“We haven’t said grace, Lemonade. And you know we don’t do grace unless everyone’s at the table.”
I glance at the five other bodies occupying the table and frown. “Who are we waitin’ on?”
“Sorry I’m late, Mama. I had a gelding in the stable as stubborn as Lem—”
“Uh-oh,” Wade says, biting his bottom lip like a coy little schoolgirl.
I involuntarily smooth my hand over my hair and scowl. It’s one thing for Colt to be working here, but to be eating at the family table for every meal and still calling my mama … Mama? Oh, hell no.
“What was that you were sayin’, Colt?” Wyatt asks.
“Lemon,” Colton says through his teeth. “I wasn’t sure you’d still be here.”
“The feeling’s mutual, and I’ve suddenly lost my appetite so …” I stand and pick up my plate.
“Lemon Emersyn Winchester, you will sit your skinny ass down and eat lunch with your family.”
“But Colton isn’t family, Mama,” I hiss as I set my plate back on the table and sit heavily in my chair.
“He is too family. Just like Cash and anyone else who’s been helping to keep this ranch working. Especially with your daddy gone, God rest his soul.”
“Yep. We’re all just one big, dysfunctional family. Only, Lemon was never makin’ plans to marry Cash,” West says.
“Maybe she hasn’t made plans yet, but give her time.” Cash smirks. “All ladies love Cash.”
“Okay, that’s disturbing. Please never say that in my presence again.” I blow the hair off my face and stare at the ceiling. Daddy give me strength.
Colt’s eyes meet mine. “I can leave if this is too difficult—”
“Oh, don’t flatter yourself, Colton Hayes.”
“That is enough, from all of you,” Mama chastises. “Now, we’re going to eat a nice meal, as a family, and we’re damn sure going to say grace before we do it. So, Colton, why don’t you sit on down next to Lemonade and join hands while West says grace?”
Colt hesitates and meets my gaze, then he glances at Mama and nods resolutely. “Yes, ma’am.”
The chair scrapes against the floorboards as he pulls it out, and I swear you could hear a pin drop everyone is so quiet. Colt sits beside me and places his palm faceup on the table. I stare as if his flesh has the power to burn me, and when I slip my small hand into his much larger one and lace my fingers with his, my chest tightens. He squeezes my hand—crushes it, really—and slides his other arm across the table to join hands with West.
My brother says grace, but I don’t whisper, “amen” at the end like everyone else at the table. I can’t. My heart is too broken from that little touch, from all of the memories his hand in mine drudges up.
“Excuse me,” I mutter and climb to my feet before racing out of the room.
“That went about as well as I expected,” Wyatt says.
I take the stairs two at a time and shut my bedroom door, then I lean against it. This room holds too many memories—too many nights of Colt sneaking in after Mama and Daddy went to bed, too many stolen kisses took place under those covers, and too many tears soaked my pillow when our whole world shifted off its axis. I’d told Colt not to flatter himself, that I could handle lunch with him just fine. But all of the feelings I’d been running from since I was an eighteen-year-old kid came slamming back at once, and it’s clear I’m pretty far from fine. In fact, we left fine behind twelve years ago, and I’m not sure I’ll ever make my way back.
CHAPTER FOUR
Colt
Twenty years old
I exit the arena, a sweaty shaking mess. Holy shit. That bull about killed me, but coming in first place in my heat division was totally worth it. Hell, it was worth it just to see the look on Jameson Fort’s face when he saw I’d beaten his time.
“Congratulations, son.” Some old cowboy slaps my back as I pass, and I tip my hat. I’m busy looking backwards when I should be looking ahead, so I almost don’t see the two pretty girls who barrel into me until I’m nearly knocked off my feet.
“Nice work, cowboy!” Lemon shouts as she throws herself into my arms and squeezes me tightly.
“Lemon? What are you doin’ here?”
“We came to see you ride.” She smiles up at me, her hands still wrapped tightly around my neck. Sweat soaks my shirt, and I know she can probably feel it. I just don’t know why she isn’t so grossed out about it she doesn’t pull away.
“Zadie.” I tip my hat in her direction and glance between the two of them. “How did you girls get here?”
Lemon bites her lip. “Um …”
“Lemon,” I warn, taking the tone her father and brothers so often use with this little fireball.
She leans up on her tiptoes, her breath washing across my face and smelling too much like whiskey as she whispers, “Don’t worry about it, champ.”
“Have you two been drinkin’?”
“Oops,” Zadie says. “Busted.”
Lemon giggles, throws one arm wide, and proclaims, “Tonight we’re Winchester Wild!”
“Oh, Jesus. Do your mama and daddy know you’re here?”
“Nope,” Lemon says. “We snuck out.”
Fuck. I am a dead man. I may not have had anything to do with this, but I have no doubt they wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for me.
“Oh my God,” Zadie squeals. “Could you imagine if they knew we’d hitchhiked?”
“You …” I pinch the bridge of my nose, my high from the ride and from having Lemon throw her arms around me vanishing, and replaced almost instantly with dread. “Your daddy’s gonna kill you, and then West is gonna kill me.”
Lemon rolls her eyes. “Daddy and West need to lighten up.”
“Lemon, promise me you’re never gonna do this again? Not the sneaking out, not the drinkin’, and definitely not hitchhiking. What the hell were you thinkin’?”
“We wanted to see the champ in action.”
“Then you wait until you’re old enough to drive yourself or better yet, ask your brother to bring you.”
“Can we go? I’m starvin’,” Zadie says.
“No. I’m taking you girls home.”
“Okay, but can we eat first?” Lemon asks. “I could really murder a funnel cake right now.”
“Oh,” Zadie crows. “And cotton candy.”
“You two are gonna be eating burgers. You need something’ to soak up all the alcohol. Where the hell did you get it anyway?”
“Daddy’s liquor cabinet.” Lemon frowns and then shakes her head as she says, “Well, the whiskey came from there. The beer I bought with a fake ID.”
“You got a fake ID? And who the hell would buy that you were over twenty-one?”
“I get by with a little help from my friends.” She toys with the collar of her plaid shirt, popping one button too many so her cleavage and the black lace of her push-up bra are visible. I swallow hard as I try not to look. She strokes her finger along her collarbone and down the swell of one breast and my dick is pulsing. Jesus. This girl is diabolical. God help every man on the planet when Lemon Winchester comes of age. “I like to call them boobs.”