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Most of it is nothing but stupid fliers and junk, but one envelope grabs my attention. The handwriting is neat and is addressed to my nickname instead of my formal name.
I open it and pull out a single sheet of paper. The curly handwriting matches the front.
Diesel,
My sister, Chelsea, didn’t want me to contact you, but I feel it’s your right to know that she gave birth to a little boy named Dawson, and I believe he’s yours. She could really use your help right now. If you could, please call me.
-Laurel
There’s a phone number and name at the bottom, and all I can do is laugh. I’m ready to throw it in the trash because this seems like something Riley would do, especially after I bragged about how cute his son is to everyone. Word around the ranch travels fast, and I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s trying to pull my leg or something.
I set it on the coffee table, kick off my boots, and end up falling asleep on the couch. Hours later, I wake up to pounding on my front door. Disoriented and a bit confused, I roll over and land on the hardwood floor, then look up and realize I’m home. When the knocking continues, I stand, unsteady on my feet, and open the door to see Grayson’s smiling face.
“What?” I ask.
“It’s time to go to work, ya big dumbass. It’s five,” he says, pulling his phone from his pocket and shining the bright screen in my face. “And you look like shit.”
“I drank too much…again,” I mutter, needing to brush my teeth because the nasty taste in my mouth makes me want to vomit.
“I know, I was there. You have five minutes. We gotta go, or Alex is gonna be pissed.” Grayson snaps his fingers, and I’m two seconds from shutting the door in his face and going back to sleep. Instead, I get dressed and cleaned up, take some headache meds, and before I follow him out, I grab the letter from the coffee table and shove it into my pocket. I thought I’d imagined it all but guess not.
I need a gallon of coffee and a bottle of ibuprofen, and the sun hasn’t even risen yet.
When we pull up to the B&B, I say a little prayer that today won’t be too hard. I should learn my lesson about not going to the bar on a weeknight, but until I start dry-heaving next to the boss, I might not.
“Damn, Diesel. You sure you’re okay?” Grayson asks, actually looking worried.
Wiping my mouth with the back of my hand, I suck in a deep breath. “Yep. I’m good,” I lie. I feel like a giant sack of shit, and considering it’s supposed to be well over a hundred degrees today, it’s not gonna get any better. The heat always makes my hangovers worse.
Grayson pats me on the back, and we walk inside the shop. Alex is kicked back in a chair with his feet on the desk, sipping his coffee.
“Mornin’,” Alex greets. He’s had a permanent grin on his face since becoming a pawpaw. If I wanted to try to get away with anything, now would be the time because he’s been in such a good mood. I break out into a cold sweat.
Alex notices as he goes through our schedule today. “You okay?”
I nod, walking to the fridge and grabbing a cold bottle of water and taking a long sip. “Yeah, I think I’m just hungry.” I can’t remember the last time I ate, which might legitimately be a part of the problem.
“Well shit, go to the B&B and eat. You know what needs to be done now.”
Grayson agrees. “Yeah, and if you don’t feel any better, I can take over and let everyone know.”
“Hell no. Duties need to be done, rain or shine,” I argue.
“Hungover or not.” Alex shrugs. “Been there. Sucks, but all of our choices have consequences. I gotta hand it to you, though, at least you were on time.”
Grayson looks at me. “You’re welcome.”
“Shut the hell up.” I grunt.
Alex glances back and forth between us. “You better get going before I change my mind and give you tomorrow’s chore list too.”
“Not needed,” Grayson says as we leave.
When we get into the truck, Grayson cranks it and backs out. “Maybe next time you’re on beer eight, you’ll stop drinking before ordering two shots. Don’t you know the rule? Beer before liquor, never been sicker.”
I close my eyes. “Once I eat, I’ll be good to go.”
As soon as we arrive at the B&B and walk inside, I smell the homemade bread. My mouth waters as we help ourselves to the buffet. Before I sit with my plate stacked high, Maize comes around the corner glaring at me.
“That’s for the guests,” she says with her arms crossed.
