Page 6 of Peaches

I almost choke on my own saliva. “I’m sorry,” I sputter, finally looking at her. “That’s . . . that’s impossible. We don’t even know each other.”

Her brow raises. “Why else is he so concerned about you?”

I scoff. “He’s not concerned aboutme. He’s . . . he’s probably just looking for a reason to punch someone.”

She tilts her head, considering. “Hm.”

“Also,” I rush out, attempting to change the subject as we move forward in line. “Don’t think I missed you calling Ivan your boyfriend.”

She rolls her eyes. “Please don’t tell him I said that. It just felt easier to explain.”

“Mhm.” My smile is saccharine. “Whatever you say.”

CHAPTERTHREE

RHETT

Ipull a worn box down from the top rack of the storage closet and send a cloud of dust flying across the small space, immediately sending me into a sneezing fit that, quite frankly, pisses me off. I’ve been irritable all day, and I know going out last night is part of it, but it’s also the bone-deep exhaustion of life lately, of feeling like I’m always waiting for something else to go wrong.

Maybe going out to Williamson County last night wasn’t the smartest move, but I needed to blow off a little steam. It’s not even that I drank enough to be hungover—I cut myself off before Colt could drag me into his mess—but I didn’t get home until well past midnight and was up again not four hours later when James started crying from the room down the hall.

Melody’s been in and out of the hospital over the last four months. When the doc found the cancer, everything in my family’s world changed on a dime. Melody was immediately sent to a bigger hospital in Houston where they started her on rounds of aggressive chemo and radiation. Brooks spent most nights there to be with her, and the rest of us took turns watching the boys and filling in for him on the ranch and here at the bar. It’s been a lot.

Initially, I figured the impact of her diagnosis would be like anything else that had struck the Bennett family: quick and disastrous. And while I was right about the disaster it caused, I was dead wrong about it being quick. For four months my family has been in an ongoing cycle of hell, trying our damndest to support Brooks while Melody fights for her life.

Carrying the box back out to the public bar space, I set it on the seat of the nearest stool and look around to inventory all the holiday decor that needs to come down. I hate that it was even put up—such a waste of time. Our family didn’t have much good to celebrate this year, and people don’t exactly come to Wild Coyote looking for a dose of holiday spirit.

Nah, this is a place people come to hide from the rest of the world. In addition to the ranch itself, Wild Coyote has been a decades-long fixture for town corruption and lawlessness. This is where people come to lose themselves to the bottom of a bottle, to sit in the dark with their misery and pretend like everything outside these four walls doesn’t exist. It’s no secret most of the Saddlebrook Falls townsfolk give it a wide berth, but we still have dedicated regulars who help keep the lights on.

My great-grandfather opened this place during the Great Depression, when breaking wild horses wasn’t bringing in enough money to keep the ranch afloat. He figured people had plenty of reasons to drink, and he was right. The bar kept him and my great-grandmother from having to sell off pieces of the ranch—a move that’s undoubtedly categorized as the biggest failure any Bennett could bring upon their family.

That land has been in my family’s name since before Texas became a state, and my great-grandfather Earl wasn’t about to lose it because of a stock market crash and bank failures that had nothing to do with our family name. He figured out a way to push through—same as we’ve been doing my whole life.

“Hey.” A voice sounds from near the front door, and I drop the piece of red tinsel I just plucked out from an old wall sconce. I turn to find Kasey standing with two cases of beer stacked in his hands and another on the ground at his feet. “Could use some help here.”

I shove past the box and reach him in a few strides. “Sorry,” I mumble. “Didn’t hear you come in.”

He cocks his head. “You okay?”

“Yeah, just . . . busy mind, I guess.”

Kasey deposits the cases of beer onto the bar top. “Wells said you got in late last night.”

I roll my eyes, setting the third box down beside the others. Leave it to my little brother to rat me out. “Yeah, well, it was my first time out in almost a month. I needed to get out of that house. It ain’t a crime.”

Kasey spends nearly every night in his own cabin on the ranch. Sawyer was home for a month during the holidays, but he had to head back to school about a week ago. Wells has been spending more nights at the big house than his own cabin lately—he and his girl, Layla, have been pulling night duties with the boys while Kasey and I run the bar. He bartends too when we need him to, but Layla is so good with the kids and, despite all the heartache, I think he likes playing house with her.

Everyone knows I’m better suited here than at home, trying to wrangle three little boys without hurting their feelings over my complete lack of patience. Kasey is good with them like Wells is, but he’s been managing all Bennett-related business operations since Brooks has been away—something no one would trust me with. Honestly, no one trusts me to help with anything outside of breaking horses and pouring drinks, and I can’t say I blame ’em.

“You have your own cabin, you know,” he says, pulling me back to the present.

I don’t have the heart to tell him that the cabin our parents handed down to me is depressing as hell. It’s the one Dad used to live in, before he and Mom took over the big house when Grandpa got too old and tired to run things. I was only a kid back then—before Wells was even born and Sawyer was still running around in diapers—but I remember how hectic life was for us in that little two-bedroom space. It was before Dad’s accident but well after his heavy drinking had taken root, and that cabin was much too small for Mom to hide it from us.

“Yeah, well,” I respond, “figured Wells might need help with the kids.”

Kasey’s eyes narrow. “At one in the morning?”

I shrug. “James woke up not long after, looking for a snack.”

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