Page 7 of Ride the Sky
Fallon McGraw. One damn woman I don’t have time for anymore. Even if I know it’s another lie in a long list.
The two-way radio on its charger crackles.
“Wyatt. You around?”
Davis.
“Kid? Get your ass on the line.”
Ford now.Christ.
I sigh and pinch the bridge of my nose, dismissing all thoughts of Fallon to focus on equally important, equally annoying things. Like big brothers.
“Wyatt? You there?”
The pretty sing-song croon has me groaning. Reese.
“Goddamn,” I mutter. Now that everyone’s on the family channel, I never know a second of peace.
“Hey, Birdie Girl, fancy meetin’ you here.” Ford’s country drawl.
A sigh from Davis.
“Hey, Country Boy.”
I roll my eyes. Ford’s been married less than a month and is still acting like an idiot.
Unable to take their flirting for another minute, I storm the linoleum floor to snatch up the radio. “What do y’all want?”
“Dinner. Tonight,” Davis orders.
On a testy sigh, I glance at the bottle of vodka and the half-smoked joint. Both prospects look better than getting grilled by my big brothers.
I open my mouth. So many excuses on why I can’t make it form on the tip of my tongue. But if I put it off any longer, they’ll be here in a matter of minutes banging down my door.
It’s easier not to fight it. To get it over with.
“I’ll be there,” I growl.
“On time,” Davis snaps back pointedly.
“Bossy bastard,” I mutter and then shelve the tin coffee can. As I stomp for the door, I pause, running my hand across my rumpled sheets like I can almost feel her.
Trouble.
That’s what Fallon was.
All kinds of gorgeous, devastating trouble.
Hours later, sundown, I ride Pepita over to Davis and Dakota’s place in the Edens. After tying her to the old hitching post outside their gate, I let myself in the front door and stride down the hall to the kitchen, homebase for all our large family gatherings.
The second I enter, three pairs of eyes come up.
“You’re late.”
“You look like shit.”
“Where’ve you been?”
