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“Yeah, I’m pretty sure he does.” Slate glanced at her. “He said you texted him today.”
“I did,” Jill said. “I know Hannah really well, and if he just gives her a couple of weeks, I’m sure he could then ask her, and she’d go out with him in a heartbeat.”
“He’ll be done with the cabins in another couple of months. He doesn’t want to stay at the ranch.”
“I’ve heard that too,” Jill said. “So maybe he won’t want to ask her out.”
“Maybe he will, and maybe he’ll fall for her fast, and then he won’t want to leave the ranch.” That was what Slate was hoping for actually, because he didn’t want to tell Lukehedidn’t want to leave the ranch. Luke knew already, but actually having to make the choice would be very difficult.
He pulled up to the fence and killed the engine. “This has been the single best birthday of my life.”
“It’s not over yet, cowboy,” she said, giggling as she opened her door. ‘I haven’t given you my gift yet.”
Slate stared after her, watching her slip from the truck and disappear into the darkness. “Jill,” he said, joining her outside. “Yes, you have. You gave me the sunrise this morning. Those amazing cinnamon rolls. The best kiss of my life. And a fantastic evening together.”
“The best kiss of your life, huh?” Jill prowled toward him, something in her hands. He had no idea where she’d gotten that box so fast.
“I know that wasn’t hiding in your dress,” he said, taking the box from her when she met him near the fencepost.
“It’s been in your truck all this time,” she said. “I put it there this afternoon when I got to the animal shelter.”
“Sly,” he said. “And it’s not something that will melt…so…”
“Just open it,” she said, leaning one hip into the post.
Slate did, taking the blue bow off the box. The lid lifted easily, and a brand-new pair of leather gloves rested inside. “I ordered them from the best western wear website in Texas,” she said. “They’re perfect for wrangling cattle, or horseback riding, or building houses.”
“Thank you,” he said, taking out the gloves. They felt like rich butter in his fingers. “These are beautiful.” He looked at her. “You’re beautiful.”
“Happy birthday, Slate Sanders,” she said, pressing into him and lifting up onto her toes to kiss him. Slate held the gloves in one hand but dropped the box so he could take Jill into his arms. And this time, he didn’t have to stop kissing her because they weren’t in public.
So he didn’t.
* * *
The Austin skyline broughtanxiety to Slate’s soul. He wasn’t driving, because Dallas had offered to take the last leg of the journey from Sweet Water Falls to Austin, and Slate hadn’t wanted to be behind the wheel as the city approached.
He thought he might drive the truck into the most solid object he came across. As it was, his fingers gripped the door arm rest to the point of aching.
“You’re okay,” Luke said from the back seat. “Take a breath, Slate.”
Slate did what he said, drawing in the air through his nose slowly. He counted slowly as he did, trying to quiet his pulse. That didn’t work, but at least he didn’t feel like reaching over and grabbing the steering wheel.
“I don’t want to be here,” Slate said.
No one responded, and Dallas’s GPS kept directing him where to go, though Slate could’ve gotten him to his parents’ house from the road they were on. His brain was functioning, but he couldn’t seem to put any thoughts together.
Dallas got off the highway and started navigating through the suburbs. Slate’s throat was so dry. “You guys, he’s not going to be—”
“We know,” Luke said. “We can handle it.”
Slate swallowed and reached for his energy drink in the console between him and Dallas. He needed the burst of caffeine, though his heart was racing around his whole body.
The dark gray house where he’d grown up came into view, with the pair of large trees out front. Slate had climbed them both multiple times, and his brother had fallen once as he’d tried to go after Slate. He’d broken his arm—and then Daddy had dang near broken Slate’s as he interrogated him as to what had happened and what he’d been thinking.
Slate hadn’t been thinking anything. He’d been thirteen, and climbing a tree had sounded fun. Ryan was only ten at the time, and he wasn’t as tall or as strong as Slate, and he’d missed a handhold. Down he’d gone. It had been an accident.
Dallas put on his blinker as they arrived in front of the house, and Slate looked across the cab and found the driveway already stuffed to capacity with cars and trucks, at least half of them in various states of disrepair. “He’s still trying to be a mechanic.”
