Page 52 of Butter My Biscuit

He’s talking about our younger sister and brother. Fenix had a barrel racing scholarship at A&M and is a great teacher and rider. Emmett is working the cattle on our parents’ ranch, but we’re trying to snipe him to help us train horses. Dad already warned us about stealing his workers for the facility.

When his boots hit the ground, he glares at me. “You just gonna keep standin’ in the way, or you gonna help?”

I growl, picking up the other one, and follow him outside.

“I got somewhere to be.” The twine I’m holding digs into my hands.

Beckett’s wearing his leather gloves.

“I do too,” he says. “My future wife is waitin’ for me.”

“Yeah, same,” I mutter under my breath, and I know he doesn’t hear me because he wouldn’t have let that one slide.

“What’s been goin’ on with you?” he finally asks. “Something is up.”

We spread the alfalfa around for the horses, and they immediately mosey over.

“Not sure what you’re talkin’ about.”Deflected.

“You’ve been in your head all day. That’s all.” He pulls the gloves off his hands and stuffs them in the pockets of his Carhartt jacket.

“Just tired from driving across the state,” I say because it’s not completely a lie. But he’s right; I have been thinking a lot today. On the way back to the barn, I turn to him. “You know how Mama always says she can feel change in the air?”

“Yeah.”

The sounds of our boots crunching over gravel fill the silence.

“For some reason, I get it. Feels like something big is happening right now.”

He pats me on the back. “I hope you didn’t knock someone up.”

“Fuck off,” I tell him, the conversation perfectly ruined. I make a beeline toward my truck. “See ya tomorrow.”

* * *

After I shower, I stop by the grocery store and then go straight to Grace’s. As soon as I park, she opens the front door for me. Her hair is down, tucked behind her ears, and she’s wearing shorts and a T-shirt.

“Need me to grab anything?” she asks as I carry a few bags in each hand.

“I got it, thanks.”

As I pass her, the light hint of her perfume lingers. She follows behind me, and I set them on the counter.

“This is gonna be so good,” she says, unloading the bags.

Different-sized pots and pans are on the counter along with an assortment of knives and a cutting board.

“Oh, you got wine?” She reads the bottle. “Sweet red. How’d you know I was thinking about picking up a bottle of this?”

“Because I can basically read your mind these days.”

“Really?” She lifts a brow. “What am I thinking right now?”

Her eyes meet mine and trail down to my lips.

“You’re dirty,” I say with a laugh.

“What?! I wasn’t thinking anything like that!”

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