Total pages in book: 127
Estimated words: 120186 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 601(@200wpm)___ 481(@250wpm)___ 401(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 120186 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 601(@200wpm)___ 481(@250wpm)___ 401(@300wpm)
“What the fuck is all this?” It looks like every florist shop from here to South Dakota sent an arrangement. Flowers and vases of every size and color are jammed into the space. A stack of unopened cards sits on the entryway table.
I guess my mother, Elena, either isn’t interested or doesn’t have it in her to see who sent what. The outside world probably assumes she’s a grieving widow who can’t handle what happened. I’m sure part of her is that way, but another part of her has to be relieved. Maybe? I don’t know. I haven’t been able to set eyes on her since everything happened despite living in the same house. Roman made everyone’s life a living hell, but shit like this is tricky. She might hate me or want to thank me. She probably doesn’t know which yet.
I’m still staring at the wall of flowers when my phone buzzes in my pocket. For a second, I consider ignoring it, but when I look at the screen and see it isn’t Emma, I check it.
Calder: My cabin. Now.
No please. No when you get a chance. Just now.
I stare at the text, jaw tight, then shove the phone back into my pocket.
I’ve been dodging my brother for days, and we both know it. Evading all of them. Calder’s been running the ranch, keeping the hands in line, and dealing with the lawyers and the will and everything else that comes with your father dying violently in his own dining room. And me? I’ve been rotting in a spare bedroom, feeling sorry for myself.
Failure. That’s all you’ll ever be.
“Shut up,” I mutter, and shove through the front door, stepping around a vase of white lilies that some well-meaning stranger sent to honor a man who deserved none of it.
The drive to Calder’s cabin takes less than five minutes. It sits on the east side of the property, close enough to the main house that you can see it from the upstairs windows but far enough away that it feels like it’s in its own world.
As soon as I pull up, I consider reversing it to go back to the main house. All three of my brothers are here, and if that isn’t a warning sign, I don’t know what is. I park the truck and sit there for a minute with my hands on the wheel. I could leave, but it wouldn’t matter. Calder would find another tactic to corner me and discuss the hard stuff. He’s relentless. Oldest brother syndrome dialed up to eleven, made worse by the fact that he basically raised us while Roman was too busy being a tyrant.
I kill the engine and go inside without knocking.
The cabin smells like food. Real food. Not the stale coffee, and nothing I’ve been surviving on. A pot of something simmers on the stove—soup or stew, I can’t tell from here—and a plate of cornbread sits on the counter wrapped in a towel.
Saint’s doing, I’m sure. Even when she’s not here, she’s here. The woman is a godsend, and she makes some damn good food.
Under different circumstances, I’d appreciate it more.
I find Calder leaning against the kitchen counter with his arms crossed over his chest. He looks like Roman used to look when he was about to hand out orders, and the similarity feels like a dull knife twisting behind my ribs. Sawyer sits at the table, with one perfectly polished dress shoe crossed over his knee, watching me with that calm, calculated expression he wears like armor. And Levi—Levi’s sprawled on the couch pretending to be relaxed, but his knee is bouncing a hundred miles an hour. The kid never could sit still.
“Well,” I say, stopping just inside the door. “The gang’s all here.”
Calder doesn’t smile. “Sit down.”
“I’m good standing.”
“Wasn’t a suggestion.”
We stare at each other. Calder’s got a few inches on me, and right now, he’s using every one of them. His eyes are steady and hard, not cruel the way Roman’s were, but immovable. The kind of look that says I will wait here all goddamn day if I have to.
What-the fuck-ever. I pull out a chair and drop onto it. “Happy?”
“Ecstatic.” Calder pushes off the counter, turns around, and grabs a bowl that he sets down in front of me. “Eat.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“I don’t care. Saint made it, and it would hurt her feelings if you didn’t eat it. If you hurt her feelings, then I’ll have to hurt you, brother. Now eat.”
I stare down at the bowl. The steam curls up and hits my face, and my stomach cramps so hard it almost hurts. Okay, fine. I’m hungry. I just forgot what it felt like. I grab the spoon and take a bite to get him off my back. Unfortunately, that turns into another, and then another, and soon, I’m shoveling it in like I haven’t eaten in days. Which I probably haven’t.