At Whit's End (Wells Ranch, #4)(115)
“I told my mom I was going to marry you after that first night we played video games here. Your contact name has been Future Wife since you gave me your number. And it’s not just you, Whit. I fell for Jonas, too. When I see him working hard on the ranch, standing up to bullies, or kicking my ass at video games—I’m so damn proud of him. Not like some guy dating his mom, not like I’m simply stepping in for a little while. Proud of him like he’s mine.” I blink back the slight glassiness blurring my view of the world’s most perfect woman. “I’m afraid I haven’t wanted to leave since the day I met the two of you.”
Her cheeks turn the prettiest shade of pink at my confession. “I might’ve wanted you to leave that first day…when you wore that heinous shirt. But not since then.”
“I promise to never wear that shirt again, but I’m gonna need to hang on to it. Put it in a box or something so we can laugh about it fifty years from now.”
“You think we’ll still be together in fifty years?” There’s something hopeful in the delicate lilt of her voice.
“I don’t think either of us have a choice, honey. We’re binary stars.” My lips press to the cold tip of her nose. “We’re meant to orbit one another for the rest of our lives.”
“I hope you’re right,” she says on an exhale.
I let a kiss linger on her forehead, relishing the scent of her hair the way I last did in the laundry room. I knew we’d get back here eventually, but the rush of holding her against my chest hits differently now, tonight. We’re dancing slowly to a song I’ve heard a million times—though from now on I’ll associate it with this moment—and my heart drums proudly in my chest.
“You’re my primary star, Whit.”
Whit
We steal down the moonlit driveway, Colt’s hand firmly wrapped around mine. The music becomes faint; only the low humming of bass echoes into the night. I’ve been to the ranch more times over the last few months than ever before—mostly because Blair is here as often as she can get away with and also because Jonas frequently needs a ride. But I haven’t ventured beyond the big house and the swimming hole.
When I mentioned that to Colt, he suggested a tour. Naturally, I happily went along with it, assuming the tour would have one stop: his bedroom.
But to my surprise, he veers us toward a massive white barn. My gait slows, head racing with the desire to tell him I don’t actually want a tour, when he says, “I want to show you something Jonas has been working on.”
Everything else can wait.
Inside the barn, overhead lighting slowly flickers to life, casting cool light over the space with a dull hum. The door shuts behind us, cutting off the remaining party noise, and Colt gives me a quick smile over his shoulder.
“So he really wants to raise an animal in the spring, right? One of the stalls in here was a bit of a catchall for things.” His fingers interlace mine, and we walk lightly down the long row of horse stalls. Most of them seem to be empty, but in a few, horses briefly lift their heads to watch us. “It was a mess, and Austin told him he could use it if he cleaned everything up.”
With his free hand, Colt grabs the metal handle on a stall door and throws it open to reveal a nearly empty space. The gray concrete floor is clean, walls spotless, and a few saddles are resting on wooden saddle racks off to one side.
“I’m not joking when I say there was so much random shit in here a month ago, we took an entire pickup truck load to the dump after he was done.”
“Yeah, how much of the cleanup did you do?” I raise a dubious brow. “Because my son can’t even pick up a single dirty sock off the floor.”
“I lifted a few of the heavier things, and I helped him build these saddle racks—only because I assumed you wouldn’t want him using a table saw unsupervised.”
I stare at him wide-eyed. “Um, no. I definitely do not want him using a table saw unsupervised. Or really using one at all.”
“Well, guess you’d hate to know he knows how to use an axe, too.”
My open palm smacks against his firm chest, and I do my best to hide the way their relationship inflates my chest. “Colt! He could chop a leg off.”
“It would take multiple whacks with an axe to chop a leg off. If he’s dumb enough to keep going after the first cut, he probably deserves to lose a limb.” He chuckles, dragging our clasped hands behind my back as he steps in close. “Don’t worry, Mama. I wouldn’t ever let him get hurt.”
“Yeah? You think you’re fast enough to step in and stop the axe before it hits him?”
“I’d damn well try. And anyway, if he’s gonna be a farm kid, he’s going to be around things like axes. At least now he knows how to safely use one.” His lips press to the delicate skin behind my ear. “Don’t worry. Odessa has him doing plenty of arts and crafts for balance.”
My laugh comes out breathy and wavering. Something heavy and uncomfortable settles on my shoulders like an itchy wool cloak.
“He’s going to be the best big brother.” The words scratch their way up my throat and taste bitter on my tongue.
“That’s because you raised him to be the best kid.” The side of his head knocks against mine as a reminder that he’s got me. “Want to see my favorite of their art projects?”