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“I was thinking maybe a few of you can mark the area first, then half of you start on the east side. Eventually, we’ll meet in the middle.”
“Sounds like a good plan,” he says. I’ve had some time to think about it because Alex had mentioned it last week in passing.
“You think you can get everyone started? I wanna go check on Riley after breakfast. I’ll grab some keys to a side-by-side and meet you out there when I’m done.”
“Sure thing,” Grayson says around a mouthful.
Once we finish eating, Grayson sits back and pats his stomach. “Damn, that woman can cook.”
“Right?” I grin. “She should open a restaurant, but this is much better because then I can eat for free.”
Grayson chuckles. “If we keep eating triple amounts of food, she might start charging us or really kickin’ our asses. The woman hates us.”
“Comes with the territory.” I shrug, not that worried. “But if she did that, I’d call her grandma and snitch because Mrs. B told me I could eat here anytime I wanted,” I explain. “And no one crosses Grandma Bishop. Not even her own kids and especially not her grandkids.”
I stand and pick up our extra plates and place them in the dirty dish tub. We say good morning to John and walk out the back door before he has the chance to give us a hard time.
“See you in an hour?” Grayson asks as I look out at the rolling hills, feeling slightly human again after eating some carbs.
“Yep, an hour should be good. Hey, after work, can you take me to the bar to get my truck?”
“Yeah, not a problem, boss.” He nods, and we go our separate ways.
Walking to the shed, I grab the keys to a four-wheeler and climb on. It takes no time to get to Riley’s house. Even though he’s not working at the moment, he keeps his early morning schedule to help take care of the baby or spoil his wife with breakfast. We’ve been waking up at the butt crack of dawn since we were teenagers. Chores had to be done, which meant rising early, and it’s hard to reset an internal clock after that long.
I lightly knock on his front door, and within seconds, Riley opens it and lets me in. He rushes back to the kitchen where he’s cooking. I glance around and notice all the lights in the house are off except in this room, which means he’s the only one awake. Every move we make seems amplified, or maybe that’s just my hangover.
“So what’s up? You’re visitin’ early,” Riley says as he pours oatmeal into a boiling pot of water.
I pull the letter from my pocket, grinning like an idiot before I sit. “You almost got me.”
Riley looks confused. “What’re you talkin’ about?”
I pick up the envelope and tap it against the table. “This.”
His forehead creases. “I really don’t know what that is.”
Riley comes over, and I hand it over. He takes the paper out and reads it. “I didn’t send you this.”
“Shut up.” I laugh. “You really don’t have to keep up the act.”
The look on his face is pure seriousness. “I swear to you on my great-grandfather’s grave, Diesel. I didn’t send it.”
It only takes seconds for my smile to fade. Riley never jokes around about family like that. I take off my cowboy hat and set it down before running my fingers through my hair.
“You want something to drink?” he asks as the blood drains from my face.
“Is it too early for whiskey?” I glance up at him.
He pulls out a bottle of Jack Daniel’s from the cabinet, and I shake my head, wanting to puke just from looking at the liquid. “I’ll take some coffee instead.”
A mug is set in front of me, and Riley hands the envelope back. “Did you call the number?”
“No, because I thought this shit was a joke,” I admit.
“Chelsea. Chelsea,” Riley repeats. “Wasn’t that the chick’s name from Vegas?”
I think back to my birthday nearly two and a half years ago and try to refresh my memory. “I don’t remember.” Sadly, I don’t even remember what she looks like either, but I don’t say that out loud.
He begins plating food. “Did you wear protection?”
“I always wear protection. There’s no doubt about that.”
Riley shrugs. “If you know for a fact you wore protection, then I wouldn’t worry about it until she comes knocking on your door with a kid in tow. You know? If she’d have sex with you after one night, then you probably weren’t the only person she slept with at the time she got pregnant. You weren’t exclusive or anything. Hell, you didn’t even exchange numbers.”
“Right,” I agree, tucking the letter back in my pocket.
“I’m sure it’s nothing,” Riley encourages. I push the thoughts away and refuse to give it any more of my attention.
