Page 40 of Peaches

I like it. More than I should, probably.

I tilt my chin toward her burger. “Eat.”

She smiles like my attitude doesn’t faze her. I watch as she lifts the burger back to her mouth and then I do the same.

It’s quiet between us for a while. But the urge to explain myself eventually becomes unbearable, so I try again. “Bennetts aren’t exactly known for being warm and fuzzy—especially the men. We’ve had the ranch for six generations—Liam and the boys will be the seventh. My brothers and I grew up when our grandparents were still running things, and my grandpa was tough. He babied Wells a little bit—I think he got softer in his old age—but the rest of us learned how to work really hard pretty early on.

“My dad, though—” I stop. Wait for the rush of frustration to pass, and then force it back down. “My dad took the ranch over when I was nine, and it was like a bomb dropped on the way of life we’d always known. Where my grandpa was strict, my dad was ruthless. He was already pretty deep with a drinking problem, and things derailed fast. My mom used to be good friends with some of the women in town—Mayor Moore’s wife was one her best friends actually. But my dad would prowl around town like he owned the place, like the ranch and the bar were some sort of proof of his superiority. And it didn’t help that he was drunk all the time. Her friends eventually stopped seeing her.”

Olivia watches me, patient. Gives me the room I need to find the right words to explain something that feels so complicated.

“When I was thirteen, my dad competed in a rodeo—it was normal for him. Another way for us to make money. But he was wasted when he got in the saddle that day, cocky in thinking he could handle a bronc in that state. He was thrown off in the first three seconds, and he didn’t move out of the way fast enough before the horse stomped over his back. His spine was shattered and he lost the use of his legs. Brooks and Kasey were still kids, but they were forced to step up and run the ranch. To train all the horses that came in. And my mom had to take over working the bar. Constantly facing people who’d essentially abandoned her. And my dad just . . . kept drinking, and he became more miserable than he’d ever been.

“I guess somehow I figured out that if I could get people to talk about me, they wouldn’t talk about him. Itwreckedmy mom, the way people spoke so poorly of her husband. The way they laughed at him. And I just couldn’t—I couldn’t see her hurt like that anymore. So, I started doing stupid shit. Fights at school. Drinking a lot. Causing scenes I knew would fuel the gossip. And it worked, for the most part. People still talked about him now and then, but mostly, they were talking about me. It’s . . . it’s how the gazebo happened,” I admit.

Her eyes flash wide in surprise.

I throw her a half-cocked smile, like it’s not a big deal. “Everyone thinks it was about a girl who stood me up.” He shrugs. “Therewasa girl, I guess. And shedidstand me up that night, but I was already three sheets to the wind looking for trouble, because I’d found out earlier that day that my dad got caught stealing from the hardware store. He was arrested and everything.”

“Rhett,” Olivia murmurs, a look of agony on her face.

“I’d been sulking in the dark in that gazebo, and at some point, I dropped a bottle of whiskey. It shattered on the floor, spilling everywhere, and . . . I guess I wanted to see the whole thing burn.”

She squeezes her eyes shut, blowing out a breath. “You were . . . suffering.”

I nudge her shoulder with mine. “Hey, none of that. I’ve made my bed. Done plenty of shit to hurt the people around me. And I can’t lie and say I never enjoyed it.” I take another bite and chew. Watch the tops of trees sway yards below us. “No one ever cared to help us. Like, sure, my dad was an asshole.Isan asshole, even sober now. But my mom is one of the kindest people you’ll ever meet, and we were all just kids, you know? But no one wanted to help. We almost lost the ranch. Almost couldn’t make ends meet. Even had to borrow from the devil a few times to stay out of the red.” I decidethat’snot a truth I’m willing to share right now. Maybe not ever. But whether Kasey realizes it or not, there’s a reason I started playing cards with the Rustler boys.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispers. “That must all be so hard.”

“I’m not looking for you to be sorry, peaches. But I guess it’s good for you to know who you’re dealing with before things go any further.”

She takes the last bite of her burger and rubs her fingers free of crumbs. “I know who I’m dealing with,” she says after she swallows, giving me a wry look.

I chuckle, and it feels good. “Have to say, I was surprised when you showed up today.”

Her expression falters. “I really should have called.”

“You still don’t have my number,” I tease. “I’ll give it to you today. And for the record, I’m glad you came. But that note I left you was more about your letter than it was about me.”

She stays silent. I don’t miss the way she turns her focus to the ground far below.

“You want to talk about it?”

“What’s there to talk about?” she asks. “It was a really nice letter from a half-sister I’ve never met, who for some reason wants me to be there for her wedding. There’s just no way I could hurt my mom like that though. I’ve gonethisfar in my life without knowing my father and I . . . I guess I thought once I became an adult, his attempts to communicate would end. I thought it was all based out of guilt, anyway. He has this whole other family, you know? But Céline kept saying how hopeful he is, and I don’t know. I don’t know what to do with that.”

I bunch our trash together and toss it in the bag, pulling out bottles of water for both of us. “What does your gut say?”

She looks at me. “All roads lead to this hurting my mom.”

I shake my head. “That’s what your brain is telling you. What does your gut say? Your heart? What do youactuallywant?”

Her gaze moves to her bent knee. “I want to understand. I want . . . I want to see what they’re like. For myself.”

I nod. “Perfectly acceptable,normalresponse. There’s nothing wrong with you wanting to know your family, Olivia.” I reach my hand toward her and tug on a piece of her wind-blown hair so that she looks at me again. “Your mom will understand.”

She blows out a breath. Like she’s come to the same conclusion, but she’s still scared.

I push myself up to my feet. “Come on,” I say, holding out a hand to pull her up.

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