Grace stepped into the arena on Saturday morning and found Tori and Shawnee already horseback, settled in to wait for her with that You have some explainin’ to do look on their faces.
And this is why you don’t sleep with the friends of your friends. Or their brothers.
But if you did, you’d better be prepared to own up, which was why she’d texted Shawnee offering her a ride to the Brookman ranch after they finished roping. Grace flipped her rein around a fence rail, then stepped well out of Betsy’s reach before facing them.
“Yes, we had sex,” she said. “Yes, it will probably happen again. And yes, I am aware that it was too soon and it could put the rest of you in an awkward position.”
Tori hitched a shoulder. “It’s all relative, I suppose. I dragged Delon out of a New Year’s Eve party and had my way with him two hours after we met.”
“On a barstool,” Shawnee added as Grace gaped at the offhand confession.
“I swear, you are obsessed with that barstool.” Tori reached out and poked Shawnee’s arm. “And you jumped a guy who is basically a brother to one of your best friends. Hell, that’s still awkward.”
“Only because I make a point of oversharing every chance I get,” Shawnee said with a proud grin.
Grace gave her head a shake. Wasn’t this where her older, wiser friends were supposed to talk some sense into her? “So, um, there’s no problem, then?”
“Oh, there’s bound to be problems,” Tori said. “Just not between us girls.”
“Except Melanie,” Shawnee clarified. “He is her baby brother, and she can be pretty damn vindictive.”
Tori rolled her eyes heavenward. “Like after you threw her brand-new cowboy hat out the window of the pickup in the middle of rush-hour traffic?”
“Hey, I told her before she bought it that I wasn’t travelin’ with somebody wearing a hat that ugly. She didn’t have to go fillin’ every one of my pockets with baby powder.”
Grace had to laugh, but she sobered immediately. What had made perfect sense when she was with Hank sounded like pure folly when she imagined confessing it to Melanie.
“I talked to her this morning,” Shawnee said, suddenly all business. “She said to tell you that under the circumstances, it’s best if she and Wyatt remain impartial.”
In other words, don’t call. Don’t try to explain. Don’t ask for advice from the one friend who knew all her circumstances. Just leave Melanie out of it, to avoid more strain on her relationship with Hank. Heat stung Grace’s cheeks, even though this was what she should have expected—and no more than she would do if Jeremiah got involved with one of her friends.
And these were, first and foremost, Melanie’s friends. A chill settled over Grace. Melanie had made her a part of this circle. Without her blessing—
“Goddammit, Shawnee. You weren’t supposed to scare her.” Tori gave an exasperated huff. “The point is, we’re already a huge mess of in-laws and outlaws and everything in between. And most of us”—she aimed a pointed look at Shawnee—“are capable of acting like reasonable adults. Whatever happens between you and Hank, we’ll deal with it. Nobody’s getting kicked to the curb. Got it?”
“Got it,” Grace said, going limp with relief.
Tori gave a clipped nod. “Good. Then let’s rope.”
* * *
It was almost straight up noon when Grace and Shawnee walked into Johnny’s house to find the men lounging around the table, sipping Cokes from the can. Hank’s smile looked relieved, as if he’d doubted she’d show up.
“Sorry,” Grace said. “We should’ve quit before that last pen of calves.”
Cole snorted. “That’ll be the day.”
“Practice makes the checks grow bigger,” Shawnee said, flinging herself into the chair next to him.
Then Hank’s dad stood, and Grace found herself staring up at Johnny Brookman. His hair was lighter than Hank’s, his jaw squarer, and he was built like a former high school linebacker who hadn’t let his body go at all.
He was also Maddie’s grandfather.
“Hello, Grace. We’ve never officially met.” His hand closed around hers, big, warm and calloused, but he didn’t quite meet her eyes. Oh, yeah. Definitely awkward.
“Uh, hello, Mr. Brookman.” Her voice squeaked, and she blushed.
“Call me Johnny.” His smile was stiff but still packed a punch. The man had been divorced for how long? Why wasn’t every single woman within three counties parked on his doorstep?
And how was that working, with him and Bing living in the same house and Johnny not exactly an invalid anymore?
Bing set a bowl of chopped green onions and another full of shredded lettuce in the middle of the table alongside grated cheese, sour cream, tomatoes, black olives, and salsa. The rich scents of chili and frying bread made Grace’s nose twitch in anticipation as Bing returned to the stove to turn several palm-sized, oblong pieces of dough that were bubbling in hot oil.
Grace sniffed. “Is that yeast bread?”
“Yep. That’s how we make it up north, not like the Navajos with their baking powder.”
“I didn’t realize there were different kinds.”
Bing flashed a superior smile. “Ours is better.”
Grace certainly wouldn’t argue—even if she disagreed. Hank jumped up to pull out the chair next to his, and Grace sank into it, shoulders rigid, as she waited for him to sit down and mimic Cole, draping a lazily possessive arm over the back of her chair. He went to the kitchen instead, to help Bing carry a steaming pot of chili and the platter of golden, puffy fry bread to the table, and when he sat down again, he didn’t have eyes for anything but the food.
Well. Good. They were just lunch buddies again, and that was what she’d told him she wanted.
They all grabbed pieces of bread to set on their plates, then ladled chili over top and piled on toppings. At the first bite of crispy bread and savory chili, Grace groaned in appreciation. “Oh man. That is the best.”
Bing smiled archly. “Told you.”
Everyone dug in, and for a few minutes, the conversation was limited to “Please pass me the…” and various appreciative noises. Then Johnny asked, “When are you heading to Vegas for the Finals?”
“Tomorrow,” Cole said. “Delon and Gil left this morning with the stock.”
Hank dropped a big dollop of sour cream onto his taco. “How much are you taking?”
“Twelve horses and three bulls.” Cole paused in the midst of plowing through his taco to flash a rare grin. “They posted the draw for the first round yesterday. Delon’s got Blue Rose.”
Hank’s eyebrows shot up. “That colt out of Blue Duck and Riata Rose?”
“Yep. He’s seven now and really coming on strong. I swear, instead of getting half of his genes from his mama and the other from his daddy, this colt got it all from both of them.” It was more words than Grace had heard him string together in the past month, but when it came to his stock, Cole could go on for…well, minutes anyway. “If he has his best trip with Delon, it’s gonna be good watchin’. And you could sorta call it a chance for some redemption.”
For Grace’s benefit, Hank said, “The stud, Blue Duck, is the horse Delon was riding when he wrecked his knee.”
The crash that had nearly ended his career—until Tori came along and, with Gil’s help, completely retooled his riding mechanics. With his new, laid-back, wide-open style, Delon had returned to win not one, but two world championships. This year, though, he was starting the National Finals with a fifty-thousand-dollar deficit, thanks to a record-breaking regular season by a young phenom out of Canada.
“Damn,” Hank said. “I’ll have to go down to the Watering Hole on Thursday night to watch. I don’t have a TV in my apartment.”
Shawnee quirked her eyebrows. “Or you could go to Grace’s.”
Grace froze with a chunk of taco stuck on her fork. “I’m horse-sitting at Tori’s while they’re gone.”
“The trailer has satellite,” Shawnee said, unfazed.
Grace tried to shoot her a quelling look without anyone else noticing, but those sharp, dark eyes of Bing’s didn’t miss a thing, and Shawnee was quell-proof. “You said you have JV-only wrestling on Thursday, so you’d be home by the time the rodeo starts at nine.”
“I’ll bring dinner,” Hank chimed in. “Smoke Shack?”
Now they were all staring at her, and Grace couldn’t help thinking how that big ol’ couch in Tori’s trailer was made for snuggling, and Hank was so good at it…among many other things. Her face heated. Shawnee smirked.
Grace gave her plate her undivided attention. “Throw in a Dr Pepper, and you’ve got a deal.”
She refused to even glance toward the other end of the table. Let Hank deal with Bing’s reaction. Grace flinched when a chair scraped abruptly on the floor, but Bing only said, “I’ll get the rest of the fry bread out of the oven for dessert.”
* * *
Hank slathered his fry bread with enough butter to melt and drip into pools on his plate and added a generous dose of honey. One thing about being half-starved for months, it seemed like his stomach had no bottom. But when he took the first bite, it wasn’t the honey-butter heaven that made him smile.
He had a date with Grace. And an assist from Shawnee, which was huge. He’d seen how it was with Melanie and Violet all through their single years. A thumbs-up from the best friend could tip the balance in a guy’s favor—and a thumbs-down could bury him. But five days was a long damn time to wait, and tomorrow was forecast to be sunny and calm, if a little chilly. He’d watched Grace light up as they rode along the river bottom last weekend. Maybe he could talk her into coming back—
A phone rang and everyone jumped, patting their pockets.
“Landline.” Hank jabbed his fork at the bar behind where Bing sat. “Grab it, would you?”
The sound of her voice obviously caused confusion on the other end of the line. “No, you have the right number. Just a minute, you can talk to Hank.”
Shit. Why hadn’t she passed it off to his dad? Hank got up and took the receiver.
“Hey, Hank. I didn’t realize you were back in the country. This is Bob Decker, from up at Gruver. We were driving by on our way home, and those stockers of yours are running down the highway.”
Hank swore. “How many?”
“Couple dozen at least. They tore a pretty good hole in the fence, but we stopped the rest from followin’.”
Crap. At the rate yearlings moved, the strays would be scattered for miles in no time. “I’m on my way.”
“What’s wrong?” his dad demanded as he hung up.
Hank strode toward the mudroom. “The calves busted out.”
“Why?” Grace asked.
“Because they’re calves, and they like to tear shit up,” Hank said. Or they’d been spooked by coyotes, or a bobcat, or another damn pig. Who knew with stocker calves?
“You’re gonna need help,” Johnny said, but Shawnee and Cole were already pushing their chairs back.
Bing jumped to her feet. “I’ll take the side-by-side and try to slow ’em down while you get saddled. You wanna come, Grace?”
Grace looked startled, then disappointed as she glanced at the clock. “I have to get to work, but you go on ahead. I’ll clear the table before I go.”
Damn. Hank had really wanted a few minutes alone with her. Now he would have to try to make his case for a Sunday trail ride over the phone.
“Thanks, Grace. I’ll talk to you later.” He grabbed a pair of leather gloves and headed out the door, hearing his dad ask, “What about me?”
“Help Grace do the dishes,” Bing told him.
Hank had to grin at Johnny’s response. Then he broke into a jog toward the barn. God, he hated cows.