Page 67 of Things Left Unsaid

“Betsy was his heart horse,” Mrs. Abelman interrupts as she seats herself at the table. “You can’t be restarting that breeding program without telling him. I’m not going to be the one who picks up the pieces when he has a meltdown.”

“Mia’ll do that. The perks of being an engaged man, Mrs. Abelman.”

“You say that and watch him get his anger issues out with those damn pucks in the vestibule again!”

I grimace. “That window cost ten grand to replace.”

“Be double that now,” Callan inserts. “Best to tell him outside. Away from expensive stained-glass windows.”

“He’s never here anyway.”

“So you intend for him to just show up and see the stables?” Mrs. Abelman demands, tutting as she pours herself some coffee. “Colton, your mum raised you better than that.”

“I have enough shit on my plate without thinking about Cole’s feelings.”

“He’s your brother,” she chides. “For good or ill.”

“Mostly ill,” Callan comments, making me chuckle. “What time’s your flight?”

I check the clock on the wall. “I need to be on my way in two hours.”

Mrs. Abelman nods. “Your mother called.”

Unsurprisingly, Callan braces himself for disappointment.

“When’s she coming?”

“Next week. Said she put her resignation in as soon as you told her.”

I flick a look at Callan who’s evidently relieved by the news.

Who can blame him?

Eighteen years old and he barely knows his mother because his father’s an asshole.

Pops didn’twantus.

He sued for custody to spite Mum—the only parent who genuinely loves us.

Ever since I told my kid brother I was bringing Mum home, he’s been warily excited—waiting for the disappointment of her not coming when I know nothing would stop her from being here.

He’ll learn.

“Chickens,” Mrs. Abelman says out of the blue. “I’d like some of those. Your father’d never let me have a coop. Said he got sick of being woken up by roosters when he was a boy.”

Pops had weird ideas.

Who has a ranch and doesn’t have a coop for eggs?

Clyde Korhonen, genius extraordinaire, that’s who.

“You can have your own personal one, Mrs. Abelman,” Callan inserts cheerfully. “Can’t she, Colt?”

“Definitely.”

It’s the least I can do for the woman who’s been half-mom to us all.

She tries to hide her pleased smile but mostly fails.

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