My eyes looked amazing.

My flushed skin made me look vibrant and alive.

I looked like I’d been fucked hard.

And I’d never looked happier.

Chapter Eight

I’ll Have Pie

Six weeks later, I sat in my Adirondack chair on my porch, feet up to the railing, eyes to the rain falling soft and steady on the trees. My heart was heavy even though I had my phone to my ear and was listening to my mother talk about the family reunion she had suddenly gotten a wild hair to have and was therefore planning.

“Early August, Cassidy, five cabins and we’re paying. No argument.”

She said “no argument” because she’d birthed me. She knew me. She knew me even before I was born, telling me (and anyone who would listen) that I had a lot to say with the amount of kicking and moving I did before I came out. So she wasn’t surprised I came out bawling.

She knew I would argue.

And she was right.

“Mom, first, I have two guest bedrooms at my house so Titus doesn’t have to pay. He and Bessie can stay with me. I know things are tight since Bessie got laid off.”

“Titus isn’t paying. Your father and I are.”

At this, my eyes got huge and my voice pitched higher. “Mom, are you crazy? Titus will lose his alpha mind if you and Dad try to pay for his cabin.”

“He’ll get over it.”

There it was. She was crazy. My brother would never get over it. And thus, Christmases—Christmases that the family now usually spent with me at Glacier Lily (this being what I’d arranged after Deacon had his words with me that Christmas years ago, not a hardship for my family since my cabins were awesome)—would be a pain in the ass because my baby bro would show. He would show because he loved me, he loved my sister, and he doted on Lacey’s kids.

So he’d show.

But he’d do it brooding. And Titus brooding was no fun.

“How’s this for a compromise?” I started. “Titus and Bessie stay with you in your cabin. That way they only have to pay half.”

“Honey, one day, pray to God, you have your own children. And then, pray to God, you’ll rejoice every day for decades at the beauty you created. Beauty, if it’s a boy, you don’t want to hear enjoying his wife in the next room. And, just saying, vice versa if it’s a girl with her man.”

Instantly, my mouth stretched out and down at the idea of hearing my little brother banging his wife. Something I knew he did, and regularly. This knowledge coming not only because that was what married people did, but also because two years ago, Mom and Dad had hosted Titus and Bessie’s rehearsal dinner at the ranch and Dad had walked in on them doing it in the upstairs bathroom.

This caused Bessie to scream, Titus to shout, and Dad to slam the door, rush down the stairs and out of the house, mumbling, “Gotta feed the horses,” when he most definitely did not have to feed the horses in the middle of my brother’s rehearsal dinner.

According to Lacey, Dad didn’t look Bessie straight in the eyes for ages.

Fortunately, he’d gotten over that.

Reminded of this, I replied, “I take your point.”

“I’m sure you do,” Mom returned. “Now, five cabins. One for your dad and me. One for Lacey, Matt, and the kids. One for Uncle Gideon and Aunt Mellie. One for Aunt Rachel. And one for Titus and Bessie.”

“Mom, you’ve been here. My cabins all have two bedrooms. You don’t need to pay for that many cabins if folks bunk up. And I’m not talking Titus with you. But Aunt Rachel could bunk with you and Dad.”

“Don’t you have that many cabins open in August?” Mom asked.

I had no idea. I had a lot of advanced bookings, but since it was early May, I probably wasn’t that booked.

I reached beside me to the laptop I’d put on the arm of the chair next to mine, ordering, “Give me dates. I’ll check.”

She gave me dates as I opened the laptop. I checked. Then I gave in and booked the five cabins for Mom.

“Thanks, angelface,” she said when I told her I’d done just that.

“Alternate scenario,” I replied. “Dad can take this off the money I owe him.”

I suggested this but I knew it would be wasted breath. This was because Mom and Dad always paid for their cabins when they came.

“Your father is in a good mood so I’m not even suggesting that to him,” Mom returned.

“Whatever,” I muttered and heard her chuckle.

“Not looking forward to seeing us?” she asked, knowing it was a stupid question.

But I was in a bad mood. A bad mood I’d been in for weeks. A bad mood that probably wasn’t going to turn good, maybe for eternity.

“Don’t ask stupid questions,” I answered. “You’re just ornery and that’s annoying.”

“Takes one to know one,” she retorted.

“Can you stop annoying me now?” I requested.

“I’m a mother. It’s my job to be annoying.”

“Well, you’re good at it.”

I heard more chuckling then she said, “It’s your father’s night to go into town and commune with his cronies. So it’s my night to have a bath long enough to turn me into a prune, something I won’t care about because I’ll be lost in a romance novel.”

I used to read romance because my mother taught me to read romance, considering she had approximately seven gazillion romance novels ready at hand at all times (with her iPad, this was now literally). I loved romance novels. There was a lot to love, but especially the happy endings.

Now I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that was all a big bag of hooey, so I was considering burning all of my romance novels in the fireplace.

And I was going to add my DVDs.

“Enjoy,” I said quietly.

“I will, Cassie. Talk with you soon, honey. Love you.”

“Love you too, Mom.”

I heard her disconnect and I did the same, closing my laptop and setting it and my phone on the arm of the chair next to me, taking that opportunity to nab the glass of wine I had sitting there.

I again trained my eyes to the trees, taking a sip, seeing and hearing the soft fall of rain, trying to focus on that, clear my head, and not let the thoughts of the last three weeks that had been crowding my mind take over.

A fruitless endeavor.

They took over, like they always did.

And this was because Deacon and I were done. We hadn’t even started and we were finished.

He did not tell me this. I just knew we were. I didn’t know how it happened. I just knew it did.