Page 48 of Dust Storm

I tipped my chin. “What’chu doing in town?”

Nate shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “Becks had a craving.”

“Should’ve called. I would’ve brought something back so you didn’t have to drive all the way out here.”

He shrugged. “Didn’t know how long you’d be.”

He was in a t-shirt today, which surprised me.

Nearly ten years ago, he had been injured during a tour in Iraq. Burn scars mottled his hand and arm. He didn’t talk about it much, and usually wore sleeved shirts so it wouldn’t upset our mom.

Guilt seared me like a brand.

When we got the call that he was being treated at the Army hospital in Germany, my world came crashing down. Gretchen passed not long after that.

Thank God for Ray.

The other middle Griffith brother was Uncle of the Year to Bree and Gracie when I could barely function as their father.

I couldn’t save Gretchen.

I couldn’t keep Nate from getting injured by a suicide bomber.

It should have made me hold my girls closer. It should have made me grateful that Nate was okay.

But it only made me guilty.

“Had to take care of some business.” I yanked the pump out of the gas tank and put it back on the cradle. “Brought Cassandra with me so she could pick up some stuff she needed.”

Nate let a smile slip as he crossed one arm over the other. “How’s she doing?”

I worked it over in my brain for a second. “She’s tough. She’ll be alright.”

“Sounds like Becks when I met her on deployment.”

I laughed. “Nah. It’s not like that. We don’t actively hate each other.”

Her snippy remarks didn’t bother me. Our banter—it wasn’t fighting. It felt like foreplay.

“How are you doing with it?” he asked.

“Unaffected,” I lied, leaning casually against the truck.

Nate howled. “Now you sound like me when I met Becks. So, bullshit.”

I shook my head. “It’s not like that. She’s engaged.”

“And I was still trying to convince Vanessa not to divorce me,” he countered.

“It’s not the same thing.”

Nate’s ex-wife was a cold-hearted bitch. Cassandra’s fiancé was a sneaky little weasel.

Nate lowered his voice. “It’s been ten years.”

“And in those ten years I’ve gone to more therapy than you have.” I raised my hands. “I’m good, man. I’ve dated, I’ve had flings. I’m not repressed and I’m not blind. Cass—I like her even though I think she’s dead set on trying to make me hate her. And yeah. I think she’s attractive. But I’m not crossing any lines with an engaged woman, or with my girls under the same roof.”

He stepped back and nodded. “That’s fair. I’m just making sure your head’s on straight.” Checking the time, he added, “I’d better run in and get Becks her brisket tacos.”

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