering his voice, he said, “Clarke, you had grown men throwing fits at Founder’s Day and Pelican Fly Day because they couldn’t beat you.”
“The tiny blonde girl with a gun bigger than her entire body who sent men taller than her father into tears,” Colton added, nudging my arm proudly.
I had to be as red as a tomato by then, but thankfully our waitress arrived, saving me from whatever else the boys wanted to say about me and crying grown men.
Conversation flowed naturally after that—upcoming holidays, ranch life, small-town gossip. Nothing more was said about my nickname or Annie Oakley.
It was easy, having a buffer between us.
Would it be this easy all summer?