Page 176 of Things Left Unsaid

The task took a lot less time than I figured so if Zee’s still game, we can ride before lunch.

The silence of the prairie, land that my forefathers roamed and ranched and laid claim to, lets me admit something to myself that I probably wouldn’t admit anywhere else—I want to see her on a horse.

I know which one too—Jas. Short for Jasmine. Callan named her when he was twelve. She’s a Camarillo. Pure white. No pink skin or undertones. Nothing gray about her coat.

Zee’ll look like some kind of faerie princess astride her.

The strange image plants itself behind my eyes, so I shutter them to better appreciate it as Fen plods back to the homestead, treading a path he could take with his own eyes shut.

When we make it there, I stable him and toss him another apple from the bag we leave hanging on a pillar.

Once he’s satisfied, I leave him and retreat to the house.

That’s when I hear laughter.

To be honest, I’ve heard more laughter in the past month than I’ve heard in years.

Now that Mum’s back, the atmosphere is lighter all round.ButI’m used to hearing Callan and Zee laugh too.

It’s a nice thing to come home to.

Nicer than I could have imagined.

Feeling like a numbnut, I toss my hat on the stand in the hall then stride over to the source of the noise—the kitchen.

Which is when I hear Cody’s voice.

I rush in, absorb the rare sight of him at the kitchen table, and grin. “You dickhead. You never told me you were coming home!”

Cody chuckles but he doesn’t get up, instead wiggles a crutch at me. “It was unexpected.”

Zee clears her throat. “He’s been in a car crash.”

I gape at him. “Tell me you’re kidding? You spend God knows how many hours in a cockpit but you get injured in a car?!”

“Don’t sound disappointed.” He slugs me in the arm as I take a seat next to him. “Broken tibia-fibula. Nightmare. Had surgery and everything. Two more weeks with the crutch then I’m done.”

“Jesus. You’re an asshole for not telling us sooner,” I snap, but a soft thud sounds in front of me—a mug of coffee. I flick a glance at Zee. “Thanks, Zee.”

Her smile’s shy as she turns to the counter where I see she has all the fixings for sandwiches.

My brow lifts. “Have you got my wife making sandwiches for you?”

“Your wife,” he mouths.

I scowl at him.

“Oh, I don’t mind,” Zee reassures us both.

He smirks.

“As far as I can tell, your hands aren’t broken.”

“I was getting to knowyour wife.”

My scowl darkens.

His smirk deepens.

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