Page 28 of Saddle Storm

She lifts the latch and swings her head back. “It’s for your sneakers, isn’t it?”

I drop my head to them, licking my bottom lip and grinning.

“Figures,” she mutters with a grin and steps back into the ring.

How’s it possible to feel like you got somewhere and nowhere with someone at the same time? I shake my head wondering what I could have done or said differently as I step inside Wilder’s house. But the truth is, nothing. My options were lie—which I don’t do well, therefore not at all. Or tell her that her dad made it very clear I was to stay away from her. That I’d already got one foot out the door and was bound to confuse and hurt her along the way. And because I was already struggling with belonging and self-worth—I didn’t fight him on it.

Did I believe I was capable of hurting Storm? Of course not. She was my best friend. But there are just some people you don’t take that risk with.

And that risk went both ways.

After the ranch stopped feeling like mine, and her dad reminding me I didn’t belong, I wasn’t about to hang around long enough to hear it from her too.

I find Rose sitting on the edge of the dining-room table like she’s playing a game of chess. Place cards are spread out in front of her, each with ribbons and plastic gold rings tied to them. That same seating chart she’d been staring at since last night, and four different types of ribbon tied to her wrist. And if I were to guess, the weather app pulled up on her phone that she checks every hour for changes.

She rubs at her temples like she’s holding the whole thing together by a force of will.

“Let me guess,” I say, leaning against the doorway. “You’ve totally got this.”

She doesn’t look up. “If one more person asks me what time the ceremony actually starts, I’m eloping for them.”

I step closer, pick up the schedule she’d redrafted fourteen times in the past week. “You know it’s not your wedding, right?”

That gets her to glance at me, tired eyes flashing. “Tell that to the best friend I’m regretting ever asking to come visit me here last year.”

I pull up a chair. “You don’t mean that. Everything’s set, right?”

“It was, until Willow and Dallas started taking turns calling me with guest list changes. The Meyers aren’t coming, they’ve got a sick aunt in Buffalo. The Smiths want to bring their kids—but they’d like the kids to be at their table, not the kids’ table. Oh, and . . .” she lifts a card with a bitter laugh, “. . . both Mr. and Mrs. Greyson are still coming but they’re currently separated and would like to sit separately.” She looks at me with wide eyes. “What the hell am I supposed to do with that?”

I don’t recognize any of the names so I’m certainly not the one to help her. “I say you make the bride and groom work for their wedding.”

She sighs like she’s considered it. “Not with the new baby, I don’t want them stressing over this stuff.”

Like she’s found new determination, her eyes fixate on the chart again, her mind working.

“Hey . . .” I pull her attention away for a moment, if only to remind her to breathe. “When are you and my brother getting married? I see revenge in your future.” I wink. “Maybe plan the same excuse, if you know what I mean.”

She chuckles, shoulders relaxing just a fraction. “Ugh, planning a wedding for someone is like birth control for getting engaged.” She glances over my shoulder and smiles softly. “Pretty sure your brother feels the same.”

I turn, finding Wilder leaning against the back doorway, with his cowboy hat still firmly on, a hint of a grin laced with annoyance.

Rose stands. “Hey, who else do Mr. and Mrs. Greyson know that’s coming?”

His eyes flick upwards. “Mrs. Greyson can stay at the table you had them on. Move Mr. Greyson to sit with Dad—but might want to check with him first. The guy can be chatty.”

She sighs and lifts her phone. “Be right back.”

After a quick kiss at the doorway, Rose steps out back.

Wilder comes in and backhands my good bicep. “Hell’s the matter with you?”

“Ow.”

“You don’t ask a woman when her boyfriend’s gonna propose.”

“I was making a joke.” I grip my arm, stretching the weaker one. “But hey, if you’re not planning on it, think you ought to let her know that?” I tease.

He swings his head back. “Keep your voice down. Of course I’m planning on it. This Christmas as a matter of fact.”