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Grabbing a curry comb from the basket hanging under the whiteboard, I open the door and step into Violet’s stall. She bats at my shoulder with her nose, nudging me. This is love. There’s nothing like it. Starting on her face, I brush every inch of her while she stands next to me, making soft neighing sounds of pleasure.
After hiding out in the barn until I have just enough time to get back up to the house by seven, I say goodbye to Violet and the other horses—even Jensen’s massive stallion named Thor, who I’m a little bit scared of—give everyone one last molasses cookie for the road, and then close the barn doors. Jensen has a way with horses. They worship him. But the rest of us keep a respectful distance from Thor most of the time.
When I get back up to the old farmhouse, everyone’s already seated at the big oak kitchen table, except Jameson. And there’s two empty seats left. Right next to each other. Seriously, fuck my life.
The Waters’ kitchen is almost as familiar to me as my own. From the butter yellow cupboards to the well-worn butcher block counters to the chicken décor roaming on every available surface, every part of this kitchen feels like home to me. I spent nearly as many dinners here as I did at home growing up. Jacks and I were basically tied together at the hip, and I was always out here to see Violet.
A rainbow of plaid is on display tonight. My Grams could have made a patchwork quilt out of all the different plaid fabrics represented at this table. Every single man present is wearing some variation of jeans, a t-shirt, and a plaid shirt.
“Sorry! I lost track of time with Violet. Just let me wash up. And don’t wait for me.”
“Of course, we’re waiting for you. We’re not animals,” Jameson mutters from where he’s standing next to the stove.
Narrowing my eyes, I give him a big smile. “Could have fooled me, kid.”
When everyone at the table laughs at Jameson, I almost feel bad for being a bitch to him. Almost, but not quite. He deserves this and a hell of a lot more than this.
After washing my hands, I walk over to take my seat at the table between Jasper and Jameson. He was apparently busy while I washed up, bringing dinner over to the table. He made a roast chicken, roasted root vegetables and potatoes, and a spinach salad. It all looks amazing, which pisses me off even more.
Jameson slowly slides my chair out with his foot, so I can sit down. And I want to kick him for his trouble. Or at least stomp on his foot. But I decide to take the high road and just ignore him.
Because I’m the only woman here, they offer every single dish to me first. Mrs. Waters really hammered home the manners with these boys.
“No chicken for me, thanks. I’m trying out being a vegetarian. Selena’s influence.”
There are a few groans and come ons, but Jameson butts in. “Just means that there’s more for the rest of us. Can’t complain about that.”
Then he heaps an extra spoonful of root vegetables onto my plate. “Just wish you’d told me, so I could have made something special for you.”
I need to remember to tell people I’m a vegetarian now before I go places. But not Jameson. I will remember to tell anyone and everyone else, but I don’t need him making me anything special. I don’t want him doing anything for me. I don’t want him even thinking about me.
Dinner surrounded by the Waters boys is so much a part of my childhood and my life now that I can’t help but feel the tension inside me ease a little. I could almost forget how pissed I am at the man sitting next to me. But not quite. Because I’m really freaking angry at him.
In an effort not to make another mistake and let my guard down with Jameson, I shift in my chair and turn towards Jasper.
In retaliation, a warm thigh presses against my leg. And it’s not Jasper’s.
I shift like I’m trying to get away from something uncomfortable, but the offending thigh doesn’t move. Warm muscle wrapped in blue denim presses into my bare thigh the entire night. Every time I shift or squirm, he only gets closer and takes up more space.
I don’t escape Jameson or his muscular freaking thigh until I get up to help with the dishes. Mrs. Waters’ rule was always that if you cooked, then you didn’t do the dishes. So, doing dishes is the only sure-fire way I have to get away from Jameson right now. I’ve never been so grateful to do dishes in my entire life.
chapter fourteen
jameson
Lily looks so beautiful tonight. Wearing one of the short, high-necked dresses she always wears. This one has horses on a yellow background. Jacks calls them her grandma dresses. But Lily doesn’t look like any grandma I’ve ever seen. The high neck isn’t doing anything to hide how big her perfect tits are. She looks sexy as fuck in this dress. Or in jean shorts. Or whatever else she wears.
She always looks pretty like this. But I wish she’d worn something different tonight, so I’d know she was trying to torture me. Because if she was trying to torture me, then I’d know that she cares. That she’s thinking about me.
This shutting me out is fucking killing me. The one thing Lily Wilson isn’t is cold. She’s warm and sweet. Fiery when she’s sassing me or when she’s pissed about something. An inferno when she fucks me. But she’s never cold.
Lily and my brothers do the dinner dishes before dessert, and it kills me staying all the way on the other side of the kitchen and watching her as she jokes and laughs with my brothers and not me. I should be right next to her, with her pressed into my side.
When the dishes are done, I put the apple crumble I threw together in the oven to warm up. I can’t bake, but I can assemble, and that’s all crumble is. It’s not apple pie, but it will have to do for now.
When I’m distracted in the kitchen, Lily disappears on me. Her truck’s still out front, and she’s already been down to the barn to see Violet. Since we have about fifteen minutes before dessert’s ready, I walk around the wide porch that stretches all the way around the house, looking for her. I find her standing at the fence of my mom’s vegetable garden.
Do any of us ever thank Lily for taking care of it for us? We don’t need the steady stream of vegetables that end up on the kitchen counter or in the backs of our trucks all summer long. But every time I see my mom’s vegetable garden, beautiful and well-cared for, it puts a smile on my face. That’s what we need. And Lily gives it to all of us without being asked to or thanked for it.
