by A. J. Pine
Luke let out a bitter laugh. “The hell you will,” he said.
Walker groaned. “When the hell is this place gonna actually have some booze? Because you two boys could use a drink.”
Luke pointed his brush at his older brother. “What kind of problem do you have with me on a ladder?”
Jack motioned right back at him with his roller. “This,” he said. “You’ve been broken and bloodied too many times for me to count, and that’s just in the half a year I’ve been back. I’m sure there’s plenty that went on while I was gone that you didn’t bother telling me.”
Luke shrugged, hooked the ladder over his shoulder, and carried it back toward his wall.
“And look,” he said, dropping it in the spot he needed. “I’m still here to tell the tale. You let go for ten fucking years,” he said. “Why can’t you do it now?”
Jack gripped his roller, knuckles turning white, and strolled to the ladder. He climbed to the top and began filling in the upper quarter of the wall.
“Dick,” Luke mumbled, not wanting to waste the energy on engaging.
He turned toward the paint tray and squatted to lay his brush for the time being. He guessed now was as good a time as any for a break if Jack was so hell-bent on keeping him out of the imminent danger of a six-foot ladder. But before he could straighten, something wet and cold dripped onto the back of his neck.
He looked up, and there was his brother quietly concentrating, the edge of his roller dripping down the wall.
“Hey, asshole,” Luke said, dipping his brush in the tray and deciding he wasn’t exactly done with painting after all. When Jack tilted his head down in response, Luke flicked his wrist, and his newly dipped brush sent a splatter of paint right across his big brother’s face.
“You’re kidding, right?” Jack asked, his expression deadpan, his voice a mask of calm.
Luke scratched his chin. “See that’s the funny thing,” he said. “Because I sure as hell like to kid. But I couldn’t be more serious right now.”
Jack blew out a breath and descended the ladder, roller still in hand. He said nothing. Just shook out his dripping roller over the tray—and then painted a fat ivory stripe up Luke’s T-shirt.
“I’m always serious,” Jack said.
Luke clenched his jaw.
Walker whistled, then asked, “Do I need to call in some sort of referee, or am I good to just sit here and wait for Ava to come kick both your asses?”
Jack raised a brow, and Luke suddenly relaxed. For once he and his brother seemed to have a common goal.
“On three,” he whispered, then mouthed the numbers to his brother.
One. Two. Three.
The two of them charged Walker, and the youngest Everett brother wasn’t fast enough to dodge their blows.
Luke’s brush stroked across Walker’s face while Jack’s roller made sure the front of Walker’s black T-shirt wasn’t so black anymore.
Walker stood there, stock-still for several long seconds as he took his brothers’ torment without a complaint. But Luke could see it—the slow heave of his chest and the eerie calm in his eyes. Walker Everett would not go down quietly.
Before Jack had a chance to react, Walker’s boot swiped his oldest brother’s foot out from under him, and the man was flat on his back in seconds.
“Shit!” Luke swore. “Are you goddamn crazy?” he asked a chuckling Walker.
“What?” He shrugged. “I made sure to kick his good leg out from under him. I’m not a fucking monster.”
It was then that they heard the laughter—Jack’s laughter—coming at them from the floor below. Their mistake was looking down. Jack still had his brush in hand and had managed to reach into the paint tray to reload.
When their heads dipped, a spray of wet paint hit them both—first Walker and then Luke—straight in the face.
“What in the hell is going on in here?”
All three of them spun to where the small alcove opened into the rest of the winery. Luke squinted through only one open eye, the other squeezed shut to ward off the dripping paint.
There Ava stood, hands on hips, with a bakery bag on the floor at her feet.
She raised a brow. “I picked you up some cookies and muffins, figuring you’d want to break for a snack.” She pointed toward her fiancé, who still lay on the floor with his paint-filled brush pointed at his brothers. “While I was hoping for some sort of brotherly bonding, I expected you to be the voice of reason.”
Luke swiped his forearm across his face, then slowly blinked open his closed eye, grateful the paint hadn’t sealed it shut or blinded him.
Jack tried to school his features into that of the calm, controlled patriarch, the role he’d inserted himself into the second their father had sought solace at the bottom of a whiskey bottle. But for the first time in years, Luke saw the big brother he remembered from before their mother had died—before they lost Jack Senior to his abusive grief.
Jack dropped his head back to the floor and laughed hard. Luke spared a glance at Walker who, although a mess of splattered paint, was not the mess he always saw him as. He knew Jack worried too about Walker sharing too much of their father’s DNA—mainly the tendency toward the bottle. But this morning he was simply their asshole little brother. And despite everything—especially the shit they were certainly in with Ava—the corners of Luke’s mouth turned up, and he laughed.
Soon all three of them were a chorus of laughter. And possibly a few snorts. When he snuck a glance at Ava, who hadn’t said another word, all he saw was her shaking her head—and fighting her own smile.
Since they weren’t allowed back in the ranch until the paint dried, they’d each cleaned up the best they could with the icy water from the hose out back. They repurposed a couple of crates and buckets into chairs and tore into the bag of pastries, the three of them quiet for several minutes as they ate and let the sun warm where the cold water and paint had soaked their clothes. Their only view was the budding vineyard, lush and green where it once had been a tangled mess of brown.
“You think we’re really gonna do this? Make wine…raise cattle? It’s a hell of a lot,” Luke finally said. “But it’ll all keep me busy after—I mean, once I retire from the rodeo circuit.”
Jack’s head snapped up while Walker feigned disinterest as he reached into the bakery bag for something more. But Luke could tell he was still listening.
“So you’re not going to ride?” Jack asked, and Luke could hear that glimmer of hope in his brother’s voice.
“No, I’m riding,” Luke assured him. “But I’m not an idiot. I know this is my last one.”
Jack’s jaw tightened. “Why?” he asked, his voice low and his control ebbing. “You’ve won every other event at one time or another. Why this? Why now, when you know the risk?”
Luke stretched his legs out in front of him, crossing one ankle over the other.
“I think it goes back to Mom—losing her. And then losing Jack Senior to his grief. I will never forget what you did for us—what you sacrificed to keep Walker and me safe.”
Luke glanced toward his younger brother, who picked at some drying paint on his jeans. He knew Walker still had miles to go before letting go of their past. But he hoped—goddamn he hoped he was getting there in his own way.
“But it still messed me up, man. Watching you put yourself at risk for us—watching you push Jack Senior over the edge just so you could be sure he’d come after you instead of us.” He shook his head. “The horses…the bull riding? I love it all. I really do. But it’s more than that.”
Jack crossed his arms, but he didn’t speak. He just kept his eyes focused on Luke’s.
“You were able to control what happened in that house until he almost killed you. I had no choice but to sit back and watch that happen. The rodeo—getting knocked down again and again but always getting the fuck back up? It’s my control. I need to walk in there knowing it’s my last ride. It needs to be my choice.”
; Jack nodded again. “I guess I can understand a thing or two about choice.”
Luke wondered if he meant leaving Oak Bluff once he turned eighteen, promising only to return once Jack Senior was six feet under—or the choice he never got to make with Ava. With her having his son. Either way, Jack got it. Luke knew he did. And he knew that’s why Jack wasn’t yet a fury of protest. But he was sure it was coming.
“You put your life on the line for us,” Luke said. “And I know it sounds crazy as shit, but I’m putting mine on the line for me.”
“Right,” Walker drawled, breaking his silence. “You’re not doing it as some sort of penance for what big brother here did for us. I’m calling bullshit.”
Luke blew out a breath. “Fine,” he said. “Maybe that was part of it for a while. I controlled when and how I got hurt. I always figured if you could take what you did for us when you were just a fucking kid—I could deal with a few stitches. A broken bone here or there. But it was also because I was good at it. You had a baseball scholarship, law school. None of that was for me. But damn I can ride a horse. Why not a bull?” He gave his brothers a half smile. “I don’t have a death wish, but I need to finish what I started while it’s still my choice to do so.”
Jack leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “I can’t stop you,” he said, resignation in his tone.
Luke shook his head. “I don’t need to win. But I do need to see this through. I swear I know what the hell I’m doing. I’ve trained twice on the bull already this week, and look—nothing new is broken. You have to trust that I know what the hell I’m doing.”
“Jesus.” Jack shook his head. “And Lily?” he asked.
Luke’s jaw clenched. “She only sees the risk. The worst-case scenario is the only one she can imagine, even though I promised her I’ll be okay. As far as she’s concerned, me riding is me leaving her.” He gave Jack a halfhearted shrug. “I can’t put her first until I do this,” he said. “And maybe that sounds selfish, but I don’t want to regret not trying. And I sure as hell don’t want to resent her if I decided to back down.”
Jack’s eyes narrowed. “You’re in love with her. Aren’t you?”
Walker huffed out a laugh. “He’s had a thing for her longer than I bet he’ll admit—to her or that ex-husband.”
Jack raised his brows.
“Stay the hell out of it, Walker,” Luke warned. “It’s my damned mess.”
Walker popped a piece of blueberry muffin into his mouth. “I wouldn’t touch your mess with a cattle prod. I’ll leave you to clean that up all by yourself.”
But the corner of his little brother’s mouth turned up, and even if he wouldn’t admit it out loud, Luke figured that was the closest he’d get to support—for this one last ride and whatever happened with Lily after.
If there was an after.
He left his brothers and decided to wander into the vineyard—their father’s legacy and, if all went according to plan, the future of the Crossroads Ranch.
He pulled his phone out of his pocket, surprised it wasn’t covered in paint, and pulled up Lily’s number, immediately hitting CALL.
It went straight to voice mail.
“Hey, sweetheart,” he said without hesitation. “Just letting you know I still haven’t walked away.”
He just kept reminding himself that this was his choice, and he chose to get things right, with whatever happened on the back of that bull—and Lily, too.
Chapter Twenty-One
Lily was sure she had the address wrong. Because when her mom had told her she’d moved, Lily had assumed that meant moved the mobile home to a different park. But she wasn’t parked in front of a trailer. Instead she idled at the base of a small driveway that led to a small but cute white stucco cottage. She picked up her phone, ready to text her mom to double-check the street name and number when the front door flew open, and the woman herself bounded onto the walkway.
Lily’s heart rose in her throat, and she wasn’t sure if it was the relief at seeing her mother’s radiant smile or at the prospect of telling her why she was here. Because there was no simple way to lay it all out there—her marriage ending, Tucker’s wedding, or falling for Luke only to find out she could lose him in a way she hadn’t anticipated. Brain damage. What did that even mean? There were so many possibilities, and all of them scared the crap out of her. Why couldn’t he see that?
She pulled forward, parking along the curb, then tried unsuccessfully to steady her breathing before her mom threw open the driver’s-side door and pulled Lily out, scooping her into a hug.
This—this was what she needed, the support of the one person who loved her without question, who was always there, even when Lily was too afraid to tell her the truth.
“Oh, sweetheart,” the woman said. “It’s been too long.” She squeezed Lily tight for several long seconds before stepping back, hands still on her daughter’s shoulders. “Let me look at you!” And she did just that, eyes roaming from Lily’s head to her toes, then back up again. Except for her mom’s longer blond hair pulled back into a messy bun, it was like looking at her own reflection. At forty-three, her mom didn’t look a day over thirty. And in her own present state, Lily was sure she looked like the older one.
“You’re gorgeous as always,” her mom said. “But something’s wrong. Tell me everything.”
Lily forced a laugh, then crossed her arms so she wouldn’t fidget. “Everything’s fine. I’ve just been driving for eight hours. That’ll put a damper on anyone’s mood.” Or give a girl enough time with her thoughts that she second-guesses all of her life choices at least six times an hour. “How about you tell me about this house?” She raised a brow even as her stomach sank. She and her mom used to know everything about each other. Now here she was at a house she didn’t know existed with three years and as many weeks’ worth of baggage to unload.
Her mom grabbed her hand. “Come on. We’ll order pizza, have some wine, and we’ll start with you telling me why you called at six in the morning to ask if you could come home for a bit. You know my answer will always be yes, by the way, right?”
Lily nodded. Ava had picked her up from Luke’s without batting an eyelash. Then she’d spent the morning packing—mostly cooking and food storage gear—compiling a list of items and ingredients she’d need to purchase once she got to Phoenix, and composing a text to Luke—one she was sure would make him angrier than any of the arguments they’d had in three long years.
“Pizza and wine sound pretty perfect,” she said.
Her mom narrowed her gaze. “You’re not even going to fight me on the pizza—tell me anything other than homemade tastes like shit?”
Lily blew out a breath. “I just want one night off,” she told the other woman. “Because I sort of need to cook for a small wedding while I’m here.” She forced a smile that came out more like a wince.
“Do I even want to know what’s in that trunk of yours?” her mom asked.
She let out a nervous laugh. “Just tell me you have room in your fridge and freezer and we’ll be all set.”
And without another word, the two women unloaded everything from a KitchenAid mixer to a box of various spices to multisize glass storage containers. Basically, Lily had moved her kitchen from Oak Bluff to Phoenix. It was almost as if she had no intention of moving it back.
But she had to go back—for the wedding at the very least. After that?
It took forty-five minutes of rearranging the fridge and freezer, two—okay three—glasses of merlot, and one piece of pizza with every topping imaginable before Lily finally broke the silence—her mom having waited patiently for her to make the first move.
She sat cross-legged on the floor in front of the wooden coffee table and finished the last drop of wine in her glass and met her mom’s gaze.
She sucked in a breath, hoping it was enough to get everything out and in the open. “So…Tucker and I got divorced. He’s getting remarried in less than a week to this gorgeous, famous, p
regnant Food Network star who I almost killed with raspberries because I’m catering their wedding. Not that I knew it was Tucker’s wedding I was catering when I agreed to do it, but you know me—not really good at saying no once I’ve already said yes. And also it’s not like I have a job or anything, since I let him buy me out of BBQ on the Bluff, so my whole new career is sort of riding on this wedding. Then there’s the small issue of falling for Tucker’s best friend, who was this unbelievable jerk but then somehow turned out not to be until I found out that if he gets one more concussion—which he probably will when he rides this stupid bull—he could suffer permanent brain damage. Or worse. I googled what happens to people who get multiple concussions. He could—I mean, he’s risking his life, and I’m terrified of losing him. So rather than support him taking a risk he claims he’s totally capable of handling, I bailed.”
She loved him, and she bailed. Oh God. That was what fear did to her. It turned her into her father.
Her chest heaved as she gasped for more oxygen, her verbal vomit more taxing than she’d anticipated.
“I’ve been so scared of loving someone and being left that I became the leaver. I thought Tucker and I would be safe from that. I fell in love with the picture he painted of what our life would be like, and I still messed up.”
Her mom’s gaze remained fixed on Lily as she sipped slowly from her own wineglass. Her eyes were neither wide nor narrowed. In fact, her expression hadn’t changed at all, which was more frightening than all the scenarios Lily had imagined, because in this one, she had zero clue what her mom was thinking.
Finally, her mom set her glass down and rested her hands on the coffee table in front of her. “But you didn’t love him. And he fell for someone else and cheated on you.”
Lily’s mouth fell open.
“You didn’t answer your phone on your birthday,” she said matter-of-factly. “So I called Tucker. Figured I’d catch you two out celebrating or something.”
Lily’s eyes burned. “You—you knew?” she asked, voice shaking. “You’ve known for almost three weeks?”
