Page 25 of Heartbreaker
“Sounds like you have a hot date. I wouldn’t want to keep her waiting,” John says, and I peek through my fingers to see the smile on his lips. He chuckles, taking a small step to close the space between us, and kisses my forehead. “I’ll see you around…Skye.”
My stomach tangles in knots when Wolf flicks the lever and the left turn signal ticks on the dashboard. He lifts his hand in a quick wave to a pickup truck that passes by before turning into the driveway of a gated property. There’s nothing on either side for miles, but that doesn’t seem to bother him. He appears perfectly at ease driving down the desolate Texas highway. He didn’t even use the GPS, relying solely on his memory to find his way, much to the dismay of our comrades in the backseat.
Willow Pond Farmhangs above the open gates in bold, ornate letters made of wrought iron. Cream-colored pillars blend seamlessly with shorter stone walls to frame the sides of the iron gate. Flag poles stand at attention on either side—one with the American flag, and the other bearing the Texas state flag. Beautifully curated garden beds flank the sides of a gravel driveway, framed by a thick tree line with lush green canopies winding deeper into the property. The display oozes Texas grandeur and pride; it reminds me of the homes I used to look at and dream of when I was a kid.
My family of four lived in a modest two-story home in Indiana. It had enough room for my sister and me to have our own rooms, and our parents to have separate rooms after they finally grew tired of each other when I was around fourteen. We lived on what you might call the wrong side of the tracks in our small town. Dad was too much of a cheapskate to move us to the better part of town, even after he made his fortune. And when he left Mom after my sister turned eighteen, he took it all with him and moved into one of the wealthiest neighborhoods in the state on the northern side of Indianapolis. That was four years ago, and I haven’t talked to him since. Truth be told, I stopped speaking to him before that, after he…Well, it doesn’t matter. The past is the past. No sense in rehashing it when we’re supposed to be enjoying our week off. Not just that, there are plenty of other things I’d rather be thinking about, like the woman who awaits us at the end of this gravel road.
Wolf maneuvers the oversized SUV down the winding drive until the trees open and the house comes into view—a picturesque farmhouse with a wraparound porch, surrounded by acres of untouched land. It’s the kind of house you’d expect to find on a ranch—white siding, black shutters, chimneys made of stone, a black front door, and rocking chairs line the front porch. Maybe fifty yards from the house, there’s one barn, and I can see another peeking around the corner. There’s even a pond in the distance with what I can only assume are willow trees planted at one end. This is where Savannah grew up? I would’ve never guessed. She said she grew up on a farm, but I thought she meant a small plot of land on the city outskirts where they had horses, maybe chickens, but not an actual farm.
Raelynn is the first to jump out of the back seat before Wolf can put the car in park, running to greet two boys—twins from the looks of it—who run out of the open garage doors.
“Thing One and Thing Two!” Raelynn squeals, embracing them.
“Blake, the queen is here!” the taller of the two says.
“All hail the queen,” the one I assume is Blake says, and they both hinge their hips in a bow. Raelynn rolls her eyes when they refer to her gimmick name,The Queen of Roses, and shoves them playfully.
As the rest of us filter out of the car, I meet the stare of the other twin and watch his eyes turn into wide saucers. He smacks his brother, interrupting the now-quiet conversation they’re having with Rae, but Blake ignores him. His twin pinches his chin and forces him to look my way.
“Holy shit, you’re Brooks Taylor,” Blake says.
“And Brody Wilder!” his brother adds. And before I know it, they’re talking in sync. “What areyoudoing here?”
Brody laughs, clamping a hand down on my shoulder. “We’re friends of your sister.”
“Youare friends withoursister?” Blake asks.
“Seems unlikely.” Twin Number Two says. I really wish they would tell us his name. I guess I could just call themThing OneandThing Twolike Raelynn, but I’d rather know their names. “She’s not exactlyJulietorHolly Graham, or evenMoxie. If you know what I mean.” The last sentence is said together once again: “She’s good, but she could use some help.”
Wolf scoffs. “They didn’t act like this when they first saw me.”
“That’s because you were a nobody the first time they saw you,” Raelynn says, with a pitying smile. “Okay, Things, where’s your sister? I told her we were on our way.”
“Back forty.” The answer comes out simultaneously, and I wonder if this is something that’s going to happen often.
“She and Crew went out to see what kind of damage happened during the storm last night,” Blake adds.
“Blake, Bodhi!” a feminine voice yells out with a slight accent. All heads turn toward the house where an older woman with long dark hair pulled into a braid over her shoulder stands on the porch. She wipes her hands on her jeans, muttering to herself in what sounds like Spanish, and tromps across the yard. “Boys, where are your manners? Don’t just leave our guests out here. Bring them inside!Apúrate.” She gestures in a “hurry up” motion before pointing to the open trunk, long forgotten amid our conversation. The twins groan, but do as told before the woman turns to greet us.
I notice she has similar features to Savannah—the dark hair, the shape and color of her eyes, the high cheekbones, the warm color of her skin, and the strong jawline. It makes me wonder if Savannah got anything from her father. “Come on inside. Savannah and Crew should be back any minute, but you guys can take a load off and—”
Gravel crunches behind us when a large pickup truck pulls up the drive. It swings to the left and parks in front of the detached garage near another barn I hadn’t noticed earlier. How many buildings does this place have? The driver cuts the engine and practically trips over his own feet getting out.
“Shit!” The word echoes across the yard, and I hear Savannah’s mother mumble under her breath.
Raelynn takes off toward him and jumps into his awaiting arms. He spins her wide before he sets her back on her feet, laughing the whole time. They share a quiet conversation only for them to hear, and I notice the tension building in Brody’s frame. If his jaw clenches any tighter, he might chip a tooth.
“Fix your face,” I whisper, and he glares at me. I’ve had a feeling that he’s had a thing for Raelynn since we met her at NextGen last year. It’s cute, but he denies it anytime I bring it up, which lately has been more often than not. Her constant presence since moving up to the main roster has only made his crush more obvious.
Even from here, I see the man’s eyes widen beneath the brim of a baseball cap as he scans over our group. He stops short on Brody, and then on me. He whispers to Raelynn before she slaps him on the arm, starting a flurry of giggles, and she pushes him toward us.
“All be damned, SJ said she was bringing home some friends, but I just thought she meant Rae and Wolf…not the whole damn roster,” he says.
“For those who don’t know, this is Nash, Savannah’s older brother,” their mother says. “Mijo, please help your brothers with the bags, huh? We need to get them inside so our guests can settle into their rooms.”
“Sure, Ma,” Nash says, unwinding his arm from Raelynn’s shoulders. He joins the twins, who have been going back and forth near the trunk about whether they could carry everything in one trip. Trust me, it’s not possible. Why these girls need so many bags for only a few days is beyond me. They do just fine with a single suitcase being on the road every other day of the year. Why couldn’t they do that now? “These all yours, Rae?”
“About eighty percent of them,” Wolf says.
