Page 86 of When the Stars Fall
A low chuckle to my left had me turning my head. Brody ambled over to my car in ripped jeans, a gray T-shirt and mud-caked work boots. He crouched in front of my open window so we were eye level, his whiskey brown eyes filled with humor.
“Afternoon, sugar lips.” He gave me that charming Brody McCallister grin that made all the girls weak in the knees. Too bad I was immune to my best friend’s charms.
“Stop calling me that.” I laughed, shaking my head at the stupid nickname. “Sophie. I have to go.”
“Fine. But I’m setting you up on a date. No excuses. Bye,” she sing-songed. I cut the call and tossed my phone in my handbag, already planning how to get out of the date.
“She’s right. You need to get laid.”
“You shouldn’t be eavesdropping.” I pushed open my car door and grabbed my purse from the passenger seat, smoothing my hand over the short skirt of my floral dress.
“You should know better than to put your friends on speakerphone,” he countered.
I couldn’t argue with that. My friends didn’t come with filters, so I should have known better.
He raked his hand through his longish dirty-blond hair and rolled out his shoulder as we walked across the parking lot that was filling up with cars for the afternoon pick-up.
“Is your shoulder still giving you problems?”
“Nope. Right as rain.”
Sure it was. Brody would die before admitting that his shoulder hurt. Over the years, he’d broken so many bones and had gotten so many stitches, I’d lost count of all his injuries. He was a bareback bronc rider, and a two-time world champion. He also bred and trained horses in addition to rescuing wild horses.
“What are you doing here anyway?” It was my day to pick up Noah but Brody was always messing with our schedule.
“I got some new horses. Thought Noah might like to come over and see them.”
Before I could respond, Carrie Dunlop breezed past us with her nose in the air. “I hope you taught your son some manners.”
“Our son has perfect manners,” Brody said when we reached the entrance. “It’s your boy that needs—”
I elbowed Brody in the ribs to stop the words. No need to provoke her. Last week, Noah had gotten in a fight with Carrie Dunlop’s son. Noah could be a perfect angel with a smile so sweet you’d never guess he had a wild streak and a temper. But man, oh man, did he ever. Secretly, I was proud of Noah. Carrie’s son was a bully and picked on girls. Noah was defending Hayley, the girl he claimed to love and planned to marry one day.
Who could fault him for that?
“What can you expect? Children mimic their parents’ behavior.” Carrie looked us up and down with that air of superiority that always made me stabby and made Brody say things he shouldn’t.
“That explains why your son always looks constipated.”
Oh, my God. Carrie gasped. With a final glare aimed in our direction, she power-walked away from us in her Lululemon workout clothes, her designer handbag clutched to her side.
By tomorrow, all the other mothers would hear about this. If they hadn’t already overheard. We got a few furtive glances as we stepped into the foyer. I pulled Brody aside to let the other mothers pass.
“You need to stop saying stuff like that,” I said. “We’re not thirteen anymore.”
He just shrugged. My words would go in one ear and out the other. There was no changing Brody and it was a waste of energy to try.
“Check it out.” He tapped his index finger against a crayon drawing on the wall outside the classroom that said Noah, Age 4.
His teacher had written the words to identify us. Mommy. Daddy. Grandma. Grandpa. Uncle Jesse. Uncle Gideon. MY FAMILY. There were two squares with a triangle on top and each one said HOME.
One family member was missing but I didn’t point that out. Noah had never met Jude. Why should he include him in a family picture?
I studied the artwork more closely. “Why are you so tall?” I asked, incensed. “I’m the same height as Noah.”
“I’d say he’s got a good handle on perspective.”
I burst out laughing and smacked his arm. He rubbed it as if I’d injured him.
