Arson isn’t my thing, but if it was, Dusty Layne Boutique would be at the top of my hit list for selling Whitney those.
I don’t know why I was expecting more whining this morning. Or thinking I’d have to tell her to change her shoes before we headed out—like she’d show up wearing sandals or something equally as stupid. It’s probably because I keep forcing myself to forget everything when it comes to Whitney. If I don’t, I’ll do something creepy like googling her competition videosor–“Mom told me you went on a date.” Wesley interrupts my thoughts from all things Whitney.
I sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose. I can already feel a headache brewing. “Mom’s a gossip.”
“She always will be,” he sing-songs. “How’d it go, though?”
What the fuck is this? An interrogation? I thought he was just dropping shit off. I give him a look that hopefully conveys this. “I don’t even remember her name.”
The look that immediately washes over his face tells me he assumes I brought her home. I don’t have the energy to correct him. That would only lead to more questions that I have zero desire to entertain. As if my mother’s ears were ringing, a text dings from my back pocket.
Mom
Angela said you never called her.
If she’s texting my mom after one date, I’m glad I didn’t.
Don’t be rude. She’s cute.
How is Whitney’s first day? Brinley and I are best friends already.
Attachment: 1 Photo
I let a smile tug at my lips at the picture my mom sent. Brinley is in a shopping cart, with four or five stuffed animals surrounding her. Her grin is so wide, it reaches her eyes. Those dark corkscrew curls of hers make it impossible not to smile. She’s adorable—and she looks so much like her mama.
I’m glad that my mom’s having so much fun with Brinley. Despite the fact that she drives me insane with the “give me a grandchild” mantra, it makes sense. She won’t admit it, but I’m sure she gets a bit lonely. Our schedules make it difficult tocarve out the time to stop in and see her. I wonder if Whitney knows it’s as much for my mom’s benefit as it is hers. I check the time on my screen, realizing I should probably check on her and Maggie. It’s been a few hours.
I tuck my phone away, patting my brother on the shoulder before I leave the room. “Thanks for comin’. Now, go home before Blake kills the caterer.”
My boots crunchagainst the gravel as I make my way down to Maggie’s stall. Wesley left quickly after I did, but said he’d reach out soon for some kind of family dinner plans.
I’m not surprised Whitney didn’t manage to get Maggie out of the stall and into the field. The few times I’ve tried to swindle that horse into even letting me brush her, she nearly bit my head off. A small, evil part of me finds satisfaction in the idea that Whitney won’t beat me at this kind of game, let alone on day one.
All smugness I feel is wiped away the second I see them, though. Because Whitney is sitting on a stool in Maggie’s stall, her feet propped up on a hay bale, while a manicured hand flips through a book that lays in her lap. And Maggie, the horse who has never let anyone near her or around her for more than five minutes, is eating a damn peppermint out of the woman’s free hand.
Whitney’s eyes meet mine over the horse’s snout, and a gorgeous, mischievous grin lights up her face.
Chapter Nine
WHITNEY
When I pull into the driveway of Ana’s house, the sun is setting, and the sky is painted with beautiful shades of purple and pink. Brinley and Ana are playing with chalk at the bottom of the porch steps. I’d left to pick her up shortly after Wyatt found me in the stall with Maggie. The hours of sitting were worth every second after seeing the shock ripple across his face.
Brinley drops everything she’s holding the second I step out of the driver’s side door. She sprints to me on uneven feet, only nearly tripping once. “Mama!”
My heart clenches at her sweet voice. I drop to a crouch right as she reaches me. She throws her arms around me, nestling her head into my chest. “Hi, baby.” I murmur, pulling her in close. “I missed you.”
I pick her up off the ground, settling her into her usual spot on my hip as Ana joins us. I give her a warm smile, one that I hope reaches my eyes. “Was she okay for you?”
Ana nods, reaching forward to pinch Brinley’s cheeks. “She was an angel.”
“Thank you again for watching her.” I add.
Ana beams. “I should thank you. I miss having little ones in the house.” She turns, motioning for me to follow. “Here, come sit with me for a bit. I made some tea.”
Her tone tells me it’s not up for debate, so Brinley and I follow her to the front porch. A large, steaming teapot and two teacups sit on the table that’s nestled between two white rocking chairs. Brinley goes right to the blanket that’s laid out and plays with a couple of the toys as we take our seats. I notice they look brand new, and there’s far more than I packed in her bag this morning.
“How are you handling everything?” Ana’s question cuts through my inspection of Brinley’s new toys.
