Page 28 of Slow Burn

“I said no.” It comes out more abrupt than I’m intending, and Skye’s eyes drop to her lap.

Fuck. I know she’s sensitive, and she’s just trying to help. “We have other options,” I say, softening the hard edges of my tone.

“Then you better hope Lyla is a goddamned miracle worker,” my dad says.

I have to hold back from saying the words that are simmering beneath the surface.

Lyla wouldn’t hold back. At least, she wouldn’t have in the past. But now? I don’t know anymore, her spark has been dimmed a little, and it’s been bothering me since our ride today. Since she admitted to me that she’s “working on it”, that she thinks she’s too much.

But she’s not. She’s just enough. She’s everything.

“Speaking of, where is Lyla tonight?” My dad asks before shoving a mouthful of steak into his mouth.

“Probably enjoying a night of solitude in the guest house,” I answer coolly.

What I wouldn’t give for a night of solitude. Instead, I’m getting the third degree from my family who has no business grilling me like this. I cut my steak, my knife scratching against my plate until I think the ceramic might break.

“What do you mean? You didn’t invite her?” He places his cutlery down on the plate and glares at me, as if he couldn’t have invited her himself. He also saw Lyla today, she did him a favour. He’s been having a harder time getting around these days, and can no longer drive himself to appointments. Normally I’m the one who takes him, but he forgot to tell me about it today.

“Bosses don’t typically invite their employees to family dinners,” I deflect. Truth is, I didn’t invite Lyla because we already spent enough time together, and it did nothing to staunch the crush I have.

“Lyla is more than an employee. She’s practically family. I raised you to have more hospitality than that.”

The disappointment in my dad’s voice stings. All the shit I put up with, everything I do around here, it still never measures up.

“I can be hospitable,“ I practically growl.

Skye and Nash burst into laughter at the clear irony between the words and my tone, so I shove my chair out from the table, feet scraping against the floor, and take my plate into the kitchen.

Light footsteps pad in behind me a moment later, and I don’t have to look to know it’s Skye. She wordlessly sets the rest of the dishes down on the counter next to me as I stare into the soapy bubbles filling the sink.

“I hate seeing you like this,” she says, her eyes glassy. “All stoic and walled off. You don’t feel like my older brother.”

Skye has a point. I’m not the same as I once was, getting into all kinds of trouble with Austin. While I’m glad I didn’t follow in his footsteps–I don’t exactly care to get tangled up with the law–I do wish I could lighten up sometimes. Have a little more fun.

“I’m doing what I have to,” I answer.

Head down, blinders on, until I get business sorted. Then I can relax. At least, that’s what I’ve been telling myself. I can relax when, I can have fun when. But when has been a distant speck in the future for the last two years. Ever since Dad’s health went downhill. Congestive heart failure, while in the early stages, means that he has to be careful how much he exerts himself.

“Just don’t forget about the people who love you, who care about you.” Skye’s voice is quiet, and when I dare to look at her face, my chest pinches at the sight of those big blue shrink wrapped eyes. “I really do want to help, you know. I’d give you money for the ranch in a heartbeat.”

I reach out and squeeze her arm, and gently flick her nose with my index finger the way I used to when we were kids. She can’t help the smile that lifts the corners of her mouth.

“I know. And I love you so much for that, Skye,” I say. “But I won’t do it. That money is yours. Wild Sage isn’t your dream, and Sage Valley isn’t your forever. Put it in savings for something that really matters to you.”

She nods in acceptance and I watch her retreat from the kitchen. The front door opens and shuts a moment later. Then, I’m all alone, the only sounds of Dad moving around in the living room, settling in to watch his shows.

From where I’m standing at the kitchen sink, I can look out to the yard, across the lawn where Lyla does her morning yoga, over to the house she’s occupying.

There’s a light on in the bedroom, and I stop myself from imagining what Lyla does when she’s alone at night. I wonder if she’s ever lonely. She’s on her own a lot, and alluded to the fact that she’s never truly had a partner. Not even in the city.

Personally, I hate the thought of living in the city. The hustle and bustle in place of slow living, and concrete in place of tall grass, skyscrapers shadowing the streets in place of open skies. No one ever caring to get to know you. Not like in Sage Valley.

Some would argue that small towns feel suffocating, but me, I feel free. Free if it weren’t for the crushing weight of the responsibility of the ranch.

I felt some of that weight ease today, with Lyla. I felt more like myself, even though the situation with the fence was worse than I anticipated.

But I should have invited her to dinner. She’s living on the property, two acres away, and she’s having dinner alone. After she opened up to me and told me how she thinks people are put off by her emotions. I meant what I told her, that no man would run from her feelings. So where does that leave me? What kind of man does that make me if I shut her out because I can’t control my feelings?