Page 58 of Eight Second Hearts

She looks between them. “Qué Pasó?”

Ram takes a seat at the table and sighs. “Tripp got a call while we were on the road from the realtor in town.”

“Oh?”

Tripp leans against the counter. “They said they needed my signature to finalize the sale of Fairview Acres.”

She straightens and frowns. “Impossible. The ranch isn’t for sale.”

“That’s what I told them,” Tripp nods. “But apparently, Darla was trying to sell it without anyone knowing. If my name hadn’t been on the deed, she’d have sold it right out from under all of us.”

Maria shakes her head. “No lo entiendo. Por qué haría eso?”

“We don’t know yet,” Ram answers. “We haven’t talked to her.”

Maria tenses, and for the first time since we came in, the light leaves her eyes. “Have you been up to the house yet?”

Tripp shakes his head. “We came to see you first.”

She squeezes his shoulder in comfort. “I’m glad you did. Let me feed you first. You can’t go up there on an empty stomach.”

And then she bustles around the kitchen, prepping food, and I watch as they interact. This woman, despite being Ram’s biological mom, is a mother to them all. This is the good memory inside the bad. I can see it. And because of her, they’re likely the men they are today.

I come over with a smile. “What can I do to help?” I ask.

She beams up at me. “Grab that skillet,mija. I’ll teach you how to make a proper tortilla. Everyone should know how to make tortillas.” She gestures to the guys. “They all can make them with their eyes closed.”

Beau nods. “We’ve done it. Nearly burnt the house down the first time though.”

I laugh. “I can’t wait to hear this story.”

Maria chuckles. “It all started with a bet and the boys had far too much time on their hands. . .”

Chapter 36

Indie

With our stomachs full and Maria’s blessing over our heads, we finally get back in the truck with the promise to come back and help her load her SUV up with the tamales and help out at the farmer’s market Steele has every Saturday when the weather permits. It used to only be at a certain time of year, but due to popular demand, they all gather as often as they’re able to. The only time they don’t have it is when it’s either snowing or storming. The whole town comes together and sells their goods. It sounds like an amazing little town and I’m excited to see it.

But first, we have to go to the big house.

Driving back to the antebellum home feels like driving to the graveyard to visit a tombstone where nobody is buried. None of us speak as we make our way up the gravel and back onto the concrete. It’s still early, fog hanging in the fields and obscuring most of what’s out there, but I can still see a few bulls lingering along the white fences. Later, I’ll ask about them, but right now, we have a different task.

If only I knew what that task was.

I’m not a fan of confrontation, but I’ve never been one to shy away from it when needed. However, this is someone else’s family, someone else’s drama, and I feel even more like I don’t belong. When Tripp pulls up to the massive house and throws the truck in park, I hesitate in the back seat as they all start to get out.

“I can stay in the truck if?—”

“Come inside,” Tripp says. “There’s no reason to hide out here.”

“But this is family business type stuff. I don’t want to impose.”

Ram opens my door and offers me his hand. “You’re not imposing,periodista. Trust me.” When I still hesitate, his eyes darken. “You wanted to see what shaped the Crimson Three,” he whispers. “Our mold is inside this house.”

I’m curious. Of course, I’m curious. And I still have an interview to get. But this feels like I shouldn’t be here, like I shouldn’t witness this. They should keep their secrets if those secrets are this heavy. Eventually, though, at Ram’s insistence, I slide my hand into his and let him pull me from the truck. At least we’d left Bilbo with Maria. I wouldn’t want to subject him to this heaviness.

I straighten my jacket and pull it tighter around me as if it’ll somehow shield me from whatever’s in this house. I take the few seconds we have to walk up the short stairs and up to the door to study the men around me. Tripp stands ramrod straight, his shoulders as tense as I’ve ever seen them. He’s wearing a lined Carhartt today and a baseball cap, his hands shoved in his pockets as if that’ll help steady him. Ram’s expression is hidden behind a cold mask he slides into place the moment our feet touch the first step, as if he’s practiced this very thing a million times.

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