Chapter 5 #2
But Willow wasn’t finished. “It could drive a wedge right through the family, Bubba. And family’s all we got, when it comes down to it.”
He lowered his head. Willow did her best to call him Ethan most of the time, but when she was angry, she reverted to using his childhood nickname to make sure he knew it. “I hear you.”
“You’d better.” Then she sighed, looking around the site. “I think we got everything. I’m hittin’ the rack.” She reached for the door, but when he didn’t move, she turned back. “You comin’?”
“I’m uh—I’m fixin’ to sleep in my truck,” he said. “I think it’s for the best.”
“You’ll freeze your hindquarters off. Go on back to the house, sleep in your room.”
“I’m good. G’night Will.”
“’Night, Ethan.”
He went to his truck, got in the passenger side, and pushed the seat back as far as it would go. Then he reclined it as far as possible, and wished he’d thought to bring a blanket. He heeled off his boots and turned onto his side, drawing his knees up, because there wasn’t room to stretch out.
There was a tap on the window. He turned the key on and put the window down.
Willow stood there with a bedroll. There were always stacks of clean bedding all bundled together in the bunkhouse closet.
“Thanks.”
“You really oughtta go back to the house for the night. Or just come inside. Lily won’t know if you’re there or on the moon. She’s sawin’ timber in there.”
But he would know. “I’m fine. G’night.”
“’Night.”
He rolled the window up as she walked away. He thought that going to the ranch house for the night would be hurtful to Lily. It would come off like a rejection. Nope, he was gonna be in the kitchen brewing coffee when she opened her eyes in the morning.
And then, he supposed, if his female cousins were anything to go by, Lily would want to talk about all that kissing.
It floated into his mind that maybe she wouldn’t remember, but he’d been in a lot of barrooms, and the blackout drunks were easy to spot.
She’d only had a few beers. Got herself into a state of silly and put her inhibitions to sleep. But she wasn’t likely to forget.
Besides, if those kisses had felt to her the way they’d felt to him, they were well and truly burned into her memory. He’d never forget them, that was for sure.
Son of a gun. Staying in Quinn was a bad idea. He’d break that little gal’s heart if he stayed, and Willow was right. That could drive a wedge into the closest family in Texas.
He’d best sell Manny’s Cantina just as quick as he could and get back to his career. Lily would be hurt, no doubt about it, but if she was gonna be hurt by his leaving now, how much worse would it be later?
If he stayed, they’d be together. He couldn’t keep saying no to her forever.
He was a flawed human male, and he wanted her more than was reasonable.
But his life couldn’t be in Quinn, as an upright and noble Brand.
The farther he went from home, the less his surname meant to anyone.
There was no reputation to uphold—or fail to uphold.
Being a one-hit wonder was okay out there.
Here in Quinn, it was probably the talk of the town.
There he is, Garrett Ethan Brand the Second, a wanna-be country star.
We expected so much more of him.
Certainly not livin’ up to his name, is he?
Could be worse, he thought. At least the locals didn’t know his real father had been a criminal, a murderer.
Yep. He had to sell. He’d make sure the cantina went to someone decent, someone local. He’d make it a private contract between him and the buyer, no bank loan necessary—give someone from the community a leg-up.
That was it, his mind was made up. He rolled onto his side, sure he’d be able to go to sleep now that he knew what he had to do.
But the minute he started to drift off, a voice—Lily’s voice, inside his head—whispered, That stage could have built-in amps, top of the line.
It would save visiting bands setup time and provide quality sound even if the band is just starting out.
The suggestion was accompanied by an angelic look in Lily’s big blue eyes. Now he knew this wasn’t Lily’s idea, but his own. His subconscious was just choosing to give it to him in Lily’s voice.
“Irrelevant,” he told the thought, “since I’m sellin’ it. I’m fixin’ to call Cat Shaw first thing tomorrow mornin’.”
Before or after you make me coffee and we talk about all that kissin’? Mental Lily asked in a Texas twang she’d never used.
“One problem at a time.” He rolled onto his opposite side, tried to straighten his legs and his knee hit the console.
“Dang.” He rubbed the pain away, wishing it was enough to distract his mind.
He tried the method his aunt Chelsea had taught him when he’d still been a pup, counting backwards from seven, seeing each number as a color.
Seven, red, he thought. Six, orange. Five, yellow. Four, green.
You could get the best equipment there is for the recording studio . Can you imagine, recording whenever you feel like it instead of on someone else’s schedule?
“Yeah,” he muttered. “Midnight inspirations, I could lay a quick track down.” Then he popped his eyes wider. “Except that I’m sellin’ the place in the mornin’.”
Lily woke up reliving those moments alone with Ethan out by the campfire.
At first, she was relishing the memory, and then as she came more fully awake, she was mortified.
“Oh, no,” she whispered, and she sat up fast. Too fast. Her head spun, and her stomach knotted up.
“Ah, hell.” She sat there in the bunk, upright, legs still under the covers, in her shiny dark-blue tank top and underpants.
She’d brought an overnight bag and hadn’t even opened it.
And she’d kissed Ethan full on last night. Twice!
And he’d kissed her back.
Raising her head slowly brought another wave of pain, but she peered around the bunkhouse through squinty eyes.
She saw him about the same time she detected the smell of fresh coffee.
He was in the kitchen. He’d already showered up.
His hair was still wet. Then she looked at the other bunks. They were empty.
Ethan held up a mug. She swung her legs out of bed, but they were bare, and she was suddenly self-conscious.
Her jeans lay across the foot of the bed, so she grabbed them and pulled them on before she crossed the bunkhouse to the kitchen and took the mug from his hand.
It was warm, and she sipped, and it didn’t make her stomach revolt.
“Drew and Orrin left early,” he said. “Willow, just now. Trevor’s in the shower.”
“I need one, too.”
“There’s a second bathroom. It’s all yours. I just wanted to see you before I headed out.”
“Oh? You were waiting for me?”
He nodded. “I wanted to tell you before anyone else.”
His tone wasn’t all excited like, I couldn’t wait to tell you . It was, more like, I thought you oughtta know.
He took a breath, gave himself what looked like a nod of encouragement, and blurted, “I’ve decided to sell the cantina soon as I can find the right buyer.”
“Oh.” She took another sip of the coffee. She didn’t say anything else, but her mind was reeling. This was his reaction to those kisses. In spite of a thousand reasons to stay here, he’d decided to leave.
She took a deep breath, looked him right in the eyes, and said, “Well, fuck you, then.”
“ What ?” His face was completely lax, and then his phone went off. He reached down to silence it, but it went off two more times before he could, and he looked down at it then.
Lily set her coffee mug down hard, went to where she’d left her backpack on the floor, and yanked it over her shoulders like she was mad at it.
“Lily, come on, you knew this was my plan.” But his eyes kept darting to his phone screen again as it buzzed two more times.
“Sure did,” she said. “I’ll get that shower at home. You have a nice life, Ethan.” And then she went right out the door.
He didn’t pay any attention. He didn’t shout at her to wait or to stay. He didn’t apologize or try to explain. He didn’t come running out the door behind her. Nothing. He’d fallen fully into his phone. Like she didn’t even matter.
She picked up the pace, hiking the trail back toward the ranch house. Her angry strides ate up the distance, but the whole time she was sure he would come bouncing along in his big red truck and pick her up and say something. Anything.
He didn’t. God, she was so humiliated. His reaction to her kissing him was to cut and run. She broke the crest of a rise and saw her dad’s pickup parked alongside the house, not in front. Chelsea hated people parking in front.
She crossed the driveway and headed up the porch steps to the door.
Breakfast smells came from inside, and her stomach growled.
She pushed open the creaky screen door—family didn’t knock here—and went inside, following voices into the kitchen where her father was laughing, and as he scooped a perfect western omelet onto a plate, pivoted, and with a flourish, placed it in front of Miz Cat Shaw, the local realtor.
She’d found them the little cabin where they lived and had helped Maria and Harrison buy their adorable house on Bluebonnet Lane.
Cat Shaw had a mass of minky-brown hair with silver near the roots and just in front of her ears. Her brows were perfectly arched, and her makeup flawless at seven a.m. on a Tuesday, even though she still wore a fluffy robe and slippers.
So, she noticed, did her father.
Cat saw her first, and said, “Oh, don’t look like that, Lily Ellen. I had my own guest room.”
Her father turned, “Lily! You look…you look a little wobbly, honey. You want an omelet?”
“I do and I don’t. Too many beers.” She held her stomach.
“Go upstairs, take a shower,” he said. “Use mine, I’m in the blue room. While you’re gone, I’ll make you an omelet. I know just how you like ‘em”