Page 57 of Eight Second Hearts

I sit up straighter. “We’re going to your mom’s house? Does she live far?”

“She lives on the ranch, in a different house,” Beau answers. “Just a few minutes up the gravel road.”

Ram smiles. “We built her a house, too.” But then his expression tightens. “She’ll like meeting you.”

“Do I get to ask her embarrassing stories about baby Ram?” I ask to lighten the mood.

It works. His eyes soften. “You won’t have to ask. I have no doubt she’ll feed us and then subject you to the photo albums.”

“I can’t wait,” I reply.

Beau brings me over a coffee mug and sets it on the table. I stare at the oddly shaped mug in confusion. When he sees my expression, he grins. “That’s a genuine Ugly Mugz coffee mug. Georgia gives you the option to take it home or leave it there to be in rotation.” He taps the mug. “I sculpted this last time we were in town. It’s supposed to be a clown face.”

I hold it up and squint my eyes a little. “I can see that.”

Kind of. It’s hard to tell until you find the large red nose. From there, the face better comes into focus, but it’s kind of like looking at one of those paintings where everything is crooked and swirled.

Beau laughs. “I’m definitely not the artist of the group.” He tussles my hair. “Don’t worry, Indie bird. I don’t take it to heart.”

“Which one of you is the artist then?” I ask curiously. Ram jerks his finger over at Tripp and I look over at the silent man in question. Beau points at Ram instead. “What kind of art?”

Tripp looks at me. “Perhaps I’ll show you another time. We have stuff to attend to this mornin’.”

When I look at Ram, he grins. “Same. I’ll show you another time.” He takes the mug Beau hands him. “Now drink your coffee. You’re gonna need that caffeine. I can promise you that.”

I take his advice to heart and drink every last drop. Something tells me they’re not haggard for no reason. This place. . . maybe it’ll haunt me just the same by the time we leave. I can’t imagine what hides in these walls, but I trust that it’s something bad.

Tripp Savage wears the knowledge on his shoulders, like Atlas holding up the world.

They were right. Ram’s mom really does live just a few minutes away. It takes a short trip along the gravel road, further away from the main house, and this one is more like a cute little cottage I’d expect a witch to live in. Flower beds line the front and wrap around the small house, and while there are no flowers right now in the winter, I know in the spring, it’s beautiful. Anyone who has so many garden gnomes and a concrete porchgoose dressed in green for Saint Patrick’s Day has to have the prettiest flowers.

Before Tripp has even put the truck in park, the front door opens and an older woman steps out, her eyes alight with happiness at the sight of us. She wipes her hands on a dish towel as she waits for us, and I take in everything about her. From her graying hair pulled up into a bun to the frilly apron she wears that’s covered with splashes of flour, she’s the spitting image of warm and inviting. As I step out of the truck with the guys, I see Ram’s eyes in her face and know that he’s his mother’s son, from the color down to the crinkles at the corners of them.

“Mis corazones!You’ve come home!” she gushes and immediately rushes forward to wrap her arms around Ram, before grabbing hold of Beau and Tripp, dragging them in for an even tighter hug. She pats Ram’s cheek lovingly, smiling up at him brightly, before she seems to remember that someone else is behind the three of them. Her eyes focus on me, and she straightens. “How rude of me! I’m Maria, Ram’smamá.”

“I’m Indie,” I reply, holding out my hand for a handshake.

She laughs and grabs me by my arm, dragging me in for a hug. “We hug out here,mija. Any friend of my boys is family.”

Her hug is so comforting, I sink into it before I know what I’m doing. I hadn’t realized how much I’ve missed motherly hugs, how much I needed it, until she’d pulled me in. I hug her back just as tightly and fight the mist in my eyes that the realization manifests. When she releases me, I step back and blink, trying my best not to show any sort of emotion. Ram’s watching me carefully, so I’m sure he sees it, but he doesn’t comment on it.

“Vente. Vente,” she says, gesturing to the door. “Come inside. Have you eaten yet? Tell me all about your travels and why you’ve come home early with no warning.” She pauses and looks at Tripp. “Did something happen?”

“We’ll explain inside, Mama Maria,” Tripp murmurs, and I can hear the respect in his voice that I haven’t heard him use with anyone else. This woman. . . she means something to more than just Ram.

Beau wraps his arms around Maria and presses a loud kiss on her cheek. “I’ve missed you, Mama Maria!”

She pats his arm and leads him inside. “Yo tambíen, mi corazon. I’m glad you three are home.” She smiles at me. “And you bring me company! I can’t wait to hear more.”

Inside the cottage is just as cozy as the outside. A wood-fired stove sits in the corner, emanating warmth from it as we pass by, but it clearly isn’t the only source of heat in the house since it’s comfortable. The small living room has a pretty crochet blanket hung on the back of the couch, a small stone fireplace, and a tv playing a Mexican soap opera quietly. The kitchen is alight with the smell of cooking and spices, and I take a deep breath to really pull it all in. This is what a home feels like.

“You came on market day,” she says as she moves over a few boxes from the worn kitchen table. “I’ve been selling my tamales, and I can’t seem to keep up with demand,” she explains. “Everyone loves them.”

“Of course they do,” Ram says, smiling at her. “You make the best tamales in town.”

She beams at him and pats his cheek and though she’s barely five feet tall and Ram is just under six, it still feels like she’s patting the cheek of a child. “If you three aren’t busy in a few hours, you’re welcome to come with me.Podría usar la ayuda.”

“Of course we’ll help,” Beau replies, but his eyes don’t match his smile. “We just have to do somethin’ first.”

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