West of Forever (Heartstone Ranch #1)(3)

She nods, and I back up to try to reconnect. I could just leave it here, but I don’t want to deal with it getting stuck, which is most likely what will happen with the ridiculous rainfall we’ve had lately.

It takes me no time to dash outside to get it hitched, and I climb back in.

“You’re soaked,” I say, hating that I give away the fact I notice.

“We both are.”

I reach behind her seat, grabbing my bag and pulling out a dry shirt. “Here, throw this on.”

If she’s covered, I won’t be tempted to keep looking.

She clutches it to her chest. “I’m fine, but thank you.”

“Suit yourself,” I say under my breath. I lean forward, pulling my shirt off and tossing the wet clothing in the back.

She shifts, turning her body toward the window, and I smirk. I reach back behind me, grabbing another shirt and putting it on.

Before either of us can say another word, her phone rings, and she immediately answers it. “Hello? Yes. I’m fine.” A pause. “I’m getting a ride with a neighbor.” I snort a laugh, there’s a reason she doesn’t want to say my name. “I understand that, but what did you want me to do? Sit out here all night? I thought you would at least try to come get me.” Another pause, and I can hear his voice getting louder. Lark sighs heavily. “I get that it was raining, I was stuck in it—with a flat tire and I couldn’t get off the road because I was stuck in the mud.”

The person I’m assuming is her deadbeat boyfriend is talking. I can’t make out his words, but Lark clearly doesn’t like that response, as she damn near growls: “You know what? I’m not having this conversation right now because I’m going to say something I don’t mean. I’m going home, Tristan is going to drive me, and we can talk tomorrow. Good night.”

She hangs up, then tosses her phone into her purse and stares out the passenger window. I remember when my wife would do that. She’d get so angry that she couldn’t look at anyone, or she’d cry. I learned the best way to handle it was to let her have her time, so I don’t say a word as I pull back out onto the road, heading toward the Gatlin farm.

It’s been nine years. Nine years without Emmy Jo. Nine years of raising Sadie alone.

Some days it feels like yesterday. Others it’s been a lifetime.

I don’t even make it a quarter of a mile before she shifts in her seat. “What is wrong with men? Are you all stupid?”

“Considering you’re in my truck after I just spent forty minutes in the rain helping you out, I wouldn’t lump us all together.”

“Fine, not all, but…seriously? He didn’t even make an effort. Who does that?”

“Assholes,” I answer.

She crosses her arms over her chest. “Clearly that’s what I attract. He was just going to leave me out there. He figured when he didn’t hear from me, I called one of my brothers.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“Because I knew what they’d say,” she admits.

I can’t wait to hear this one.

“Which is?”

Lark plays with the ring on her thumb. “That I should get rid of him. No one in my family likes Jeremy.”

I know that feeling. My sisters date some real winners—and by winners I mean fucking losers. Guys who would undoubtedly leave them out in the rain to possibly get hit on the side of the road. I know exactly what I’d say to them as well.

“But you keep him around,” I remind her. “Even though your brothers probably see something you don’t.”

She snorts. “Oh, now you’re siding with my brothers?”

“Not even a little. I think you should marry him. Be with a guy who treats you like garbage,” I lie. I may hate the Gatlins, but Lark isn’t lumped in with them most of the time.

She’s not out there trying to make my life hell. If there’s one person who didn’t get the asshole gene, it’s her. Lark has always been the kind one, trying to make peace between two families who have sworn to take the other down. She was close with my wife, and I had to listen to her go on and on about how wrong I was about Lark.

“I have a hard time believing you’d give Harper, Veronica, or Fallon that advice,” she says with a huff.

“My sisters don’t ask me for advice.”

“I wonder why. You’re a veritable wealth of empathy and understanding.”

I grin. “I’m glad you see what I see.”

She lets out a soft giggle that causes my heart to sputter. “You know, you’re not half bad for a Stone.”

I’m not sure how to take that, but the way she says it, all soft and warm, makes me think she actually means it.

“And you’re not half bad for a Gatlin.”

I turn onto her road, and she shifts. “Well, who knew that the two of us could stand each other for even a few minutes? You can let me out here.”

I glance over at her as if she’s lost her fucking mind. “What?”

“Let me out here. I’ll walk to the front.”

“Lark, your driveway is half a mile—at least. It’s fucking pouring.” As if Mother Nature needs to put an exclamation point at the end, the thunder booms and lightning fills the sky.