West of Forever (Heartstone Ranch #1)(50)

Also, I told Tristan to meet me again tonight at the ridge, which means another night of no sleep. So, yeah, I need the rest.

“You can sleep tonight. I have to get a dress.”

Oh no. No, no, no.

I love my mother, but shopping with her is its own version of misery.

She hates everything.

Things aren’t made like they used to be. The patterns are all too loud. Where did the nice buttons go, the ones that were metal and didn’t break like these confounded plastic ones? Why don’t they hem with the box stitch? Don’t they know it’s stronger? Or my favorite, when she complains about buying a piece of clothing that already has holes.

It’s not fun.

It’s definitely not going to happen when I’m this tired.

“Can we please go tomorrow?”

“No.”

This isn’t going my way. “Can Daddy take you?”

Her huff is answer enough. “No, your father is busy doing the chores around this farm. Since you’re not busy, you can take me.”

This is my penance for having sex last night.

No one can convince me otherwise.

“All right, Momma. Let me get up, get dressed, and get caffeinated.”

She leaves, and I do the first two. While I’m in the bathroom brushing my hair, a text comes through.

I grin when I see the name. Last night, we decided to change our contact names in each other’s phones, so in case anyone sees a text, they won’t know who it is.

Ben Thrustin





How are you doing this morning?





Good, you?





Ben Thrustin





Tired, but it was worth it.





Agreed.





“Lark!” Momma calls, and I drop the phone in the sink.

“Shit,” I whisper-yell, then call, “I’ll be down in a minute!”

I have stuff to do today. I’ll text you when I know a time.





Ben Thrustin





Sounds good. Talk to you later, Jenna Talia.





I laugh, remembering the name I picked for myself.

Sounds good, Mr. Thrustin.





I put the phone in my back pocket, pull my hair into a ponytail, and head downstairs, where my mother is standing with her purse on her shoulder at the door and a to-go coffee cup in her hand.

This is going to be so fun.

We head thirty minutes down to a neighboring town, where there are a few more options for stores.

Of course, she doesn’t want to go to the big box stores, because that’s where the ugly things are. Instead, we’re at a boutique store where the clothes are not just ugly, they’re horrific. Utterly unwearable.

“This one is just lovely,” Momma says, pulling out something that not even a nun would wear. It’s floor length with patches of different quilt-like patterns on it. There’s a high neckline—like all the way up to her chin—and the sleeves are…puffy.

God, it’s hideous.

“It’s…something.”

That’s all I can muster.

She holds it up to her neck, looking in the mirror, which I swear is warped, creating one of those fun house reflections so that when you look in it, you have to kind of squint and hold your head tilted to the side to maybe look somewhat normal.

My mother turns to me, holding it up. “You hate it.”

“I don’t hate it, Momma. I just think there are much better options in other stores.”

When I look at old photos of my mother, it takes my breath away. She has always been beautiful, but when she was in her youth, she was a knockout. Her long brown hair, the same shade as mine and straight as an arrow, hung to her lower back, and her bright green eyes shone, even in an old photograph. There was always a smile on her face and a gleam of mischief in her eyes.

I don’t know when that light died out a little—probably when Maverick left.

It broke her heart the day my brother packed his things and walked out of the house. I think it damaged a part of her that she will never recover from, and I would like nothing more than to beat the shit out of him for it.

Since then, she’s just let herself wilt away.

No matter how much my brothers, my father, and I have tried to keep her blooming.

She puts on a great front, always pretending that she’s just fine, but I see it.

“I don’t know, Lark.” She turns back to the terrible mirror.

“Momma, what if we just go look? We can try a few new places, and I’ll guarantee this dress will still be here if you don’t find something else.” I’d bet this dress has been here since 1945.

I can see her hesitation as she looks at the hanger and then to me. “I’m not sure we’ll find anything.”

“I’m not, either, but we can make a day of it. How about we go get lunch? We can get mani-pedis and just have some fun. A girls’ day.”

She clears her throat. “I have to make dinner.”

I grin. “Momma, those boys are perfectly capable of taking care of themselves. I promise, they’ll survive without dinner.”

Her smile grows and she nods. “All right. One night won’t kill them.”