by Liz Isaacson
By the time Mal hung up, pure exhaustion pulled through her. Talking to Julia should be an Olympic event, and Mal would win the gold medal every time.
Without anything else to do, she switched on the TV and got up from the couch. If she didn’t have homework to do, a nap to catch before she ran off to another job, she might as well fill the fridge with something good to eat.
Her mama wasn’t the only Viera who knew how to cook, and Mal had learned at Mami’s knee since the time she was old enough to hold a wooden spoon. Not only that, but cooking a traditional Mexican dish soothed her, and by the time she slid the chile rellenos into the oven, she felt more settled than she had in a long, long time.
She glanced at Skyler’s door again, not nearly as much anxiety skipping through her system at the thought of him behind it. She wondered if he’d tell his brothers about the legitimacy—or lack thereof—of their marriage on Saturday.
She hadn’t told Julia, but that wasn’t because she couldn’t. The US ICE agents weren’t going to interview her family. She hadn’t told her sister, because she was….
“Embarrassed,” she muttered to herself. She couldn’t believe she’d forgotten to file the right paperwork at the right time.
Only fifteen more days until everything would be sorted out. She could only hope she wouldn’t lose her heart—or cause too many problems for Skyler—before she could get out of this mess.
“Are you going to tell me about Dallas?” she asked later that evening. They’d just been seated at the Japanese restaurant, and the scent of tempura and soy sauce filled the air. Mal loved it, and her stomach grumbled at her for depriving it of food all afternoon. She and Skyler had enjoyed an easy, casual lunch together of her chile rellenos, but he’d gone into his bedroom to change his clothes for dinner, and Mal had had to text him to find out how fancy they were going for their date that night.
Business casual, he’d said, but Mal didn’t know what that meant. She worked at a gym, for crying out loud. If she wasn’t teaching yoga or selling gym memberships, she was making specialty sodas for people in such a hurry they couldn’t even get out of their cars to get a drink.
She’d sorted through her closet for fifteen minutes before just texting him again, asking him to send her a picture of what he was wearing.
His laughter had filled the apartment then, as he’d already left his bedroom. She’d ducked out of her bedroom to find him cackling at his phone.
“What?” she’d asked.
“Did you seriously just ask me what I was wearing?” He grinned at her mischievously. “Is that a pick-up line, Mal?”
“No,” she’d said, feeling foolish. “Nothing sexual. And I can see now anyway.”
Business casual meant pressed slacks. A button-up shirt in the most delicious shade of blue. Just the right color to make his dark hair seem darker. His tan skin even more desirable. He’d covered most of his hair with a cowboy hat before they’d left the apartment, and Mal had hardly known how to breathe as they rode the elevator down to the parking garage, his hand firmly in hers.
She’d managed to find the only dress she owned, and it was only a little bit odd-fitting. It was all black, and she thought she’d need to get another one before Sunday so Skyler wouldn’t know she only owned one dress.
“I suppose I’ll tell you about Dallas eventually,” Skyler said, bringing her back to the moment.
“Where else have you lived?” she asked. “We could start there.”
“Let’s see,” he said, sighing. “I grew up on a little ranch down by San Antonio for a couple of years. Daddy was trying to get his tech stuff off the ground. We lived with his parents for a while, but I was too little to remember much.” He smiled, and Mal thought his childhood probably held a lot of happy memories.
“Then we moved to Austin. Daddy’s firm took off from there. I took some classes there about airplane mechanics and stuff, and the woman I was seeing lived in Dallas. So I moved there.”
“She lived in Dallas, while you were in Austin?”
Skyler swallowed, the movement in his throat on the nervous side. “Yeah, I met her on a dating app.”
“Ah, got it.”
“And I was in Dallas until I moved to Three Rivers, after Rhett bought Seven Sons. And then I decided to come to school here.” He nodded like that summed up all thirty-five years of his life.
“And Rhett is the oldest,” she said.
“That’s right.” He looked up as the waiter arrived, and he ordered everything for them flawlessly. Mal would never admit it out loud, but she sure did like being taken care of by Skyler Walker. He had a way of making her feel like a queen, and that hadn’t happened very often. Not for her.
Don’t lose him, she told herself, and she smiled and asked him to tell her a story about his childhood. She wanted to know everything about him, and somewhere in the middle of the story, as he detailed how it was not his fault the grape sodas had exploded in the back of his mother’s minivan, she started pleading with the Lord to allow her to keep him in her life.
Somehow, she prayed. Somehow make this work.
Chapter Four
Skyler drove to Three Rivers on Saturday morning, the highway between the two places almost entirely his own. A sense of calmness accompanied him, at least until the outskirts of town started to come into view.
He wasn’t sure why. He was only meeting Wyatt and Micah. They hadn’t even told any of the other brothers, and he didn’t have to drive through town and south fifteen minutes to Seven Sons. He wouldn’t have to face the twins, or the oldest brothers who could sometimes gang up on him like twins, even though Jeremiah and Rhett weren’t the exact same age.
He pulled into the hipster breakfast joint Wyatt had chosen, his stomach already angry with him. He shouldn’t have let Wyatt pick. The man had a personality larger than life, and he didn’t mind waiting in line just for a table. He was never covert, as he stood out everywhere he went. Skyler wanted to blend in, especially when with Wyatt.
His brother didn’t get what it was like to stand in his own shadow. But Skyler knew exactly how that felt, and he honestly wasn’t sure he was up to it today.
“You’re already here,” he said to himself as he swung his huge truck into a parking space way out on the edge of the lot. It wasn’t full, so maybe this experience wouldn’t be as painful as Skyler thought.
He crossed the parking lot while the Texas Panhandle wind tried to steal his cowboy hat. Keeping one hand pressed to the top of his head, he bent into the breeze until he was safely inside.
That was when the noise hit him like a punch in the nose. He blinked against the chatter, the laughter, the clinking of silverware against plates. The shop only had about fifteen tables, and they were all full.
Skyler had arrived first, and he stepped over to the counter, which had a pastry case beside it, and said, “How long is the wait for a group of three?”
“Five minutes,” the guy there said. He didn’t wear a cowboy hat—not surprisingly—over his hair. It was long and he’d pulled it back into a man-bun. Skyler might have stared a little longer than was socially acceptable, as part of him wanted to grow his hair out like this guy’s. Just to see what Momma would say. And maybe Rhett.
Definitely Jeremiah, who didn’t hold his opinion back, that was for sure.
A smile touched his lips, and he put his name on the waiting list.
Only sixty seconds later, Wyatt and Micah entered the shop, and Skyler sucked in a breath. There was no waiting area in a place like this, and Wyatt and Micah were as broad and tall as Skyler. Fine, Wyatt was a little taller than them all.
“Skyler,” he boomed, and if everyone hadn’t already noticed the bull riding celebrity, they did then. Wyatt pulled Skyler into a hug, and Skyler couldn’t help smiling. It was simply impossible to be upset with Wyatt.
“Hey, guys,” he said, knocking knuckles with Micah once Wyatt let him go. All of his anxiety was gone now. These were his brothers. He loved them. He t
rusted them. The three of them had banded together over the years, especially after the twins had come along and created a natural divide between the older brothers and the younger ones.
“Did Daddy text you?” Wyatt asked.
“I don’t know,” Skyler said. “I keep my phone on silent almost all the time, and I was driving.” He pulled his phone out of his back pocket, not shocked when he saw he had twenty-four texts.
Twenty-four.
The massive family text string was definitely a con for Skyler, and he had a moment where he wondered what it would be like to be an only-child. Or maybe a brother to one person. He couldn’t even imagine it, and he simply swiped to read the texts.
At least Daddy hadn’t put his message on the family text, so it was easy for Skyler to find. He read the message quickly, saying, “He thinks he can raise miniature horses?” He looked up at Wyatt and Micah, who both shook their heads.
“Perfect response,” Micah said with a grin. “That was exactly what we said when Wyatt read me the message on the way here.”
“Skyler,” the man-bun guy said, and they paused their conversation until they were seated at a table in the corner. Skyler sat next to Micah, pressed against the wall, and he was sure he wouldn’t be able to use both hands to eat. So he better not order something that required more than a fork.
“Rhett will go help Daddy,” Wyatt said.
“I can too,” Micah said. “Lord knows I barely have anything to do at Seven Sons.”
Skyler didn’t miss the bitterness or unhappiness in Micah’s voice, and he exchanged a glance with Wyatt.
“What does that mean?” Wyatt asked, quite delicately too. Skyler wished he could be that gentle when asking questions.
“It means that I’m there,” Micah said. “But I honestly do odd jobs. I don’t have a real purpose.”
“Sure you do,” Wyatt said.
“I have to ask Jeremiah for my chore list every morning.” Micah glared at Wyatt, who held up one hand in surrender.
“So what are you going to do?” Skyler asked. “Get your own place, like Wyatt? Or Rhett? Or a little farm like Momma and Daddy? A whole ranch?”
“I don’t want my own place,” Micah said. “At least not that kind of place.”
“So open a shop here,” Wyatt said. “You’re good at what you do, Mike. There are tons of homes being built; you could be the premier cabinet-maker in Three Rivers.”
“I don’t want to build cabinets.”
“What do you want to do?” Wyatt asked.
Skyler was tired of the game already. Micah just needed to say what was on his mind, instead of making them guess.
“I want to build custom furniture.”
“Then do it,” Skyler said at the same time Wyatt did. They grinned at each other, and Skyler’s annoyance settled down again.
He should’ve known that the moment Micah’s problem was out, Wyatt would turn to him. After all, Wyatt didn’t have problems.
Not fair, Skyler told himself. He hated these poisonous thoughts about seriously the nicest man on the planet. He quickly cleared his throat and said, “When’s your surgery, Wyatt?”
“End of January,” he said, lifting his water glass to his lips. “We have to get moved into the new house, and I need to find a nurse who’s willing to come live up in Church Ranches.” He said it so nonchalantly, but Skyler wondered who would possibly be able to do that.
“You’re going to have someone live-in?” Micah asked.
“Yeah,” Wyatt said. “Marcy has to fly every day, and she’ll have to leave super early to get in the air at her usual time.” He shrugged one shoulder like he hadn’t thought through this until he was blue in the face. “And I don’t want to be up that early.”
“Yeah, no joke,” Skyler said. “I hate getting up early.”
Both of his brothers looked at him, and he realized how fake he’d sounded. “I mean—”
“I thought you said you run,” Wyatt said, a knowing look in his eyes. “Don’t you do that early in the morning?”
“Well, sometimes,” Skyler said, though he’d put in four miles with Mal before making the hour-long drive to Three Rivers that very morning.
“Why do you do that?” Micah asked.
“Do what?” Skyler hid behind his water glass too, wishing the waiter would come ask them for their orders.
“Pretend you’re something you’re not,” Micah said.
“You aren’t the black sheep,” Wyatt said, leaning forward and flipping the brim of Skyler’s cowboy hat.
Instant heat flared to life inside Skyler. Angry heat. “Don’t, Wyatt.”
Wyatt grinned at him, but he didn’t go into full joy mode. “I’m not sure why you think you have to be so different. Seriously.”
“I am different,” Skyler said.
“No,” Wyatt and Micah said together, their eyes locking onto each other. They seemed to have everything synchronized, and Skyler tried not to feel ganged up on. But Wyatt and Micah had grown closer over the past year and a half while they’d lived together in the homestead at Seven Sons.
And Skyler—ever the black sheep, no matter what they said—had been off at school in Amarillo.
“You’re wearing the hat,” Wyatt said.
“And the boots,” Micah added.
“That doesn’t make me a cowboy.” Skyler leaned back in his chair and folded his arms, his shoulder brushing the wall beside him. He felt too broad and too big, and surely everyone would see it.
“All right,” Wyatt said in a highly false voice. “We can talk about that later. Let’s talk about—”
“Are you boys ready to order?” a woman asked, and Skyler’s relief was unlike anything he’d ever felt before.
“I haven’t even looked,” Micah said, reaching for a menu in the middle of the table.
Skyler hadn’t either, but it didn’t matter. This place served breakfast, and he knew what he wanted. “I’ll have the western omelet,” he said. “Lots of veggies.”
Wyatt’s mouth played around with a grin as he watched Skyler for a moment to make sure he was done with his order. He nodded, because he was.
“I’ll have the special,” Wyatt said, and they all looked at Micah.
“I have no idea,” he said, closing the menu. “I want a lot of bacon, a Belgian waffle, and over-easy eggs.”
“You got it,” the waitress said without making a big deal out of Micah creating his own order. And Skyler supposed he’d gotten lucky that this hipster place even had a western omelet.
She walked away, and Micah adjusted his chair a couple of inches away from Skyler. Then he looked at him. Skyler looked right back, switching his gaze to Wyatt. Back to Micah.
“What?” he asked.
“Mal?” they said together. “You’re married?” Wyatt added, reaching for his glass and draining the rest of the water. “Start talking, cowboy. I sense a good, long story.”
“Call Mal,” he told the truck as he drove away from the fancy breakfast joint.
“Calling Mal,” the truck said, and a few moments later, the line connected. His heart boomed in his chest as the phone rang, and finally Mal answered.
“I didn’t tell them,” he said in lieu of hello.
“You didn’t? What did you say?”
“They asked about you,” Skyler said, realizing he was yelling. He often did when he allowed the phone to connect through the radio. He wasn’t sure why, and he always felt like a fool afterward. “And I just said we’d decided to get married quickly.”
He turned onto the highway and accelerated, ready to be back in Amarillo. He wasn’t sure why the air in Three Rivers was so full of expectations. But it was. And that was exactly the same reason Micah felt so stilted here. He’d come to Seven Sons to contribute to the family ranch, but there wasn’t anything for him to do.
None of the brothers had to work, as their bank accounts were all huge since Daddy had sold his company. But a man still needed to have something to fill his
time with. Something good.
“They didn’t question why?” Mal asked.
“Wyatt tried,” Skyler said. “But I played my black sheep card and said I didn’t want to make a big deal out of it.” His throat hurt, because his brothers’ words wouldn’t leave his mind.
You aren’t the black sheep.
Skyler had always marched to the beat of his own drum, and he might not be a total black sheep, but it was something he’d embraced to make himself stand out in a family of loud, personable boys that had grown into insane, elbow-throwing men—especially if there was food in sight.
“Out of what?”
“Out of the wedding. Have everyone come. That kind of thing.” Skyler swallowed again, wishing he’d stopped for a drink before starting down the highway. There was literally nothing between Three Rivers and Amarillo, and his throat was so dry already.
Wyatt had said Momma felt bad she couldn’t be there for all the weddings, and that had only added to Skyler’s guilt about not telling the complete truth. And for depriving Momma of being there to watch him get married.
It isn’t real, he told himself. And he’d rather not deceive her—and everyone else—right to her face by throwing a big wedding…that wasn’t real.
“Okay,” Mal said, and she sounded relieved. “And you think they bought it?”
“I didn’t try to sell them anything,” Skyler said, looking out his window. He really needed a way to not let simple comments annoy him so much. His feelings went up and down like a roller coaster, often leaving him feeling bad that he’d had negative feelings for whoever he was talking to.
He needed help, and he resolved to call…someone as soon as he could. Who, he didn’t know.
“Okay, I’ll see you when you get here,” Mal said, and Skyler noted she didn’t say “home.” She never did.
And that added to his frustration too.
“Yep.” He let her end the call while his fingers clenched the steering wheel. A few miles passed, and then he said, “Call Jeremiah.”
“Calling Jeremiah,” the truck echoed back to him.
