Page 81 of Calling the Shots

“Big brother! You’re home!” Her voice trills in my ear, the sweet vanilla scent of her perfume tickling my nose.

“Hi, Emma Kate.” I pat her hand. “This is Gracelyn.”

Emma Kate loosens her grip on me and turns her attention to Gracelyn, embracing her.

“So nice to meet you! Anyone who’d put up with my grumpy brother must be a saint.” She grins and Gracelyn laughs. But it’s not the sparkly laugh I love, the one that lights me up inside. This sound’s more muted, lighter. Like she’s not sure what to do.

“Much as I oppose the grumpy comment, I concur Gracelyn’s a saint.” I squeeze her knee under the table and her shoulders relax a bit, her face softening.

“Well, I’m glad you’re both here. Takes some of the heat off me for a minute.” Emma Kate flounces over to the sofa and collapses against the floral cushions.

My sister’s never known a day of heat in her life.

She’s always been the favorite, the golden child. All my parents’ hopes and dreams were pinned on me, a heavy mantle to bear. When Emma Kate came along, she was a blessing, an answer to my mother’s prayers for another child. The girl could do no wrong, beginning from conception and going straight through to today.

“Uh huh,” I mutter, taking a drink of the strong English Breakfast tea my mother favors.

“Did you hear that Ruthie Ann and Tate Gillivray are getting a divorce?” Emma Kate folds one leg under the other and leans forward, ready to gossip.

“I hadn’t.” Nor do I give a hoot, but I’d rather talk about this than other things, I suppose.

“Yep. Supposedly Ruthie Ann cheated on him with—wait for it—her personal trainer. Like, how cliché, you know?”

“Emma Kate. Idle gossip is the devil’s work.” My mother chides my sister, but Emma Kate merely rolls her eyes.

“It’s pretty scandalous. Everyone at the club’s talking about it. I heard the trainer got fired and Ruthie Ann was forced to pull her children out of the Azalea School.”

“Oh my.” I set the teacup down, pull two sandwiches off the tray. I offer one to Gracelyn, but she declines.

“Those poor children.” Our mother sighs, acting like she can empathize with their plight. “At the holidays, too. Shame.”

Gracelyn shifts in her seat, a pink flush creeping up her neck. I change the subject quickly.

“Anyway, how was the hunting trip, Dad?”

My father perks up, rattling his glass in his hand. “Fantastic. We each got a buck, plus Murphy managed to shoot a few quail. I’m having the antlers mounted. Should be up by Christmas.”

Nothing says Merry Christmas like a good antler mount.

Gracelyn pales beside me and I search for yet another subject change, but I’ve got nothing. Every single thing that pops into my mind is so far out of the realm of everyday living, so unimportant to anyone outside of this microcosmic sphere.

“Hello!”

The hair at the back of my neck rises, my blood pressure skyrocketing.

No. This cannot be happening right now. Why the fuck is she here?

I’d recognize that high-pitched Southern drawl anywhere. In fact, that very same voice haunts me in my nightmares.

I swallow hard, mouth drier than a desert in a motherfucking drought. The voice, the strong scent of cinnamon and cloves, the full-body chills I just got without even turning around and making eye contact.

Yep, it’s definitely her.

Tinsley.

My ex.

CHAPTER27

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