“Why?” I scoffed, rocking back at his words. Dad always had been particular about anyone I dated. No one was ever good enough for his little girl. I know he hadn’t liked Devin, so I’d kept their interactions to a minimum.
“He’s too old for you,” Dad said with a shrug, walking up the porch steps slowly. To anyone else, it just looked like he was tired, but I knew he took the stairs more carefully ever since hetore his ACL the year after Mom passed when he went through one of his midlife crises and crashed his snowmobile. This whole ranch business was the, what, third or fourth crisis now? I’d lost track at this point honestly.
I barked out a bitter laugh. “That’s really hypocritical, don’t you think, Dad?”
A flash of guilt flickered on his face before hardening to resolve once more. Dad was one of the stubbornest people I knew. I swear, he could argue with a wall and win. “It’s different for Georgette and I.”
“Yeah, it’s arguably worse.” I pegged him with a hard stare, my head cocking to the side. “Hux and I have about a ten year age gap between us…you and Georgette though, it’s what? Like, twenty, twenty-one years?”
He opened his mouth to reply, but I cut him off. I closed my eyes and sighed. “Look, Dad, I don’t want to fight. I like him, why is that so bad?”
It was too early for this, and I hated that he seemed intent on trying to tear down the high of happiness I’d been riding since last night.
He chewed on his lip for a long moment. “He’s not good enough.”
I couldn’t stop my eye roll or the huff of disbelief that managed to come out of me. “Really? Let me guess, it’s because of—”
“It isn’t about that at all, Quinn. He’s got a bad attitude. He’s always picking fights with Georgette—”
“Have you heard how she talks about him, Dad? If she’s as awful to him as she was when she was talking to us, I don’t really blame him.” I bit the inside of my cheek and clenched my fists at my sides. I understood that he was marrying her, but it pissed me off he could defend her so easily after only being with her fornot even two full months. He would fight harder for her than his own damn kid?
My dad let out a frustrated growl, his nostrils flaring at the unexpected challenge. Ineverstood up to him. I gave in easily, I didn’t push the envelope. I backed down when the water got hot, or things got tough. I didn’t like to cause problems. But maybe it was the fact that I was fed up with keeping my mouth shut, the fact I felt fiercely protective of Hux despite just meeting him, or the fact that I was tired of my dad telling me what I could and couldn’t do, but I wasn’t going to back down or cower.
“He’s got no drive,” my dad snapped, anger finally boiling over and shining brightly in his blue-green gaze—nearly identical to mine. “He’s the oldest hand here and he seems content to do this for the rest of his life. I don’t know if you’re aware of this, Quinn, but ranch hands don’t make much, and you’ve been given a life of luxury. You really think he’s going to be able to take care of you the way you’re used to being taken care of?”
I shook my head, tears brewing like storms in my eyes. Angry tears that my dad always saw as weakness. Sucking in a deep breath of air and exhaling slowly, I pegged him with a harsh, furious glare. “First off, I don’tneedanyone to take care of me. It’s why I have a job. I don’t need him or you to fund my lifestyle. Secondly, Hux is a two-time World Champion bull rider. That takes quite a bit of drive, if you ask me.” I didn’t know the first thing about bull riding, aside from the little clips I’d seen on TV or online, but from what I did know, it was dangerous and hard and took guts.
Dad shook his head, letting out a weak laugh. “Yeah, and look where that landed him.”
My breath left me in a whoosh, his cold, callous, hateful words hitting me like a ton of bricks. It was my turn to shake my head. “I can’t believe you just said that.” Each word was slow,measured, and quaked with so much emotion I couldn’t quite figure out which it was more of—fury, disbelief, hurt, sadness. “How could you say something so—” A tear fell down my cheek. “So fucking horrible?” I shook my head, my vision blurring as I glared at him.
If only Mom were here. I could envision it now. Mom would glare at him, hiss out his name, and give him a ration of shit until she’d talked some sense into him. It didn’t matter if there was an audience or not, she’d put him in his place if he was out of line. God, I wished she was here still.
My dad sputtered for a reply, but I cut him off. “Mom would be so disappointed in you,” I choked out, stomping down the steps.
“Qu-Queenie. Quinn, please.” His words wobbled and wavered. I’d cut deep.Good. Maybe he’d start to get his head out of his ass. My dad had always been a bit grandiose, materialistic, enamored by bright, new, shiny things. But he had a good heart—I knew he did. Right now, he wasn’t acting like it, and I had no doubt I knew at least part of the reason why. It was a five foot something bleached blonde bimbo whose mind was smaller than her goddamn daisy dukes.
And I’m supposed to plan their wedding.
One crisis at a time though, right? I needed to get away. Blow off some steam. Anything as long as it was far, far away from my dad. As if summoned by my thoughts, Whit appeared, walking up the driveway from the direction of the hands’ bunkhouse as I walked toward it.
“Hey, girl! Oh—” Her bright smile faltered. “What’s going on?”
I noted her rumpled clothes from the night before, her bare feet and cowboy boots bundled in one hand with her loose bun piled atop her head. She was a whole hot mess of a vibe, and somehow she still managed to rock the hell out of it.
Confidence, she’d probably say. I swear, if I could bottle it up and drink it by the gallons I would. I could use a bit of her confidence.
“Wanna grab coffee?” I asked.
She offered me a soft, reassuring smile. “Let’s go.”
You’d think finding aplace to grab coffee would be easy enough, but not at seven in the morning on a Sunday. We’d finally found a place—a little hole in the wall called Sunshine’s that was only open for breakfast and lunch. It had a cheery vibe, with black and white checkered tables and a sunshine and bee painted mural on both of the main walls. Sunflower arrangements sat on each of the tables while soft country ballads played in the background.
It was an adorable aesthetic, but all it seemed to do was mock me and my terrible mood as I sat across from Whitt.
“I can’t believe your dad was being such a dick,” Whit said, scooping a spoonful of oatmeal into her mouth. I bit back a gag and took a sip of my iced coffee. I understood Whit’s healthy food journey, and I was all in support, but oatmeal was just one of those things I’d never be on board with. I’d rather die than eat it. Seriously.
I’d told her about how Dad had caught Hux and I on the front porch and the argument that ensued after.
