Page 26 of Alive and Wells

“I’m not about to risk having my food fucked with,” Denny replies. “Especially not when she’s making pulled pork tonight.”

“You coming?” Jackson’s question is clearly directed at me, seeing as I’m the only questionable attendance. Though it shouldn’t even be a question—Inevercome to Mom’s birthday dinner.

Taking a swig of coffee as I sit down, I shake my head. “You two almost done baling the North creek field? Need help?”

“Should be done by lunch. You still looking to avoid a certain Filly?” Denny asks. Jackson sputters his coffee. And, even in the dark, I can tell they’re both staring me down with raised eyebrows and wicked grins.

“Shut up. Maybe a guy wants to do some actual damn work instead of pushing pencils.”

“Orrrr a guy has a big ol’ crush and doesn’t know how to handle it.” Denny laughs. “If you don’t get after it, maybe I’ll shoot my shot.”

“Not the time, Denny.” Jackson cautiously sets his mug down. Each of us is moving in slow motion, terrified of waking up Kate.

This is the farthest thing from a peaceful, private start to my day.

Mindfully placing my half-full mug in the sink, I barely remember to grab my sack lunch as I race to the door. Eventually, somebody will be brave enough to turn the lights on, and I’ll never live it down if they see how flush my cheeks are at the mention of Cecily.

“Get to work, Denver,” I say on my way out the door.

“Love you,” he whisper-yells after me.

Haying’s supposed to take my mind off everything, but I underestimated what fifteen-hour days in a tractor can do to my thoughts. For weeks, I was worried about her distracting the ranch hands, and now I’m the one mowing completely wonky lines in the field. I’m sure Jackson and Denny will have comments to make about my crappy hay job. I can’t think straight. Definitely can’t drive straight.

I absolutely should not be wasting a minute thinking about her. And yet, I can’t find it in me to stop.

Every once in a while, it feels like there’s something between us. She makes flirtatious comments, her gaze lingers on mine, and her smile seems reserved for me. Then I go and do something like stand too close to her, consider a kiss, or hold her hand at the livestock auction. Every part of her body tenses like she can’t stand the thought of touching me, and I fucking hate it.

She’ll be leaving soon, I remind myself over and over. I simply need to control myself for a while longer. They never stay. Even the people who are supposed to. My grandpa, my mom, my dad, Savannah.

Grandpa and Mom had no choice, obviously. But Dad and Sav? They left despite all the reasons I gave them not to. Nothing I did was enough for them to stay, so why would this time be any different?

All of this should stop me from wanting her, but it doesn’t. I told myself I’d never end up here again, but the rush of feelings I get with her around makes it all seem worth the risk. If there was ever a chance I could win her over and have her while she’s here, I wouldn’t hesitate. I’ll take a day, week, month over spending the rest of my life kicking myself for not trying. Call me a sucker for punishment. Future heartbreak be damned.

Shit, did I just admit to myself that I want to chase after Cecily?

I’m tired and sore and the last thing I wanted was for my little brother to follow me home after work. But he’s like a damn golden retriever. So here we are.

“You’re sure you won’t come?” Denny takes a swig of beer, propping his feet up on my coffee table.

We finally finished mowing the second cut and, once it’s dry, we’ll bale it and set it aside for winter. With such a mild, early spring, we should have no problem getting a third cut of hay this year. And that’ll mean we can feed every animal on the property for the entire winter without spending money. I should be in a fantastic mood…

“No,” I growl. “I have no interest in seeing him.”

Our father loved our mom deeply—he stayed at Wells Ranch, not for my grandparents’ sake, but for Mom. If it weren’t for her love affair with this land, and her desire to raise the fourth generation on his family’s ranch, he would have moved away the day he turned eighteen. Which is why, less than a week after she died, he did exactly that. Leaving me in charge of everything at twenty-five years old. His leaving might not be quite as hard to ignore if he didn’t make a show of coming back here twice a year: on her birthday, July seventh, and her death date, October second.

“Kate’s making pulled pork. I know how much you love that,” Denny says.

I shake my head. “Food isn’t enough to convince me to spend time with that asshole.”

“Grandpa wouldn’t like this. He built that giant-ass kitchen table specifically for family dinners.”

Now my little brother wants to pull out the big guns. Knowing if there’s one way to make me crack, it’s dragging our dead grandpa or mom into the conversation. Using the pain I’m still harbouring to guilt me into doing things I don’t want to.

“Yeah, and I don’t think he would like dad giving up on the ranch either,” I say out loud.Or on us,I keep to myself.

“You ever think he feels bad for leaving, and that’s why he comes back?”Sweet, gullible Denny Wells.

“Sure he does.” I snort and empty my bottle. “Better get up to the house for dinner with your dearest daddy, Denver.”

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