At Whit's End (Wells Ranch, #4)(23)
He nods thoughtfully, shoving his water bottle into his backpack and reeling in his line. We fake-gag over how shriveled and pasty our feet are from being submerged in the lake, I playfully threaten to toss him into the water, Jonas retaliates by calling me “old man,” and we meander our way back to the pickup. Sun weary, blissfully happy, and in desperate need of a refreshing drink from Anette’s.
“Hey, Colt?” Jonas’s seatbelt clicks into place, and he doesn’t wait for me to respond before continuing. “Next time Dad can’t hang out, can we go fishing again?”
Once you break through his tough shell, Jonas is an awesome kid to hang with. How his dad could possibly have anything better to do today is beyond me. I can confidently say that, when I have them, I’ll drop everything to hang out with my kids. And to tell a kid you’ll be there, then bail on them at the last minute? That’s not even just shitty parenting—it’s being a shitty human.
“Yeah, dude. Anytime.”
Whit
Taking a slow sip of wine, I appreciate the pristine black nail polish on my fingers, racking my brain to remember the last time I had hours to myself on a Saturday. After Colt and Jonas left this morning, I sprawled out on the couch with my Kindle and a cup of coffee. A couple hours later, Blair called and kept my brain occupied as I painted my nails, then I finished my romance novel while eating a delicious turkey sandwich on the porch. Now I’m curled up watching Pride & Prejudice.
What started as a shitty day ended up as close to perfect as I ever get.
An engine rumbles loudly up my street before coming to an abrupt stop, and I stretch across the couch to peer out the front window. Jonas hops out of the passenger seat of the massive pickup and tosses his head back with a laugh at something Colt must’ve said. I can immediately tell his cheeks are sunburned—clearly neither of them thought to use the sunblock I packed.
A moment later, Jonas barges through the front door and fights to kick off his sandals. His cheeks and nose are a vibrant shade of pink, his hair is a mess, and his clothes are disheveled. Something about his overall demeanor tells me he left a piece of his usual life-weary heaviness at the lake, and he came back more like a little kid.
Colt’s not far behind, and he holds a firm palm against the front door to keep it open. He’s bronzed all over with a slight shimmer of dried sweat on his skin.
When he notices me, his gaze strays to my chest in a move so subtle and quick, I’m left wondering if I imagined it. “Hey, Mama.”
My heart dips, and a slow-burning heat crawls its way up to my cheeks. I press a cool hand to my chest, blaming my sudden flush on the wine. I’ve been called mama, mommy, mom, mother, and even bro a million times over the past ten years. At this point, I hear it more than my actual name, so it makes no sense for this to be the time I have a visceral reaction to the word. All the same, it feels like I’ve submerged myself into a warm bubble bath.
“Hey.” My voice comes out way more sultry than I expected, and I clear my throat before trying again. “Hey.”
Better.
I pull myself from the couch and saunter toward the boys, stealing a quick glance at Colt before focusing on Jonas. “Did you guys have fun?”
Jonas’s cheerful tone is exhilarating. “I almost gave Colt a fishhook earring in his nose.”
I raise a curious brow at Colt, who nods.
“And I got a milkshake at Anette’s on the way home.”
“A milkshake?” I gasp theatrically. “Right before dinner?”
Jonas looks over at Colt. I told you so, his expression says. Then his green eyes meet mine again. “Told him you’d be mad about it, but he said he’d take one for the team.”
“Lucky for him I’m in a good mood, I guess.” With a firm grip on Jonas’s shoulder, I steer him in the direction of the staircase. “Go clean yourself up. Pizza should be here pretty soon.”
“Can Colt stay?” he shouts while climbing the stairs.
“He’s been with you all day, kiddo. I’m sure he has other things to get to.”
After all, Colt’s still standing in the entryway. No move has been made to take off his shoes or even attempt to leave the coir doormat with a green frog painted on it. He already did his good deed for the day by taking Jonas fishing, and I’m sure he’s ready for some child-free time to drink beer with his buddies or whatever it is he likes to do beyond shopping for secondhand shirts.
“If you’re hungry, you’re more than welcome to have some pizza. But I totally understand if you want to get out of here.”
Before answering, he kicks his boots off and places them next to the shoe rack. Evidently, he’s staying. Straightening back up, he pulls the hat from his head and sets it on top of his boots, then runs a hand through lightly sweat-dampened hair. The move pulls his T-shirt hem up to his belly button, and though I’ve seen him shirtless before, I was too agitated in that moment to appreciate what was standing in front of me. A man with thick arms, a slender waist, and the thinnest trail of hair leading down to…Damn, I wonder how far down it goes?
The shirt falls back into place, and I find myself blinking rapidly to disrupt the stupor.
“Always down to fuck up a pizza,” he says. Our smiles meet, holding on for a moment longer than necessary.
“Okay. Great. Well…make yourself at home.” I gesture to the open concept floor plan, painfully aware that I’m acting odd. He’s been here before, and even if he hadn’t, there’s not much worth gesturing at in our humble living space. Couch for sitting, kitchen for cooking, table for eating—that’s the grand tour.