1. - – Jules
CHAPTER ONE
-
JULES
After running out of the house and hopping in my truck, I wanted to flee, but stress had a way of creeping up and stealing time from me.
The last thing I wanted to do was ‘people,’ but maybe some liquor would wash away the sting left behind by the words that weren’t meant to hurt as much as sticks and stones.
What a crock of shit—words caused just as much damage, maybe more than the rocks I wished those bitches had thrown.
Maybe the night would be filled with some good laughs or end with a man I deemed worthy of my infrequent one-night stands to temporarily numb the pain.
I’d swallow the inevitable self-loathing that would haunt me with my morning coffee if it’d momentarily quiet my mind.
It was better than the alternative… settling down and getting married wasn’t in the cards for me.
It would take trusting a man to accomplish that impossible task.
That na?vety was brutally ripped away years ago.
The balmy summer days allowed me to drive with the windows down. The darkened wind howled through the cabin; I ached for it to whisk away my internal turmoil. Instead, the warmth filled me with dread. The imminence of our family event lingered like a death sentence this year.
Every summer, the Jameson clan gathered at Ardis Ranch in Inverness Valley, Colorado.
The ranch has been our family’s legacy for three generations.
My brothers would be the fourth. The Jamesons were ranching royalty, and the people of Inverness Valley treated us like it, but for me, I just wanted it to be home.
Pop lived in the main house. My three brothers and I had separate cottages on the land.
The ranch was massive. Days could pass without a single encounter with my family.
Pop was slowing down. It was time to make my eldest brother, Jett, his successor because he’s a damned good rancher, and no, I’d never tell him that. Why? He’s a pain in the ass.
My two other brothers, Jace and Jonah, are twins and eleven months older than me.
I was… unexpected, but growing up, the twins claimed me as their ‘triplet.’ It forged an unbreakable bond.
Jett naturally fell into his big brother role and was more often than not, a second father.
After losing Mama, coming back to Inverness Valley seemed impossible even if I was in love with a man here.
A night out with friends changed life’s trajectory.
So here I was, living at home, working as a middle school teacher, stuck with three overbearing brothers, and an overcompensating father trying to fill the void left behind after Mama died.
I shook out one hand, then the other. With my death-grip, they were going numb.
Not good for driving. That’s when the texts started.
Any other day I would’ve busted up laughing as the animated voice recited the oddly humorous banter that were my friends.
Tears of mirth would’ve rolled down my cheeks, but I didn’t have it in me—not now—not after the travesty known as my extended family.
Quinn
Where the hell are you?
Finley
Stop it… I’m sure she’s almost here. Right Jules?
Delaney
Not after the shit-show she experienced.
Moira
You can say that again. Jules just crawl in bed with a bottle of red. Call this day done.
Quinn
WTF you say?
Moira
You heard me. Leave her be. She doesn’t need you nagging too.
Quinn
I had to deal with my shitty babydaddy to be here… sooooo Jules give us sign of life. An OMW works.
Moira
You’re not the only one with babydaddy issues drama queen.
Finley
Stop… and never mind. The J’s just walked in. She’ll be here. Jules—be safe.
The J’s—the twins—beat me there. How much time did I lose to the panic attack before I drove off? I couldn’t laugh at my friends’ antics because, yet again, panic won.
It’d become normal to include the missing party in conversation via text when some of us were together, thanks to Delaney’s crazy touring schedule. Typically, it was the highlight of my day, but tonight I felt detached.
Just breathe, Jules.
I sighed.
Only a few minutes and I’d be with them. Inverness roads were dangerous during the day and deadly at night… Responding wasn’t an option.
Moira was right… I should be curled up in bed with a huge glass of wine.
I wasn’t fit for human consumption. I considered turning around.
A night with alcohol and men… available and masculine men who’d smell of leather saddles and evergreen was a recipe for disaster.
Way too much temptation for a lonely, horny woman with a shattered heart and more emotional baggage than my internal closet could hold.
The door’s hinges were warped, ready to burst, thanks to the unwelcome crowd.
There wasn’t room for one more skeleton, demon, or ghost in that dank room of self-torture.
This evening, my aunties snuck up on me. I’d stopped to see Pop. They arrived early this year—no one told me, or I would’ve texted. Those women are like a plague of swarming locusts warning of the impending apocalypse—at least for me—how dare I still be single at the ripe old age of twenty-seven.
I abruptly left, no goodbye necessary, when my auntie Ada started in on my ovaries being as dried up as the prunes she ate to induce daily bowel movements.
When you have your ability to make babies compared to another person’s ability to take a shit, an emergency exit is the only option left.
I heard the resounding echo of my brothers laughing their dumb asses off at my expense.
I didn’t see anyone giving them crap for not procreating, even though they’re older.
Why does it even matter?
Why do they get to be the eternal bachelors while I’m expected to be barefoot and pregnant?
I could still hear the twins’ laughter resounding through my mind. Knowing they beat me to Willow’s Tavern meant the coping techniques from my long-ago therapy were no longer working. The silent panic attack robbed me of more time than I realized.
The gravel crunched under the tires. I parked. “Fuck!” I roared and slammed my palms against the steering wheel.
The live country music was hazy in comparison to my pounding heart. It resonated from the massive diva-chic refurbished barn. I sat frozen with anxiety and dread.
I could check into a hotel until my awful aunties left at the end of the summer. Managing preteens was easier than engaging with their emotional warfare. That said a lot when pubescent humans were the better option. I could afford it. Who needed to retire or save for the future?
I tore through my hair. “Nope—I won’t run.”
Hell, I was ready to go back to work just to avoid the so-called adults in my family. The wash-rinse-repeat autopilot lifestyle was better than their shit. What did that say? Nothing good, other than my life was truly and utterly fucked. For the next few months, at least.