At Whit's End (Wells Ranch, #4)(120)

Colt and I stroll into the busy kitchen, and I grab his hand when we approach my parents. No sense in trying to hide this for a second longer. Mom smiles up at us; she’s been relatively lucid today, with only a few small bouts of confusion. I’m so thankful Blair had a present and happy mom at her wedding. It’s the least my big sister deserves.

Whether she’s lucid for my future wedding or not, it’s okay. I want her to be there, but I don’t need her blessing. I’m content with myself, and my decisions, and the family I’m creating in a home where we don’t put conditions on love.

“Hey, Mom.” I wrap an arm around her shoulders, sinking back on my heels into a partial squat so I’m at her level. “Having fun?”

“Oh, yes. It’s quite the party.”

“Yeah, it was a beautiful wedding,” Colt adds, eyes flitting between my parents. He’s got the cutest smile, trying hard to make a good impression without realizing just how much that effort means to me.

“Was it your wedding?” Mom asks Colt. Thank God Blair isn’t around.

His face twists and he opens his mouth to correct her, but Dad cuts him off. “No, no. It was one of the other boys.”

Mom nods knowingly. “Right. Well, yes. It was a lovely day.”

Dad places a baseball-glove-size hand on my shoulder; it’s firm and heavy and laced with judgment. “I was looking for you. We’re going to head home.”

“Oh, yeah, we were…outside.” I hook a thumb toward the front door, as if he doesn’t know where outside is. “But um, hey…before you go. This is Colt. He’s, um…He’s my—”

Without hesitation, Colt extends a hand to my father. I can’t help but notice the red marks around his wrist. “Future husband.”

I choke on my own spit, leaning into my mom’s shoulder to cough and regain composure. I’m genuinely terrified to look at my dad, because I remember in vivid detail when Alex made a similar comment about getting married one day, and my dad lost it. He told Alex he’d be allowed to marry me over my dad’s “dead fucking body.”

It’s silent. Well…not actually silent, because everyone around us is chatting and laughing and singing, completely unaware of our conversation.

But Dad warily shakes Colt’s hand. “You’re the one Jonas was telling us about.”

I gulp. “Yeah, Colt’s been…um, he’s—”

Wow, I’m failing epically at forming words tonight.

“Jonas is the best kid,” Colt says, willfully ignoring my malfunction. “He was telling me all about how you guys go fishing. Oh, and hey, you’re a bit of a handyman, right?”

Dad nods, clearly unsure where this conversation is heading.

“I was showing Whit the space we’re working on over in the barn for Jonas to raise some animals in the spring. I’m not the best carpenter, and Jonas…well, he’s only ten, so if you ever wanted to come out here and give us a hand…”

The distrusting flatness across Dad’s weary face perks up a little, and he looks at me with a couple slow blinks of disbelief. Almost like, for once, he’s doing whatever the opposite of judging me for my choices is. Commending?

“I’d love to help with that.” Dad’s eyes come fully to life, which is a surefire sign that…“Ah, speak of the devil.”

He beams at Jonas, and Mom pulls him into a tight squeeze, making the poor kid groan.

“Hey, kiddo. You ready to go home?” I ask.

Freeing himself from Mom’s clutches, he replies with a small yawn. “Yeah, the little kids are asleep.”

“Excellent job babysitting.” I smile at him.

Noticing Colt, Jonas looks between us and the gears inside his brain are visibly turning. It’s as if he’s trying to gauge whether Colt told me about their talk earlier. He wants to know if I know he knows.

And before he can figure out a way to verbalize his thoughts—honestly, sometimes I thank the lord he inherited whatever bullshit makes it so hard for me to form sentences—I urge him to say goodnight to everybody and veer him out of the house.

Colt follows, and then it’s only the three of us traipsing through crisp mountain air and grass wet with dew. My shoulders tuck up to my ears with a shiver, and Colt slips an arm around me.

“So…” Jonas rubs at his nose, staring straight ahead to my car. “Is, uh, Colt coming to our house?”

“Oh, I don’t think…” While I would love nothing more than to sleep next to him, wake up to feel his warm body next to mine, and not be in a rush to sneak him out of the house, I also don’t want to put Jonas in a potentially uncomfortable situation. We should at least have a conversation about how things are going to go first. “No sleepover tonight.”

His shoulders fall. “Oh.”

“You were hoping he was?”

Colt’s hold on my upper body gets a little tighter.

Jonas gives a disappointed half-shrug. “He lets me have cinnamon rolls for breakfast.”

I bite back a laugh. Priorities.

“Yeah, I like when he gets us cinnamon rolls for breakfast, too. But maybe he can come over in the morning?”

“Dad used to come for sleepovers.”

Fuck. Fucking shit.