Page 26 of Careless Hope

8

Walker

I joltedawake to the sound of someone hammering on my front door like it was their job. I blinked against the morning light that was too bright for my taste, and felt like my head’s been stuffed with cotton. The clock on the nightstand read a time that no self-respecting person should be up at unless there’s cattle to tend or fences to mend.

But today was my day off.

“Alright, alright, I’m comin’,” I muttered to nobody in particular as I dragged myself out of bed. My muscles protested from yesterday’s work on the ranch. You’d think I’d be used to it, but there were always days my body got worked harder than others. And I was getting to the age where I felt it dearly.

I shuffled towards the door, still wearing yesterday’s jeans and a black tee that’d seen better days.

I swung open the door, squinting into the sunlight, and there stood Sutton, like some kind of bakery angel armed with caffeine and sugar. She was a tiny thing, but the way she burst into my house let you know she had enough spirit to make up for it.

“Morning, Walker,” she chirped, pushing past me with that determined stride of hers. “Figured you’d need this.” She thrusted a steaming cup of coffee into my hand, and I swore I could feel my soul start to reanimate with the first sniff.

“Is that from Campfire?” I ask, eyeing the white paper bag she was holding with something akin to reverence. She forked it over, and I opened it eagerly to find my favorite of Sutton’s creations. The cinnamon roll.

The damn thing was practically the size of a dinner plate, dripping with icing, and it smelled like everything right in the world.

“Fresh out of the oven,” she said with a proud tilt of her chin, her gray eyes twinkling with the knowledge that she’d just delivered the hangover cure-all.

“Thanks, Sut. You’re a lifesaver.” I took a long gulp of the coffee, letting the rich, dark liquid kickstart my brain. It was good, strong enough to oil up a tractor engine.

“Anything for my favorite cousin,” she replied with a smile, setting her own cup of coffee down on the kitchen table before plopping herself into a chair. “And let’s face it, you look like you could use all the help you can get this morning.”

“I might have been drinkin’ doubles last night,” I admitted, scratching at the stubble on my jaw.

“Well that explains it.”

“Explains what?”

“Caroline said you spent the night at Mason’s.”

“Slept there for a couple hours but Abby had a nightmare and I didn’t want to be a bother. Came home since I’d sobered up by then.”

Mason’s daughter Abigail was the sweetest little spitfire you’d ever seen and was an honorary niece to us all. But UncleWalk didn’t know shit about calming nightmares, so I’d made myself scarce while Mason took up Dad-duty.

“Figured as much when I didn’t see your truck at the Barrel.”

I set down the coffee mug, the rich aroma still teasing my senses as I caught Sutton’s gaze. Her gray eyes were like storm clouds, ready to rain down a whole heap of trouble or maybe just some good ol’ fashioned concern.

“What?”

“Are you serious about this thing with Caroline?” she asked, running a hand through her messy bangs.

“Uh . . . ” My brain was still booting up, slower than an old tractor on a cold morning. “What about her?”

“Caroline,” she pressed, leaning against the kitchen counter with her arms folded, the cinnamon roll forgotten for a moment. “You know, helping her out with . . . the thing she needs help with.”

“Right, right.” Memories from last night flickered through my mind like lightning bugs—Caroline’s sweet smile, the walk home, and the odd request that had me scratching my head. Damn. She really asked me to teach her how to get a man, didn’t she?

“Look, I didn’t shake hands on anything, Sutton. Just told her I’d think on it,” I said, finally finding the trail of thought I was looking for.

“Thinkin’ on it, huh?” She smirked, pushing off the counter to step closer. “And how’s that goin’ for you?”

“Still percolating,” I replied, matching her smirk with one of my own. “Like your coffee here.”

“Better not let it percolate too long, Walker. Caroline’s not the type to wait around forever,” she chided, but the twinkle in her eye told me she was enjoying this little morning interrogation. “And while I don’t necessarily think it’s a great idea, I don’t want her going around and asking some dipshit to help her either.”

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