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Ted simply gaped at her, the wordsteacup pigletnot quite making sense in his mind. He started laughing, which definitely lightened the mood, and when she joined in, the moment turned into perfection.
* * *
Minutes and hourscombined together into days. Ted sat beside Emma in church, and he liked hanging out with her in her office in the heat of the afternoon. He kissed her every chance he got, because he still wasn’t sure he hadn’t been dreaming when it had happened the first time.
They didn’t go out again, because the next Friday night found him packing an extra set of clothes in a backpack for his trip to River Bay with Nate.
His lungs vibrated a little strangely as he folded his gym shorts and tucked them in the bag too. He couldn’t believe he was going back. He’d told himself for the years and years he’d lived in the dormitory that he would not go back once he left. He’d turn his back on the place and find a new path in the world.
“Hey,” Nate said, coming into Ted’s room. He glanced up from the items he’d laid on his bed. Nate hardly looked like the man Ted had bonded with in prison. With the cowboy hat and the facial hair, he definitely looked more rugged. More weathered. More western.
Ted knew that storm in Nate’s eyes, though. “What’s up?”
“Ginger says we can’t leave until the horses are fed in the morning.” Nate kept the frown on his face and looked over his shoulder. “And Connor’s downstairs crying his eyes out that he can’t come.”
“Then let him come,” Ted said. “It’s not that big of a deal.”
“It is to me,” Nate said quietly, and Ted heard the phantoms in his voice.
“He’ll have more fun here,” Ted said. “Spence is taking him to the beach, right?”
“Yes,” Nate said with a sigh. He sank into the armchair in the corner of Ted’s room. “He’ll be fine once we go. I just feel guilty.”
“Well, don’t,” Ted said, but he knew that was easy for him to say. He didn’t have a five-year-old crying about wanting to go to a prison. When Ted actually thought about it, the idea was ludicrous, but he’d met Connor long before Nate had been released to take care of him. Ward, Nate’s brother, had brought him to River Bay several times.
“And feeding the horses is fast,” Ted said. “We’ll go out early and together, we’ll get it done. Jess will finish whatever we don’t.”
“I want to leave by six-thirty,” Nate said. “I don’t want Dallas to think no one is coming. I want to be there before it even starts.”
“And we will be,” Ted said, sitting down on the bed and facing Nate. “What’s the real problem?”
“No real problem.” Nate’s gaze skated away from Ted.
“Sure,” Ted said sarcastically. “Because I’ve never seen you do that before.” He scoffed and shook his head. “You can’t keep a secret from me for long.”
“No, I can’t,” Nate said, but he still didn’t confess to what was bothering him. Ted had told him about his date with Emma last weekend, and he hadn’t needed to give all the details for Nate to know he’d kissed her, or that he was still worried about her, or that he wanted to help her.
Nate just knew Ted, and Ted knew Nate.
“I don’t want to go back there,” Ted finally said, breaking this new brand of silence between them. He looked up and met Nate’s eyes.
“That’s what I was going to say.”
“We’ll be okay, right?” Ted said. “They’re not going to handcuff me and toss me back in Unit NF?” The sentence came out as a question, all of Ted’s fears laid out between the two of them.
“No,” Nate said. “They won’t do that.”
“You’re authorized to be with me when I leave the ranch.” Ted needed to reassure himself. “Ginger knows where I’m going. Heck, I even texted my parole officer.” He hadn’t had a meeting with Martin Landy yet, but they’d texted to set something up. Ted had thought it prudent to let the man know where he was going, and with who, and for how long.
Martin had only responded with a few words about being with someone authorized to take him off the ranch.
“It’s going to be okay,” Nate said, and he clenched his jaw—another move Ted had seen from the man before. It was like he’d simply make up his mind that a situation would be a certain way, and that was that. It would be that way, because the mighty Nathaniel Mulbury had decreed it.
In this case, Ted sincerely hoped he was right. He drew in a deep breath and blew it out. “I’ll go talk to Connor.”
“I’ll text Ginger.”
Ted nodded and left his friend in the armchair. He had no idea how to talk to a crying child, and when he went downstairs, he found Spencer sitting on the couch, his feet up on the ottoman in front of him, the towheaded boy asleep against his chest.
