“I’ve missed my baby so much. It’s been too long since you been home, girl.”
“I know.” I sniff and pull away.
“You doing okay?”
I shake my head and swipe my tears with the heels of my hands. At least Colt wasn’t here to see me fall apart. I bet he’d just love another opportunity to rub it in.
“Alright, Mama,” Wyatt says. “Quit hoggin’ my little sister’s hugs.”
“Little sister? I’m older than you.”
Wyatt wraps his arms around me in a hug and squeezes so tight he lifts me off the ground, managing to crack every one of my vertebrae. “Yeah, but no one really remembers that.”
“Oh my God. You actually grew into your gangly limbs.” I glance at West and Wade, still standing by the doors with arms folded across their chests—the mirror image of one another save for a little gray in West’s hair. “What have you been feedin’ them, Mama? Y’all grew like weeds.”
“That’s what happens when you leave and don’t come back for twelve years. People tend to change,” West says.
“Hiya to you too, West.”
“Come on now,” Mama says. “We don’t need no fightin’. Daddy wouldn’t want this reunion spoiled by harsh words.”
“Daddy wouldn’t have wanted his only daughter to disown her family either,” Wade says, sounding just like he took the spit out of West’s mouth.
“You bite your tongue, Wade Winchester,” Mama warns.
Wade bows his head and has the good grace to look ashamed.
“You must be starvin’ and exhausted from your trip. Dinner’s about ready. You go on and get cleaned up. West, Wade, you bring your sister’s bags.”
“Mama,” Wade whines. “Why us? Why isn’t Wyatt helpin’?”
“Because Wyatt wasn’t an asshole to his sister just now.”
“It’s okay. I can take my own bags inside.”
“You afraid we’re gonna go through your shit and you’ll wake up tomorrow with your lacey underthings decorating the cow pats in the field?” Wade smirks, and I roll my eyes.
Wyatt grins. “You’d have to be unafraid to touch her lacey underthings first.”
“Wait.” Wade punches our little brother in the arm. “That’s your worst fear, isn’t it?”
“Only when it comes to the parts that are in them lacey underthings,” Wyatt says coolly.
“Maybe you’d prefer to be the one wearin’ them,” Wade crows.
“Oh, that’s real original, asshole. Did you think of that line all by yourself?” Wyatt folds his arms over his chest and leans against the front porch railing. “I tell you what, when you’re ready to start dressing like a man, you come see me and maybe we can actually find you a real live girl to date. I know your hand must be gettin’ kinda tired.”
“What’s wrong with the way I dress?”
“Alright, y’all, that is quite enough.” Mama ushers me up the walk to the stairs. “I, for one, am glad to have another female in this house. It’s been overrun with overgrown men for far too long.”
Mama and I head inside as the boys carry on about carrying in my things. This old farmhouse looks exactly the same as it did when I left. It hasn’t changed one bit in thirty years. Well … there is one noticeable difference. Daddy’s armchair sits in the living room … empty. I stare at that faded tan leather which has seen a lifetime of dust, sweat, and love. I burst into tears all over again. I feel like I haven’t stopped crying since I got the call.
I hadn’t shed a single tear over Brook and Stavros, not one, but I fell apart completely when Wyatt called me from the hospital with horror and devastation in his voice. I had to come home. I needed to be here for my family. Part of me wishes I’d never stayed away so long. I might’ve been able to say goodbye. I might’ve seen my daddy and told him I love him one last time. Although, after my encounter with Colt and enduring the frosty reception from my two older brothers, I’m starting to wish I hadn’t come home at all.
CHAPTER THREE
Lemon
Sunlight streams through the lace curtains of my childhood bedroom and I squint and roll over. What kind of sick torture is this? People in the south need to invest in black-out blinds. I stretch and wince at the ache in my bones and muscles after several days in my tiny car. Stumbling into the bathroom, I brush my teeth, and then I throw on a light sweater before heading downstairs. The grandfather clock says midday, and I rub my eyes and stare at Mama plating up lunch.
“Mornin’, sleepyhead.”
“Mornin’. Why did you let me sleep so long?”
“Well, you had a long drive.”
From the back door, the boys all push and jostle to get into the house and be the first to the dinner table. It’s like feeding time at the zoo around here.
“Mornin’, sis,” Wyatt says.
“Hi.”
“Howdy, Lemon.” A man embraces me. I’m taken aback because he clearly knows me, and I’ve never met this guy in my whole life.
“Hi?”
My brothers chuckle and Wade says, “You have no idea who he is, do you?”
I pull away from the man and take in his square jaw and bright green eyes. His blond beard is rugged with hair to match, but the way his lips quirk into a cocky grin and the dimple in his chin give him away. “Oh my God. Cash Williams, is that you? Last time I laid eyes on you, you couldn’t have weighed more than one hundred pounds, soaking wet.”
“It’s all Mama’s good cookin’.” He winks, and pecks Mama on the cheek. Then his eyes roll over me from head to toe. “It’s mighty nice to see you again, Lemonade.”
“Still our sister, and you’re still never hittin’ that,” Wyatt warns, glancing at Cash.
“Wyatt Winchester, you bite your tongue at my table,” Mama admonishes.
My little brother hangs his head, thoroughly scolded. “Sorry, Mama.”
“It’s just Lemon now.” I sit in the seat I’ve always occupied at this table, my eyes darting to the empty head of the table where my father sat.
“Since when?” Mama asks.
“Since I was eighteen.” I glance at her as she sets a plate in front of me. It’s piled high with roast-beef sandwich and potato chips. I wouldn’t eat this much food in two meals back home in New York, but I know better than to tell her that.
“Since you moved to New York,” West corrects as he finishes washing up in the mud room and enters the kitchen.
“Oh my God, it’s alive.” Wade, the perpetual joker, grabs my bird’s nest of hair and makes it stand on its end. I elbow him in the ribs, and he moans. “Damn, woman. You’re so skinny, you practically speared me through with your bony elbow. We gotta put some Texas meat on them bones.”
“My bones are just fine the way they are, thank you.”
I glance around the kitchen, praying for coffee but knowing I won’t find any now. The pitcher of sweet tea on the table confirms my suspicions. Mama slips a plate in front of each of the boys and they all stare like dogs salivating over a bone. I pick up a potato chip from my plate but before I can draw it closer, Mama gives me a pointed glance and I drop it just as fast. You do not mess with Lucille Winchester at mealtime.