Chapter 19
CHAPTER NINETEEN
The moment my lips crashed into hers, somethin' in my soul settled.
Felt like I'd been on edge for hours, my skin too tight, when really it'd been mere minutes since I'd seen her leanin' against this fence, lookin' like someone had kicked her puppy.
When she didn't greet me with her usual bite, my hackles went up. We'd stood in uncomfortable silence for what felt like this side of forever.
Then she cracked.
And when I saw those tears? Hell, I nearly lost it myself.
Now, she kissed me back without hesitation. No teeth. No sass. Just warm mouth and soft breath and fingers fistin' into the front of my shirt like she needed somethin' solid to hold onto.
That alone nearly undid me.
Calvin didn't hold on to things.
She was a tumbleweed, just blowin' in the wind.
I slid my hands to her hips, thumbs brushin' the hem of her shirt, feelin' the heat of her through the thin cotton. For a second—just one—I considered kissin' her harder. Lettin' it turn hungry. Lettin' grief and relief and want blur into somethin' reckless.
But I wasn't gonna be that guy.
So I broke the kiss first.
Her lashes fluttered when I pulled back, lips swollen, breath uneven. For a heartbeat, she looked almost disoriented, like she'd expected me to keep goin'.
I rested my forehead against hers instead.
"C'mere," I muttered. "Walk with me."
A faint crease formed between her brows. Suspicious little thing. But she didn't argue. Didn't jab. Didn't deflect.
That's when my hackles went up all over again.
I laced my fingers through hers and tugged her away from the fence. Her hand fit in mine easy. Like it'd always belonged right there.
We walked the perimeter of the paddock in silence. Gravel crunched under our boots. The stallion snorted behind us, still restless.
When she didn't fill the quiet with some smartass comment, I knew.
Somethin' in her had broke wide open tonight.
My mama died right there.
Christ.
I squeezed her hand gently. She glanced at me but didn't pull away.
"Tell me about her?" I asked.
The question felt fragile. Like if I pushed too hard, she'd shutter herself right back up.
For a second, I thought she might.
Her jaw flexed. Her gaze dropped to the dirt path in front of us. I braced myself for a deflection. A joke. A change of subject.
Instead, she nodded once.
"She was a horse trainer," she said quietly. "Best around. Could break the most stubborn, wild horses and turn 'em into any cowboy's most prized possession. She had a way with 'em."
Pride laced her voice. Grief, too. But the pride was stronger.
"So do you," I said before I could stop myself.
I hadn't missed how skittish she'd been when she first got to Wild Acre. For someone who'd spent years on the rodeo circuit, she'd flinched every time a horse so much as tossed its head. Wouldn't get too close. Kept her distance like they might bite.
But not anymore.
Lately, she'd been easin' up to 'em. Especially my dad's horse, Maribel. Palm flat to their necks. Murmurin' low. Lettin' 'em breathe her in.
I'd caught myself more than once just standin' there watchin'. She'd usually spot me and tell me to quit starin' like a damn creep.
Didn't matter.
Seein' her settle around them—around here—turned me into a puddle of Brody goo you could scoop up with a shovel right along with the horse shit.
I was a goddamn sap.
Calvin huffed somethin' that wasn't quite a laugh. "I haven't been on a horse in twenty-two years."
Twenty-two years.
Damn.
We walked a few more paces before she added, almost like it cost her somethin' to say it out loud—
"My granddad used to own this ranch."
An audible whoosh filled the space between us when my head snapped toward her so quick I was likely to need a visit to the chiropractor.
I stared at her profile.
Silent.
Waitin'.
Hopin' this mystery of a woman said more.
I'd been young when Rhett's old man bought this place—eleven or twelve, maybe—but I remembered John Calvin, remembered the gruff old cowboy with sharp eyes who didn't waste words.
Calvin.
Well, fuck me good.
John had gotten sick, and with no family around to care for him, decided to sell and retire into the assisted livin' facility just outside town.
No family around to care for him.
My mama died right there.
Well, fuck me twice.
I hadn't known that part of the story.
"You're John Calvin's granddaughter," I breathed.
She finally looked at me then. Not defensive. Not smug. Just… tired.
"Yeah." She turned and kept her eyes forward, like she was bracin' for impact. "Before Rhett's dad bought it, this was ours."
Hell, this wasn't just some ranch she'd wandered onto for a paycheck.
She'd come home.
I tightened my grip on her hand, not possessive—just steady.
"Why didn't you say anythin'?"
She shrugged one shoulder. "Didn't seem relevant."
The hell it didn't.
But I could see it now—the way she'd stared the corral down, jaw set. The way her voice had gone quiet. The way she hadn't snapped back when I teased her.
She wasn't just standin' at a fence.
She was standin' in the middle of a memory.
And she'd let me see it.
"You ever think about ridin' again?" I asked, softer now.
Her jaw ticked.
"Not until tonight."
The moment Rhett showed up at the barn, Calvin jumped at the chance to get back to work and far, far away from those pesky things we mere mortals call feelings. And when she was gone, set off on an errand for the ranch's fearless leader, there was only one place I wanted to be.
My truck bounced—a bit dramatically, if you ask me—over the uneven dirt drive that led to the most home home I'd ever had.
The one where my dad taught me to throw a baseball.
Where he two-stepped my mama, night after night, around the living room.
The one where I witnessed what true love looked like.
The house had seen better days, IMHO.
The red-painted shutters were dull. A few shingles were missin', probably from the wild windstorm we'd had a few weeks back. The front garden beds were more than a little overgrown with weeds. A few bushes had straight up died—
As soon as the thought crossed my mind, I felt like a shit. Mom had been doin' her best. For the better part of a year, her priority had been takin' care of dad. And he'd always been the one to take care of the house.
Now, it was up to me and Luke. But I'd been so distracted by my own bullshit, I hadn't even taken a minute to see what she needed.
The burn behind my eyes grew to somethin' fierce when I threw the truck in park in front of the house, climbed out, and bounded up the front steps.
"Ma!" I called as I pulled open the screen door.
"In here," she hollered back.
I followed the sound of her voice into the kitchen. And I was not prepared for what I walked into. "The fuck are you doin'?"
On the floor lay my mama, soaked to the bone with a headlamp strapped around her drenched mop of hair, wrench in hand as she peered up at the pipes under the sink.
"Had a leak."
For fuck's sake.
"Why didn't you call me? Or Luke? C'mon, get out from there."
She maneuvered her way out from under the sink, relentin' a bit to grab the hand I offered to help her up.
"I can fix a simple leak, Brody Lancaster." Hands on her hips, she scowled up at me.
I couldn't help but LOL. "Woman, look at you. You look like a drowned rat."
"Oh, shut your pie hole and get down there." She shoved the wrench into my chest.
"Yes, ma'am." With a few twists of my wrist, the leak had stopped.
"I did the hard part," Ma said when I was back on my feet.
"You did good, Ma." I gave her a sad smile and rubbed a hand up and down her arm. Well, I tried to, but I got stuck on the wet fabric clingin' to her. "Why don't you go dry off and I'll cook us up some dinner, yeah?"
"Sounds good, sweetie." She visibly deflated, her expression a mirror of mine. "Thanks."
Twenty minutes later, I was givin' the burgers a final turn on the grill.
I looked over my shoulder at the sound of Ma walkin' out onto the back deck. She had a pitcher of lemonade in one hand and… a bottle of vodka in the other. My eyebrows climbed up my forehead.
She spotted my look and grinned. "Figured it was a good day for the hard stuff."
"Hey, you don't gotta tell me twice." I closed the grill lid and made my way toward the patio table shaded by a big-ass umbrella. She poured us each a drink, and we clinked our glasses before takin' a sip. She'd made 'em strong, and it had me coughin' a little. "Jesus, lady. You tryin' to kill me?"
She grinned wide, lookin' out over the field behind the house. "Just how your daddy liked 'em." Her smile faded a bit and she sighed. "I miss him, Bro."
"I know." I wrapped an arm around her shoulders, tuckin' her into my side and squeezin' tight. "Me too."
"Remember that time you asked your dad if pink lemonade was made from pink lemons?" She smiled up at me, but I saw the tears in her eyes.
Like she'd been doin' for weeks now, she didn't let herself wallow in the grief. She had her moments, but fuck, she was the strongest woman I knew—though she might be dukin' it out with Calvin for that title, now that I knew a small part of her story.
"Damn, I was, what, eight? Gimme a break!"
She laughed and dislodged herself from my grip. "You were the cutest dang kid."
"Um, I'm still cute, thank you very much."
Mom looked at me like I had three heads before shakin' hers. "I'll grab some plates."
She set the table while I took the burgers off the grill. Before I scooped some sides onto my plate, I paused.
"This ain't the frozen leftover potato salad, is it?"
Mom's eyes twinkled. "I'll never tell."
I winced and plopped a heapin' spoonful next to my burger, mumblin', "Better not be gross."
We were quiet while we ate, both lost in our own heads. While my mom was probably thinkin' about Dad, I was thinkin' about Calvin.
"You remember John Calvin?" I asked, breakin' the silence.
Mom wiped her mouth with her napkin while nodding. "Sure. He was a loyal customer for many years. He and your granddaddy were good friends."
Oh, shit, I hadn't known that neither. Both my dad's parents had died years ago, but Mom's were still kickin', enjoyin' their eighties in Florida.
As much as I'd miss her, I'd encouraged Ma more than once to go spend some time with them and stop livin' in a house with a ghost she couldn't escape.
She responded the same every time. Your dad's here, so I'll be here.
"What d'ya know about his daughter?"
Mom's face sobered. "Such a sad story. Mariah—that was her name—was a sweetheart. Only met her a handful of times when she was in town. She'd left town years before I met your daddy."
Mom proceeded to tell me a tale I'd just learned.
It was no less depressing the second time around.
I fuckin' hated that Calvin carried this around with her every damn day.
Then again, weren't we all carryin' around some heavy shit?
We just had to find the right people in life to help lighten our load.
"What about John's wife?" I asked.
"Ya know, I don't know. We'll have to ask your dad when he—" Mom shook her head. "Anyway, what makes you ask about John?"
"I, uh, met his granddaughter."
"You did? Where?"
"Ah, well, The BP at first." Mom eyed me, probably noticin' the color of my face turn as it heated. "But she's been workin' at the ranch."
"Wild Acre?"
"Yep. She was there when it happened. Saw her mama die right in front of her."
"Oh, that poor girl." Mom's face softened. Yes, Calvin deserved the sympathy, but if Mom ever gave her that wounded bird look, I was certain I'd be on the receivin' end of my viper's wrath.
"Listen, I don't think she wants no one to know, so—"
"Of course," Mom said. "My lips are sealed. Rhett doesn't know?"
I shook my head.
"But she told you?"
I nodded.
"I see," Mom said, sittin' back with a smug smile on her face.
"What do you see?" I was feelin' a little defensive. No way was I that fuckin' transparent, right?
Right?
"When’d'ya meet this girl? Before or after you called off the wedding?"
"Jesus, Mom!" I stood, gatherin' my plate and headin' for the kitchen. My mom was hot on my heels, her own plate in hand.
"What, it's just a question!" she badgered. I stood at the sink and took her plate a little too aggressively, startin' to clean both our dishes. She leaned a hip against the counter and continued on, not losin' a bit of steam.
"No one in this town has any damn clue why you'd call off your wedding to the girl you've loved for twenty years. This would certainly be an explanation, but can't say it'd be one you should be too proud of."
I shot her a glare. "After, Mom. I met her after. I never woulda cheated on Sassy. And you know that." I returned my attention to the dishes in the no-longer-leakin' sink. "Damn."
Mom pressed a hand to my shoulder. "Okay, you're right. I do." She took dishes from me to place in the dryin' rack as I washed. "You're a good man, Brody. Your dad was so proud of you. But I think he'd be just as confused as the rest of us."
I turned off the water and sighed as I hung my head. Squeezin' my eyes shut, I spit the words out—words I knew would hurt my mom. She loved Sassy like a daughter, I didn't want this shit to change that, to change their relationship.
"She's in love with Rhett." The words were quiet, but I knew she heard me the moment her hands stilled, plate precariously perched over the dryin' rack.
She gently set the plate down before turnin' me to her. "What?"
I shrugged a shoulder. "It's fine, Mom. I'm fine. It took me a long time to see it, but when I did, I couldn't unsee it. Knew we couldn't get married. Wasn't fair to any of us."
She looked like I just told her aliens existed. Elvis was alive. Potato salad was actually made with radishes. "Are they… are they together?"
I shook my head. "Can't answer that for ya. Not sure myself. We've all been… givin' each other some space."
"And you've filled that space with her. Mariah's daughter."
My brow and my shoulder seemed to shrug together that time 'cause she wasn't wrong. "Yeah, I 'spose I have."
"Well, that makes more sense. Can't lie, I was a little worried you were bouncin' around here all happy-go-lucky during what some would assume should be a heck of a hard time for you."
I set the last dish in the rack and dried my hands, workin' up to the thing that'd been sittin' heavy in my chest.
"You think it's too soon?"
Mom tilted her head. "Too soon for what?"
"I don't know." I rubbed the back of my neck. "Findin' someone else."
She didn't even pause. "Love doesn't look at the calendar."
My shoulders dropped.
"Good." I huffed out a breath. "'Cause I really like her, Ma. And I'm no good at bein' sad."
Mom smiled up at me. "Nothin' wrong with that, sweetie." She placed her small hand on my cheek. "You've always been my light."
I smiled. The words were different, but the sentiment was the same.
I like you just how you are.