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“He knows how to drive in these conditions; I can’t believe it’s that simple. Besides, it’s not even winter yet.”
Charlotte shrugged. “He said his brakes weren’t working, but Zander is employed at the garage and had the car towed in. He said they were fine.”
“He’s been busy with work... preoccupied.” Mary Howard placed a full bowl of oatmeal in front of Dylan, and his stomach revolted. He’d not touched oatmeal since he’d left Ryker, after having it every day for breakfast for close to sixteen years. He remembered that too; she never took no for an answer when in her mind it was yes.
“Now you eat this, every last mouthful. It’s good for you.”
Dylan looked at his sister, and saw a flash of something, a memory of their mother saying those exact words, but then it was gone and she was composed once more.
So he sat there at the kitchen table, in the room that held so many memories, and not all of them bad, and ate the oatmeal that he covered liberally in sugar and flooded in milk.
He remembered his father winking at him as his mom went at him for something. His sisters teasing him, so he’d do the same back and sometimes make them cry. He let his eyes stray to Charlie and his mother briefly. Why did he suddenly feel sad about the distance between them? He pushed aside his bowl.
Staying away from Ryker Falls was the life he’d chosen. The life Mary Howard had forced him into, and he’d never tried to change that.
Getting out of his chair, he placed his bowl in the sink and then made for the door.
“Where are you going?” his mother asked.
“I need to see Dad. I’ll be back later.”
“I’m making pot roast.”
“Okay.”
As Dylan walked out the door and down to his car he couldn’t remember the last time anyone had made him pot roast, and wasn’t entirely sure how he felt about that.
Chapter 3
Piper stalked into Apple Sours, her cousin Joe’s bar. The day hadn’t improved since arriving home, and she needed a drink.
Going for a ride in her current mood probably hadn’t been the best move, but she’d hoped the fresh air would clear her head. Instead she’d been kicked in the thigh for her troubles by Jack’s new colt. Her cousin had picked her up off the ground, dusted her off, and told her she should have known better than to get that close to him when she’d been warned not to. She had known, but it hadn’t helped to have that pointed out, so she’d snarled something at him and left the stables without a ride.
“You bring that face in here and you’ll turn away business.”
“Ha.” Piper slid onto a stool and looked at the couple behind the bar.
Joe Trainer, big, once bad, and handsome. The eldest of the three Trainer boys. Now reformed, he’d been brought to his knees by the beautiful blonde at his side. Both had been harboring scars inflicted by family and were now healing. Their love, Piper had to admit, was a wonderful thing.
Bailey had entered the family with minimal disturbance, and Piper certainly hadn’t minded having another female for the protective Trainers to watch over.
“What’s up, sweet cheeks?” Joe brushed a hand down Bailey’s back as he passed her to reach Piper. He then did the same to her.
“Hit me.”
“With what?” Joe frowned.
“Bourbon, straight up.”
“You don’t drink bourbon. Last time you puked up on the seats of Jack’s pickup. Really pissed him off too, because it took ages to get the stench out.”
Piper let her eyes run over the spirits behind him.
“Rum, then.”
Joe shook his head and leaned closer. “You hate rum. Remember that time when you were eighteen—”
“Jesus, Joe. Those guys in the movies don’t get this much grief when they walk into a bar and order a shot straight up,” Piper fumed. “Give me my moment here!”
