“Mornin’,” she says quietly over her cup.
I don’t respond, and she glances nervously in my direction. I reach around her and grab the pot. “You don’t mind if I have some of this, right?”
Her brow creases. “No. Of course not. Go right ahead.”
“Well thanks, darlin’. Don’t mind if I do.”
She leans in and murmurs, “Is there something wrong?”
“Nope. Why would anything be wrong?”
“I just thought after last night … it …” She swallows, and I have this insane urge to wrap my hand around her delicate throat and stroke the tender flesh, but I can’t do that here in front of her brother and her mama. When it comes to Lemon, I need to relearn the word restraint.
“It what? Would be different?” I say with a grin, and lean in a little closer to whisper in her ear. “See, I thought the same thing, but it seems you can’t keep from runnin’ out on me in the middle of the night, Lemonade.”
“Okay, what on earth is so interesting about that coffee pot? Y’all have been crowded around it whispering sweet nothings for the last five minutes now.”
I turn and wink at Mama. “No one makes a cup of joe like you, Mama.”
“Colton Hayes, you best not be flirting with me in front of my daughter, or I might end up getting chewed out as all y’all say.”
“Nah. She don’t mind. Lemon couldn’t give two cow craps what I do, or whom I do it with. She made it crystal clear a long time ago that she don’t feel nothin’ for me.” I set my cup in the sink and head for the door, grabbing my hat off the stand. “Have a mighty good day, ma’am.”
“Wait. I haven’t finished packing your lunches yet.”
I cringe. Nothing like trying to make a point with your hasty exit and having it shot to hell because Mama Winchester reminds you to take your packed lunch like a little boy. I turn back and place my hat on my head, tipping it in front. “Work waits for no man, ma’am.”
I exit the house, the screen door slamming just a little too loudly as I make my way to the stables. I’m just tacking up Knievel when Lemon runs into the barn. “Colt, we need to talk.”
“I’m on the clock, Lemon. Some of us have work to do around here.”
Her shoulders sag, and I feel like shit. I grab the reins and lead Knievel from his stall. She stands in the way, arms folded across her chest in indignation. “So that’s it. You fuck me and you don’t even have the balls to talk to me about what happened last night?”
Cash is rubbing down his horse a few stalls away, and I know he heard every word by the smug smile on his face.
I pull Knievel to a stop and lean in closer to Lemon. “Why don’t you go public with that shit?”
“It’s not like everyone doesn’t already know.”
“See, no one actually knows because your brothers haven’t beaten the shit outta me this morning, but you can bet the entire ranch is gonna be talkin’ by the end of the day.”
“So let them talk.” She throws her hands in the air. “Who cares? It’s none of their goddamn business who I have sex with.”
“You wanna know why I don’t have anything to say to you? It’s because last night meant more to me than just a quick, hard fuck, and I thought we were finally on the same page. But then I woke alone in bed this morning and there was barely any trace that I hadn’t just dreamed it all.”
“I’m sorry. I just … I had a lot on my mind. I didn’t think—”
“No, you didn’t, did you? Seems you never do think about me.” I know it’s a low blow, drudging up ancient history and throwing something in her face that we said as teens, but I find myself all kinds of petty these days.
“Colt, that isn’t fair.”
“No, it’s not.” I urge Knievel forward and out through the main stable doors. Once outside, I take a beat to breathe. The sky overhead is the pale blue of a Texas morning, despite what they predicted on TV about wild weather. Right now, there’s a fucking hurricane in my heart, tearing down the walls I put in place when she left me, shaking the foundation from the ground up, and laying waste to the ruin of my soul, and her name is Lemon Goddamn Winchester.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Colt
Twenty-two years old
Driving a head of cattle across the eastern pasture is long, backbreaking work. With over 300,000 acres, Winchester Ranch is the largest working cattle ranch in Red River county, so getting from one end of the property to another is sometimes an all-day experience. I pull the hat from my head and wipe the sweat from my brow with my red bandana. It’s hot as Hades out here, and I’d give anything to be sitting on that front porch swing with Lemonade, her feet in my lap, a sweet tea in one hand as I rub her swollen ankles with the other.
Her daddy might still wanna kill me—West too—but little by little they’re coming round. Just last month we shook hands on a deal that would tie me to this land forever—my own slice of heaven right here at Winchester Wild. And though Lemon don’t know nothin’ about it, the three of us have been working hard on getting things sorted for her and the baby.
I’m making it right, doing right by Lemon and her folks, trying not to tarnish the family name further. This town don’t make it easy though. She’s just finished high school, and if her peers talking behind her back weren’t enough, she’s gotta face the judgement of every Betty Lue Sue in town looking down on her. Sometimes I wish we could trade places, because it’s so much easier for men. I’m older, I’m the one who got her pregnant, I’m the one who should have known better, and yet she’s the one who’s forced to carry all the shame of our situation along with our unborn child.
Part of me wonders whether staying in this town is the best thing for her, but where the hell else would we go? Our family is here, our life is here, and I can’t imagine ever leaving.
Miguel Ángel—a ranch hand who’s stayed back at the stables to keep everything running smoothly at the house—crests the rise at a bolt on Mulk, a horse who hasn’t run for ten years now. They both look flustered as he yanks on Mulk’s reins.
“What in the world are you doin’, Miguel?”
“Mr. Winchester, you and Colt need to come quick. It’s Lemon.”
“What happened? Is the baby okay?” I shout.
“West,” Mr. Winchester shouts. “Get this head of cattle through the gate on the north side.”
“We can just herd them back into the west pasture until tomorrow, Pops.”
“No. I need ’em moved today.”
“Okay.” West nods and he glances at me. “I got it. Just go.”
I glance at Mr. Winchester, half expecting him to order me to stay, but I dig my heels into Knievel’s side and take off for the house at a full tilt.
Thirty minutes later, I enter the yard and jump off Knievel. I don’t have time to take off his tack, curry his coat, or hose him down. I tie him to the fence post and run to the house. I yank open the front door and storm in without mucking off my boots—a punishable offence in Mama Winchester’s house.