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Fuck. Why is it always my mother’s voice I hear when things in my life go sideways? Her terrible advice is half the reason I’m in this mess to begin with.
Pull your shit together, asshole. I’m here to see my friend. I don’t need an excuse for that, and I sure as hell don’t need to put on a show.
I swipe a hand down my face, shake off the hesitation, and jump out of my truck.
Mack’s house is a small brick bungalow, right in the heart of town and only a few blocks from the rental where Lacy and I got frisky. It’s nothing like the sprawling ranch he grew up on, and it’s about ten times too small for a man of his size. Yet somehow, with its painted shutters, smoking chimney, and lights strung along the eaves, it suits him.
And even though he spends most of his time working at Canyon Spring, and living on-site with our other hands when things are extra busy, this place is warm and welcoming. A home built for a family. Perfect for a guy like Mack, who’ll one day make a great dad, I bet.
Not like me. I’m the kind of man who was born to be a bull. Molded to be a relentless sonuvabitch who stops at nothing to get his own way. I’ve got no ability to compromise or make nice when things don’t go according to my plan.
Yeah, I’m a fucking delight, and about the furthest thing from decent dad material as you can get.
Yet, Lacy said those words and she meant them.I know you’ll be a good father. But how? How the hell could I ever be when it turns out I’m a perfect replica of Pa?
This whole time I’ve prided myself on being shrewd enough to win the head seat of Canyon Spring and to always stay one step ahead of my competition–no matter who that might be. I thought I was smart enough to win over Lacy this way too.
But the truth is, just like Pa, I’ve cheated, lied, blackmailed, and tried to solve every problem with money. I demand respect instead of earning it, and act as if I’m king of the damn county. I can’t be trusted.
Hell, I couldn’t even keep a simple promise to the most important person in my world. And now I’ve lost her.
Although…Fuck… Did I ever have her to begin with?
My mind’s too scrambled to sort it out, which is why I’m here. I need a new perspective. A fresh set of eyes to help me figure my shit out. If it’s even possible to resolve the chaos I’ve created.
“Ridge, hey… What are you doing here?” Mack towers over me from inside his foyer, his neck turning a shade of crimson that almost matches his hair.
What the hell is he blushing about?
“Thought I’d come by, drink a beer with my best bud, and catch up, but if it’s a bad time…”
“Nah, not a bad time at all.” His eyes dart to the adjacent room, just out of my line of sight, and color creeps farther up his face.
Liar. But how fucking odd is that? Mack is many things—mostly, a soft-hearted idiot—but I’ve never known him to lie. Especially not to me.
“Come on in.” He opens the door wider and steps back, gesturing for me to follow. “Was there something on your mind?”
“Actually, yeah…” My words stall as I step into the front hallway and spy Laken through the doorway, sitting on the living room couch. Glancing back over my shoulder, I see her truck parked on the street, right in front of the house.
Christ, I was so caught up in the haze of my own bullshit, I didn’t even notice.
As though by reflex, my hand clamps down on Mack’s arm, stopping him in his tracks. My teeth grind together, and my blood pressure spikes.
“What the fuck is my sister doing here?”
With a quick flash of his gaze her way again, he shakes his head. “I have no clue. She showed up about thirty minutes ago and has talked my ear off about a horse she wants to buy. I’m not sure why. Maybe she thought you were too busy to consult about it?”
With a deep sigh, I release my stranglehold on his arm and whirl to face my little sister. “Laken!”
She jumps at the boom of my voice, her hands skittering over her lap to smooth down her skirt. When was the last time I saw her in anything other than denim?
“Ridge, hi. How are you?” Her smile is bright, highlighted by the pink lipstick she’s wearing, and she bats her tinted lashes at me.
She’s wearing makeup. A skirt and fucking makeup. My rough and tumble little sister looks a bit like a pageant queen—polished and sophisticated. She’s beautiful. And young. Really fucking young.
What’s the worst part of this scene—my sister’s obvious attempts to attract my best friend or his complete obliviousness to it?
Either way, it’s a problem. One I’ll need to nip in the bud before it has a chance to blossom. Hell, the ten-year age gap alone is enough to make Pa roll over in his grave.
