Page 63 of Sweet Like Whiskey

“Do you like it rough, like Shorty?”

“Ash.”

“What?” I ask, laughing. “It’s a simple question.”

“There ain’t nosimplewhen it comes to you,” he says, stopping abruptly and spinning toward me. “Simpleis expected.Simpleis easy and boring and routine. You are none of those things. And I can’t answer your question because, frankly, I don’t know how in the hell I’m supposed to choose. I’m pretty sure I’d like anything and everything with you. So no, it’s not simple. Not in the goddamn least.”

With that, Jackson hauls the door open and stomps out of the room. I stare after him, my smile hurting my cheeks.

“See you later, darlin’,” I shout.

He grunts, the sound nearly swallowed by the rain. My pulse joins the pitter-patter.

I’m way past trouble when it comes to Jackson Darling.

Chapter 16

Jackson

When I get back to the ranch house, I’m fully prepared to keep up my huffing and puffing, if for no other reason than on principle alone. But the moment I step inside the dining room, boots soaked and hair dripping onto the scuffed hardwood floor, I stop dead. Because there, sitting in my mom’s nice white porcelain serving dish on the center of the table, is something unmistakable.

Rice pudding.

He made me goddamnrice pudding.

All my feigned anger floats away like dandelion fluff, my insides left bared. I feel like a child again, stripped down to nothing but pure, aching emotions and that certainty kids possess that something big and grand and exciting is waiting just out of reach. Like all you have to do is go find it.

I think I just might have found it.

“Son. Gonna join us?”

My dad’s voice breaks through my reverie, and I nod in a jerk, setting my hat on the back of my chair before sitting. Ash isn’t in the room yet.

“How ’bout this weather?” my dad says conversationally, cutting into his chicken as I spoon myself some roasted potatoes. It’s still pouring out, the rain coming down in a dreary sheet.

“It’s rain,” my mom replies, her tone fondly exasperated. “What’s so special about it?”

“It’s a lot of rain,” my dad says. “Heard there was a bit of flooding on the roads in town. This keeps up, and we could see mudslides.”

My mom hums, but my attention slips to Ash as he comes through the doorway, jugs of water in hand. My gaze sweeps over him, from the sure way he walks to the strong lines of his shoulders and arms. The dark blonde hair curling behind his ear. The small lift of his lips as his eyes catch mine from across the table.

The stutter in my chest doesn’t even surprise me anymore.

Ash sets down the water and takes a seat. He talks to Colleen about what the ranchers do in the winter, which is exactly what we do now. He asks Lawson how Wendy is. He even chats with my dad about the new smoker he got for his beehive.

All the while, I watch Ash and the rice pudding, which sits untouched at the center of the table. When I can’t stand it anymore, I grab a small ramekin and dish some up. The texture is perfect: creamy enough it spreads some but not too thin that it loses all shape. I bring a spoonful to my mouth, and my eyes slip shut. It’s sweet, and the rice has bite, and I swear he must have added something special because there’s a hint of a spice I’ve never tasted in rice pudding before. But the recipe, otherwise, is the same one my mother always used; I’m sure of it.

When my eyes flutter open, I find Ash watching me.

“So, uh…” Colton says, trying to catch my eye from across the table. He leans so far over Ash’s lips twitch in amusement. “You gonna share or what?”

Not breaking Ash’s gaze, I pass the serving dish to my brother.

“Sweet,” he says. And then, “You sick or something? Why’re we having rice pudding?”

Ash is the first to break, his mouth turning into a wide grin. I huff my own laugh, shaking my head as I finish my dessert.

“Oh, he’s fit as a fiddle,” my mom says. “Although I wouldn’t be surprised if he spends some time in bed tonight.”

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