Page 77 of Dust Storm

“Sorry. No time for a tea party. Not all of us can retire at forty.”

Nate followed me out. “Retired from the Army, dipshit. Not life. Once Becks’s maternity leave is over, we’ll be traveling again.”

“Good,” I clipped with a smirk. “So when your baby is born I can start counting down the days until I can leave my house without you nosey Nellies watching my every move.”

“Be straight with me,” he said as he leaned against his truck. “Is something going on with Cassandra?”

I evaded the question. “Why would you ask that?”

“You keep her close. She hides out at your house. You’re the only person she talks to.”

I sighed as I stared out at the horizon. “She’s having a time of it.”

“What do you mean?”

“Her fiancé was cheating on her.”

Nate swore under his breath. “Becks hates that guy. Always has.”

“With the client that got her fired from her job,” I added.

Nate laughed at the sky. “Where does Cass want him buried? In the east pasture or the west?”

For some reason, I liked that he was willing to commit a casual felony for Cassandra. I liked her being seen as one of ours.

As mine.

But I didn’t say that out loud. “I think whatever she’s got up her sleeve for the ranch will be good. She’s just using the isolation as an excuse to lick her wounds.”

He lifted an eyebrow. “That’s very magnanimous of you. You hate change.”

I shrugged. “Change is like the sunrise. It happens whether you want it to or not.”

Nate combed his fingers through his growing beard. “Then maybe you should change your ‘no bringing women home while your girls are there’rule.”

I laughed. “It will take an act of God for me to change my mind about that.”

“Yes, my queen!”

I yanked open the screen door to the sound of giggling girls. Dirt coated my palms, leaving a smear on the edge of the door handle.

Gracie was running back up the stairs while Bree was darting down to the living room.

My eyes widened as I looked around the wreckage that was pre-teen clothes, shoes, and accessories. “What in the?—”

“Hi, Daddy!” Bree beamed as she did a twirl at the bottom of the steps.

I found Cassandra sitting prim and proper in my armchair, looking rather regal with a plastic tiara on top of pearl-blonde hair.

“I’m in hell,” she said with a morose deadpan before picking up the matching plastic wand and pointing it at Bree. “No.”

Bree huffed. “You said that about the last outfit too.”

Cassandra tapped her on the head with the wand. “Because you’re wearing five of the loudest things in your closet.”

“But Braxton likes girls who wear loud clothes.”

Cassandra rolled her eyes. “First, any kid with an X in their name is a walking red flag. Just spell it the normal way.” In a mutter she added, “Same goes for men named after accidents. Like Tripp.” Refocusing, Cassandra waved the wand in the general direction of the bright pink shirt Bree had layered with a lime-green tank top. “And second, boys don’t notice clothes. You dress up for yourself first and your girls second. Boys notice how you feel in your clothes. It probably seems like he likes girls who wear loud clothes when he really just likes girls who are confident in who they are.” She flicked the wand, dismissing Bree. “Go do better.”

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