Page 74 of Kicking Up Dust

Jamie clears his throat, sitting up a bit straighter in his chair, looking over at Maddox like he already knows he’ll have to intervene.

“Should probably get a DNA test before we go writing your kid into the inheritance is all,” he says, eyes finally meeting mine again.

Sometimes, I think my rage is a tangible thing. I can feel it coming on, like a fog that creeps in and coats my body. My muscles get stiff, my heart starts to pound as I curl my fingers into fists. Despite being able to feel it coming on and knowing the anger is irrationally excessive, I can’t ever seem to control it. It’s like I’m standing outside my body and watching it happen to someone else.

“The fuck are you trying to say, Maddox?” I spit out.

Jamie pushes back in his chair, but even he doesn’t interject this time. Blair’s hand squeezes my knee and I want her to stop touching me so goddamn badly, but I don’t dare push her away. I’ll never let my anger touch her. Never turn it on her.

“It’s just good business, Colton. Nothing against Blair. You just have no way of knowing for sure⁠—”

“I know for sure,” I interrupt. Blair had been so nervous about me not believing that the baby was mine, and hearing Maddox spit the same shit makes me want to rip his tongue out and force him to shut up so she doesn’t have to hear that toxicity again. I worked so hard to get Blair over those mental gymnastics and I won’t have my brother pushing her back into them.

Maddox sighs. “Then it doesn’t hurt to check, does it?”

“Colt, I told you from the beginning, I don’t mind⁠—”

“No,” I cut her off, not even bothering to take my eyes off Maddox. “You’re not going to fucking sit there and talk about the mother of my child that way. You’re not going to imply that my baby isn’t mine, and you’re not going to act like your say is the end-all-be-all of this fucking ranch. I know you shoved some kind of stick up your ass when Dad died, and I’ve been trying to make an effort to get along better with you since I came back, but I’m drawing the line here.”

Maddox’s face gets red, his eyes passing over to Mama with a look that tells me they’ve already discussed this. Is she on his side too? After the baby shower she helped me throw for Blair? After being so welcoming, and even over-the-top excited about having her first grandchild, she’s been talking behind our back about whether our baby was actually a Whittaker or not?

Blair’s hand leaves my knee to grab my arm, and it’s only then that I realize I’ve started to shake. I can’t do this. I can’t be here. I can’t be around her and let her see me this way, see the man I used to be.

I’ve got to leave.

I shove my chair back, standing up so fast it knocks backward. I don’t stop to pick it up, scared I’ll throw it across the room if I do. The screen door closes behind me as I walk out into the night and get in my truck.

THIRTY-NINE

BLAIR

32 Weeks

Baby is the size of a jug of horse treats

I’ve grown pretty used to being in places I’m not wanted. Home after home, family after family. It never gets any less awkward to know that the people in the room with you are biting their tongues and censoring their thoughts until you’re out of earshot.

The Whittakers had never made me feel that way, though. At least not before today. I knew baby bear would be loved by the family—or certain members of it, at least—whether she was a Whittaker or not. Clearly, they’d been trying to decide just how much they’d love her. There were certainly enough jokes made that June collected strays. Was my daughter a Whittaker or a stray? And regardless, what did that make me?

I help June clear the table and smile when she tries to apologize. The rest of the Whittakers congregate in the living room just like they did after any family get-together, but I don’t really feel welcome.

I want Colt. I don’t know where he’s gone or when he’ll be back, and I’m sure he would want me to stay put, but I can’t. Staying where I wasn’t wanted was way too anxiety-inducing for me, bringing up memories of my childhood that made me want to hurl.

“It’s not a far walk back to the cabin, I’ll be fine,” I tell Mama as I slip out the front door, despite her protests.

“Maddox didn’t mean to be harsh, sweetheart. He’s just very gruff.”

“No, I know. I’m not offended,” I lie, but she doesn’t know me well enough to see through me yet. The lump in my throat grows more solid-feeling, and I know I’ve gotta get out of here before I fall apart.

And before the sky does. There’s thunder in the distance and I know it’s coming this way. Every bad thing that’s ever happened to me has been on a night when it was raining and clearly, the universe has decided to continue with the tradition.

I make it to the barn before I have to slide down the side of it, clapping a hand over my mouth to try and force myself to breathe through my nose and slow down. It hurts. God, everything hurts. My heart. My throat. My stomach.

This feeling is what’s caused me to leave so many places. To act up enough that the foster family would ask for me to be removed from their home. To switch colleges, majors. To leave beds before my partners woke up.

The sky opens up, not even bothering to start out with a drizzle before deciding to soak the ranch. I should get up. Go inside the barn or back to the Big House. Maybe even try to make it to the cabin if I can. But I can’t slow my breathing. I can’t stop my racing thoughts, or the way my heart is trying to beat out of my chest.

A hand wraps around my upper arm and I jolt, snatching away in fear that only barely dissipates once I see Maddox standing there.