Page 15 of Dirty Ginger

“All clear to work then?” Beckett asked.

Dr. Alan nodded. “Yes, I’m good with that recommendation.”

“Great,” Beckett said. “Thanks for coming out.”

“Always a pleasure,” Dr. Alan said, before heading back to his van.

Beckett turned his attention to Autumn and gave her face a caress. “No excuses now sweetheart. We’ll get the saddle right and get you going.”

The horse snorted, pushing off his hand from her face.

“Not that easy, huh?” Beckett chuckled, removing the halter and letting the horse back out to graze to give her a break before he started to work with her.

As he walked back to the gate, tires crunching against gravel lifted his attention to the driveway. Sullivan drove up in his truck. Sullivan might be Beckett’s other closest buddy, but he was also Clara’s husband. Beckett shouldn’t have been surprised that Clara sent Sullivan his way.

“She’s gorgeous,” Sullivan said the moment he got out of the truck. Sullivan spent his teenage summers working for the Blackshaw ranch. Now he was a professional baseball player who signed with the Red Sox. He and Clara lived in River Rock for as much time as they could with their son, Mason, but during the summers they lived in Boston and came back to River Rock whenever Sullivan had time off from training or games, even if they only stayed a couple days.

Beckett closed the gate behind him. “She might be gorgeous, but she’s dirty.”

Sullivan smiled, leaning against the fence. “Sounds like fun.”

“Should be interesting.” Beckett sidled next to him, resting his arms against the top railing. “I’m guessing you’re not here to talk about the horse.”

Sullivan gave a dry laugh, glancing sidelong at him. “Clara suggested that I come and see you and have a chat, so I’m here to say I’ve been here and talked with you.”

Beckett chuckled, looking back at the mare who ate grass but kept an eye on him. “I haven’t seen her that pissed in my life.” Clara was a force. One he didn’t want coming after him.

“Pissed might be an understatement, my friend,” Sullivan said with a sly smile before that smile fell. “She’s worried about Amelia. That’s all.”

“I can appreciate that,” Beckett said. “In all fairness, I questioned her sanity too when she grabbed me and kissed the hell out of me.”

Sullivan cocked his head. “Oh, yeah?”

Hayes and Sullivan were more than friends, they were Beckett’s family. No secrets came between them. “I’m not gonna say I didn’t hesitate, but I sure as hell wasn’t going to stop her.”

Sullivan hesitated. “Tell me if I’m stepping in it and you want me out of it, but is this particularly wise?”

“Probably not,” Beckett replied honestly. “But I’ve done the quiet thing. I stayed silent when she went off to college, so she could chase her dreams. I stayed silent when she came back with that prick. I even stayed quiet when she was going to marry him. I’m done sitting back doing nothing. I want her, Sullivan. Just her. If she wants me back, then that’s the greatest thing to ever happen to me.”

Softness reached Sullivan’s expression as he cupped Beckett’s shoulder. “Then don’t let anything stand in your way, brother.” He gave a sly smile. “Not even two overprotective and loud sisters.”

* * *

After Beckett’struck disappeared down the driveway, Amelia trotted up the porch steps, feeling her sisters hot on her heels, confusion swirling in her head. The last thing she thought of doing this morning was kissing Beckett. Considering she was dumped at the altar two weeks ago, the last thing Amelia should be thinking about is kissing anyone. Especially Beckett, a man she had history with, and yet, she couldn’t find any regret anywhere within her. And that was confusing.

“What in the holy hell was that?” Clara asked, following Amelia into the house. The door slammed closed behind them.

“I really don’t think I need to explain it,” Amelia replied, moving straight to the liquor cabinet next to the pantry. She took out a shot glass and the whiskey, downing the shot immediately to ease the trembling in her insides. Residual adrenaline from the rush of being with Beckett. Was this what happened when a woman had a complete mental breakdown?

“I’d also like to hear you try to explain what we walked in on.” Maisie laughed, taking a seat at the kitchen table.

“This isn’t funny, Maisie,” Clara snapped.

“Oh, please, it’s a little funny,” Maisie countered. “Besides, they both looked happy. What is so wrong with that?”

Amelia glanced over her shoulder at her little sister and threw her a grateful smile. The whiskey burned down her throat, and she considered having another shot to kill the remaining quivers in her belly that only had a little to do with shock, but she had a lot of work to do today, so she sealed up the bottle. She repeated what Clara had asked over and over again in her mind: What in the holy hell was that? Even Amelia had no idea. She’d never acted so boldly or so out of character.

Feeling more stable, she sighed, glancing back at her sisters. “You’re worried about me. I get it, but I’m fine.”

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