Page 90 of Things Left Unsaid

“You’ll be fine. He’s a good man.”

Together, we amble toward my brother. My hand finds its way to the small of her back.

Naturally.

Of its own volition.

“Figured we’d see you at the house,” I greet when Callan studies Zee and she stands there awkwardly.

“I wanted to meet your wife in her natural habitat.”

Zee’s brows lift but I snort. “You’re a weirdo, Callan.” To her, I state, “Ignore him when he comes out with crap like that. The little shit thinks he’s Pigeon Creek’s resident anthropologist.”

“I am here, you know.” He holds out his hand. “I’m Callan.”

“I’m Zee.” She shakes his hand. “Pleasure to meet you, Callan.”

He hums. “Might not be. You could hate me.”

“I doubt that. Takes a lot of energy to hate anyone.”

“Some people deserve it though, wouldn’t you say?”

Her fingers find their way onto her elbows again, and I can tell she thinks that’s aimed at her. “They do.”

“Colt said you’re frightened of Pops.”

I huff. “Callan!”

“What? Did you or didn’t you say he scared her?”

“It’s fine. He does. There’s no point in denying it.”

“Callan, why didn’t you bring a truck?”

“I’d have to ride with you if I did.”

“At least you’re honest,” Zee teases, and for the first time since we left her apartment, hell, since before I entered her damn home, she relaxes.

Typical.

Callan’s nose crinkles at the bridge. “Sorry. I didn’t know if you were going to be a bitch or not. Cole hates you so it was a fifty-fifty shot whether he was right to.”

“Wow, you’re not honest. You’re brutal.” She doesn’t appear offended though. “It’s fine. He can hate me so long as he leaves me alone.”

“Cole never comes home. He stays in New York City. This place has bad vibes for him.”

“I think Pigeon Creek has a lot of bad vibes for many people,” she says softly.

“It does for me too,” Callan shares, “but I’d never leave the ranch.”

Her fingers pinch her elbows. I only notice because they turn white from the pressure. “You’re lucky to love your home.” To me, she says, “I do need to get my office ready.”

“That’s fine. I arranged for them to transport your things here ASAP. They should arrive tomorrow night. Until then, you can make your suite your own.”

Her smile’s rueful. “Ah, yes. My suite.”

“Mrs. Abelman had it painted,” Callan relays. “It still stinks.”

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