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Oh, she still came around—Bobbi loved Gramps and Dad as much as they all did—but she was moving on with her life and Bobbi deserved it.
Betty had moved on years ago, except her moving on had led her back here. Back to the beginning.
Pretty damn ironic.
Betty tossed her purse on the hall table and found her sister out back, sitting across Shane’s lap, his hands up her shirt and his tongue down her throat.
“Jesus, enough with the live sex show. I really don’t need to see that.”
Bobbi’s head popped up and, with a squeal, she slid from Shane’s lap, laughing as he tried to keep his hands up where they shouldn’t be.
“Hey,” Bobbi said, a husky note in her voice. “You’re back early.”
“Yeah, well I don’t feel so hot.” Betty frowned and glanced around. “Where’s Dad?”
“Napping.”
“Are you sure about that?” Betty retorted. “It’s not as if he won’t wander off while you two are out here feeling each other up.”
“Yep.” Bobbi pointed to the baby monitor they’d started using again. “Listen.”
Betty relaxed when the unmistakable sound of her father’s snores reached her ears. She flopped down in a low-slung lounge chair and leaned all the way back. “God, I wish I still drank.”
“Your day that bad?” Shane asked, as he too stood.
Betty lifted her head long enough to glance over to him. Shane Gallagher wore a pair of faded cargo shorts, slung way too low on his hips. His longish hair hung to his shoulders in waves and his jaw was shadowed with day old stubble. He was shirtless. Tanned. Ripped. Tattooed. And Hot.
And every single inch of him belonged to her sister, Bobbi.
Damn shame.
“Worse than you can imagine.”
Bobbi stretched like a cat, sidled up to Shane, and then settled her intense blue eyes on Betty. “This have anything to do with Beau Simon?”
“I don’t want to talk about him.”
“I’ll take that as a yes, then.”
“Bobbi,” Betty said in warning. “No.”
Bobbi’s mouth tightened and Betty feared her sister was going to ignore her request. Bobbi’s selective hearing was notorious.
“Seriously, Bobbi. I can’t take it. Not now.” Her voice cracked a little and she hung her head back, eyes closed.
God, she sounded as pathetic as she felt.
A few seconds went by and then she felt a gentle touch across her forehead. “I’m sorry,” Bobbi said softly.
“Yeah, me too.”
The wind whistled in the trees and Betty inhaled a hot, humid, shot of summer. The lilac bushes along the side of the house were still in bloom and the heavy scent hung in the air, making her remember things long past. A time when she had been happy.
“Dad asked for barbecued chicken, so I took out some breasts and they’re marinating in the fridge.” Bobbi’s voice was soothing, and, for just one second it felt like a whisper in her ear from long ago.
They’d been so young when their mother had passed, but sometimes Bobbi would turn a certain way or speak and just like that, Betty was transported back in time.
God, what would her mother think of the mess she’d made of her life?
