Page 22 of Sweet Like Whiskey

“Where you claimed to be the best farrier in town,” Lawson says.

“Well I am,” Colton counters, tone hot. “You telling me I’m not?”

“Oh boy,” Lawson says evenly.

As my brothers start to bicker, I toss back the rest of my whiskey. Ash’s eyes catch mine from across the fire, and there’s something in his expression I’m not expecting. It takes me a second to place it.Sympathy. It’s the last thing I want.

I set my tin cup on the ground before standing. “’Scuse me,” I say to nobody in particular.

The trek to my back door is short, the long grasses and weeds crunching underfoot as I walk. I tug the door firmly closed behind me before pacing into the bathroom and bracing myself against the sink.

Otto.

“Goddamn it,” I mutter, pushing off from the basin. I piss, zip up and wash my hands, and then step back into the hall. I come up short when I see Ash leaning against the back door.

He followed me.Again.

“Nice place,” he says casually, looking around. From the back hall, he can see a good portion of the house. The hallway is short, just my bedroom on one side, the bathroom on the other. Further in, the space opens up, high ceilings covering the livingarea off to the left and the kitchen to the right. Wooden posts and beams are exposed throughout, and cream-colored walls keep the place light.

“Thanks,” I mutter, crossing my arms. Unless I want to go through Ash, it appears I’ll have to wait.

“The…full moon incident,” he says. “Was that because of your ex?”

Fucking hell. How did he guess that?

I don’t say anything, but Ash nods, as if he gets it. How could he?

“What are you doing in here?” I ask, my tone harsher than I intend.

He shrugs lightly. “They started talking about him again, and…it didn’t feel right hearing it without you knowing.”

“Why?” I ask, at a loss.

He shrugs again. “Exes are personal.”

This conversation feels dangerous, as if we’re teetering on the edge of a precipice I’m not yet ready to face.

Ash must be able to read it from my expression because he shoots me a soft smile. “Bathroom?”

I push the door next to me wide, and he nods, stepping forward. Before I can move, he’s slipping past me into the bathroom, his arm brushing my chest. I hold my breath, not moving a muscle. But I swear—Iswear—he slows down, making the contact linger. His eyes meet mine, stormy, stormy gray, and then he’s past.

I walk down the hall, not bothering to wait for Ash before heading outside. The fire flickers a couple dozen feet away, my brothers’ laughter ringing through the night air.

I move forward, my feet following the less perilous path.

When I wake, it’s midmorning, the sun shining brightly and accosting my eyes.Damned whiskey.

I take my time getting out of bed. Technically, it’s my day off. But that doesn’t mean much. I work seven days a week, regardless of whether or not I should, according to my family.

The morning crew will already be hard at work this time of day, but my own business isn’t pressing. So I take a shower, brew a pot of coffee, and sip it from a mug while catching up with a few online reports. By the time I make my way over to the ranch house, it’s nearly noon.

I hear singing when I step inside the door, and it’s so unexpected, I stop still to listen. It’s a Neil Young song, if I’m not mistaken. “Heart of Gold.”

Ash’s voice is smooth as he sings about getting old and searching for love or maybe just companionship. Whatever it is, he feels it, the words soft and sweet and full of an aching melancholy that makes my own chest constrict. Not wanting to interrupt, I stand inside the doorway for long minutes, just listening. Until a soft throat clear comes from nearby.

My mom gives me a knowing smile from the doorway to the mudroom. She must have come in that way while I wasn’t looking. “Sure is pretty, don’tcha think?”

I grunt, ignoring her soft laughter as I head down the hall. Ash has switched to humming by the time I reach the kitchen, and despite girding myself for it, the sight of him still sends a jolt through me.

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