“This is going to be a process,” Weston comments as he kicks over some debris.
We got the all-clear to come in today now that the ATF has finished its investigation. Not that it did any good. They found absolutely nothing. Not even a partial print on the lighter that was rigged to ignite as soon as we opened the door.
A moment I’ve been reliving in horrific detail every time I close my eyes.
It should have blown right when we opened the door.
Thank God it didn’t, because Anastasia would have been killed. She was far enough in that the explosion would have siphoned the light out of her. When I close my eyes, that’s what I see. Her lying on the pavement, bloodied and broken, eyes frozen open.
I kick a piece of debris and shake my head.
Why did this happen?
Why is this happening?
“You good?” Weston questions.
“Yeah, I’ll be fine. I need to make some phone calls, see if I can get someone in to come clear up this debris.” Thankfully, I have enough in savings to last three years without the shop’s income. Bad news is, even with insurance, this and paying my employees a base salary will likely eat through most of it. Could be worse. More money can be earned.
“I can get the guys who removed that old barn from the ranch out here. They were fast and fair. Whatever they can get for scrapping the metal, they take off your final bill.”
“That would be great, Weston, thanks.”
“No problem.” He walks over the rubble to come back near me. “How is everything else going?” The awkwardness in his voice brings a smile to my face, and I turn to face him.
“Well, Mr. Hayes, are you about to inquire about my intentions with a certain coffee shop owner?”
He glares at me. “Not when you put it like that.”
Chuckling, I reach down and lift a piece of what was once my favorite coffee mug. Anastasia had bought it for me when she caught me drinking out of a paper cup in my break room. According to her, every good business owner has a real coffee cup in their possession at all times. The broken shard has part of an S and all of an FL just below, but the rest of the mug that once read ‘Starter Fluid’ is nowhere to be found.
Which just drowns my mood even further.
“I care about her—a lot.”
“Do you love her?”
The question is pointed—just like Cowboy. I turn toward him and pocket the piece of jagged porcelain, unable to let it go even though it’s not anywhere close to salvageable. “Yes.”
“Good.” Weston moves past me.
“That’s it?”
“That’s all I need to know.”
“You know, you and Zane make a great good-brother, bad-brother.”
He chuckles. “Anastasia is important to us.”
“She is to me, too.”
“I know. Which is why I have no intention of breaking your legs should you hurt her.”
“Oh?”
“Nah, I’ll just snap a few fingers.” He grins at me, and I roll my eyes.
“I’ve seen your softer side, Cowboy. You don’t scare me.”
