Page 68 of Saddle Storm

I told him to quit with the special treatment, but he argued that he feeds everyone on the ranch—why should Max be any different? That and he’d be offended if I chose school lunches over his custom-crafted menu.

I haven’t seen Silas since he left me in the small barn on Tuesday. With my heart and panties in his pocket.

Kept true to his word, he’s staying away.

And hell, I miss him.

It’s a warning, this tug in my heart. A reminder of why I asked him to stay away to begin with. Not just the attachment. But my secret.

But that was all before he told me what happened that night.

The thought triggers a memory.

My parents never told me Silas came looking for me. Sure, they were mad I ran off to that party, but why hadn’t it ever come up later?

I pick up the phone and call Wilder.

“Mornin’. You’re up early.”

“Hey boss, got a favor to ask. Is it all right if I head out around noon today, need to run an errand before picking up Max.”

There’s a pause before I hear him shuffling papers. “Uh . . . sure. I could shift some things around. Everything all right?”

I wince. “I’m sorry, I know it’s last minute. I’m fine, but I want to go see my dad over at the facility in Denver.”

“Ah, you’re in luck, Rose is headed over there today. She could take you.”

I release a breath. “That would be amazing.” Especially since I’m skeptical about my truck getting me there in one piece these days.

“I’ll let her know. How’s he doing anyway? Any news?”

“No progress last I checked, but thank you, I’ll find out more today.”

“Send him our best.”

I grin appreciatively even if Dad won’t be sending the same. “I will.”

My weekly visits have been like clockwork since he first moved into Denver Hospital’s long-term care facility. But between my work schedule and the time it takes to get here, I haven’t been able to make adjustments to the days I visit, the amount of time I spend there, and how often I bring Max. This just had to work.

Fluorescent lights hum overhead as I step out of the elevator and head to his private room. The smell of citrus cleaner and pungent disinfectants fill my senses. It’s quieter here than the common room downstairs, which is where they recommend Dad spend most of his days. But he’d rather be in his room, watching re-runs of old TV shows he and Mom used to watch.

I slow when I reach his door. It’s open as usual, and I hear him before I see him. His voice rough with irritation. His usual nurse stands at his bedside.

“Whose piss is that?”

“Tom, it’s apple juice, you know that.”

“I asked for coffee.”

“I heard you, but you’re getting apple juice or water. You’re allowed one cup of coffee a day.”

“You mean that shot glass you handed me earlier, Bridgett?”

She shakes her head and turns to the door.

“And I could put my own damn socks on, you know?” he calls after her.

She steps out and gives me a smile. “Hi, Storm.”