Page 11 of Drifter’s Heart

My thumbs rub across the back of her hands, rough from her job, rough from looking after Sally single-handedly. This woman works her ass off every damn day and I respect the hell out of her for that. I just don’t want to see her so exhausted because she doesn’t have time to sleep with everything else.

“Because I wanted to.” I shrug. “I know you won’t take the help your brother gives you.”

“That money is for Sally when she gets older. I keep her inheritance away in the trust like I’m supposed to.”

I risk brushing her hair back off her face, resting the heel of my palm on her cheek. She freezes but then leans into the touch. My heart bounces a little harder in my chest. “You’re supposed to look after your daughter, Winnie. And he wants the best for you too.”

“He’s an asshole,” she grumbles, though there’s no heat in her complaint.

“He is,” I agree.

She looks up at me. “I thought we never agreed on anything.”

“We can have that one thing.” I squeeze her hands. “If you’re gonna burn the candle at both ends, I’m gonna be there to catch you before you fall.”

Her breath hitches, and pressure returns my grasp.

I smirk, knowing I’ve gotten to her. Pulling away, I lean in close enough to brush my lips over her ear when I speak. “Eat the sandwiches, Rand.”

I’m halfway out of her townhouse when she calls me back. “That’s two things!”

I grin to myself and step out into the night.

FOUR

WINNIE

Uniforms and Chicken Salad Sandwiches

Working my shift is a terrible idea. My head runs through a chaotic stream of consciousness I can barely keep steady on a caffeinated day. This week has been a shit show of emergency calls. From an overdue year’s worth of deep and meaningful catchups with my still semi-estranged brother—that relationship with Cordell didn’t last long after Lanie’s absence in my house once she moved to Coyote Falls permanently—to me cussing myself out for not taking bigger steps to breaking down the barrier myself.

Can I have my own hotline?

West has always been my brother’s prime confidant. Talking to him about the ranch’s future without West present is a new pedestal I’m not sure I want to be on. I’m still angry with myself for missing that Cord’s best friend hasn’t been present over the last few months.

Seeing West again leaves me aching for a part of my life I thought I’d shut away when I decided I could do without all things rugged, brooding cowboy. My decision to be anti-Cord lasted three whole months, but his influence has been intermittent at best. A phone call here, dropping in to Sally’s school to donate a new wing or sporting field there.

Do not touch my hospital, brother boy. Not that I get a whole lot of control. Then there’s the increasing amount of assignments and extracurricular activities on the offspring front. I love that Sally gets to do more, even if I hate how much has changed now that Cord is back in our lives. Not that I hate him… just… ugh. The mess of my hyperactive, fussing brother, always.

I’ve never called in sick in the nine years after having Sally, and I’m not about to start today. I do make the choice not to drive due to my fatigue. That West was right irks me.

“You should absolutely not be here today,” Eddie, my copilot for the day, points out two hours before our shift is due to end.

“Yeah, I know.” I yawn from the passenger seat, where I’ve sunk to the level of the dash and am on my third taco of the day. I’ve spent the afternoon drifting between daydreams of sassy cowboys and stoic ones, all bearing West’s build but a face I can’t quite discern, and I still can’t decide which sort I prefer best. “But I made it. We made it. Then we shall go home and sleep.”

“Amen to that, sister.” Eddie flashes me a smile that doesn’t fool me. He’s got the words and the moves. The boy is a manwhore who can tell me off all he likes. He’ll be out on the town looking for a fresh distraction to fill the void of our social lives during the shifts that consume every heartbeat in between.

Which is how we like it, most of the time. It’s during those few quiet hours between when everyone else is asleep that the doubts slip in and the world sucks sometimes. Those hours are rare, and usually forcibly sober.

Like last week, after West left. I didn’t end up getting any sleep at all, but I hit my alarm before it went off at five a.m., dressed warm, and ran my behind off around the same city blocks he drove me home through a handful of hours before. I called it therapy.

I suspected he’d call it city duck-butt bullshit. In retrospect, he’s probably right. Nor have I had a decent night’s sleep since. I’ve been calling it the West Curse.

“So you made it,” Eddie points out, bringing me back from my tangenting. The farther the afternoon drags on, the worse I get. “You know that means that you’re driving tomorrow, and I get to be sidecar bitch.”

“Fine, come in hungover. I don’t care,” I mumble, prying my eyelids open to study a woman shuffling along the sidewalk in her dressing gown.

“Excellent. There’s a new club I want to try tonight. It’s on Feldman. Have you been there?” He looks at me, and I know there’s an open invitation on the table.