Page 29 of Wanting Wentworth

Not ever again.

Swallowing hard, I push them away, keeping watch until Brock’s truck turns right at the end of our road. Heading toward town, it disappears completely before I answer Daimen’s question.

“Yes.”

Before he can ask me anymore questions, I turn away from the road and head back to the barn.

SIXTEEN

Wentworth

I spend the rest of the day finishing up a sketch of Delilah I’ve been working on for a few weeks. Afterward, I wander around the empty house, unsure of what to do with myself until I end up on the porch again.

Settling into what’s fastly becoming my chair, I aim my gaze across the lake again, watching the way the setting sun plays across the water while I think about the way the rancher’s daughter looked at me—not when I woke up to find her staring at my dick. Later, when she was talking about my tattoos.

Like art.

That’s how she described them.

Remembering it tightens my chest for some reason. Probably because my imaginary therapist is right—I do use my tattoos as a kind of armor to protect myself from the outside world and here she comes along, a complete stranger, and just... slips right past it.

I run a hand over the tattoo of a Koi fish, inked into my forearm. My first, but absolutely not my last. Whoever said tattoos are addictive wasn’t kidding.

Dropping my arm, I sit up a little straighter in my chair when I catch movement across the lake. The same dog that was watching me earlier is back, standing at the edge of the water, looking at me while I look back. Wondering if Kait bought anything at the grocery store that a dog might want to eat, I watch its entire body snap to attention a moment before it turns and darts back into the woods, swallowed by the thick tree line in an instant.

As soon as it’s gone, I hear the growl of a truck engine, coming closer and closer until the pick-up that brought me here comes into view.

Standing, I move to the porch steps and watch while Damien kills the engine on his truck and climbs from the driver seat, slamming the heavy door behind him before he makes his way around the front of it.

“Thought maybe we could do some brotherly bonding or some shit,” he says, holding up a six-pack of bottled beer. “Maybe cook those steaks Kait brought you.”

I narrow my eyes a bit, trying hard to beat back the dizzying swirl of guilt and jealousy that starts churning in my gut when he says her name. Guilt because no matter how hard I try, I can’t seem to keep my promise and behave when it comes to her and jealousy because... well, just because. I haven’t figured that out yet and to be perfectly honest, I’m not sure I want to. Instead of trying, I push it all aside and focus on my brother. “How do you know she brought me steaks?”

“Because we’re standing in the middle of a Montana cattle ranch, little brother,” Damien says, mounting the porch steps on a laugh. Stopping next to me at the top of the steps, he pulls a chilled bottle from the cardboard carrier and hands it to me. “She sure as fuck didn’t bring you tofu.”

Thirty minutes ago, I was content to be alone. Now, I’m glad Damien’s here.

Family is weird—especially ours.

As soon as he got here, Damien retrieved the pair of paper-wrapped steaks from the fridge and opened them up. Leaving them to come to room temperature, he steps out onto the back porch long enough to turn on the propane grill before coming back into the kitchen. Seasoning the steaks, he carries them back outside, motioning for me to follow with a grab the beer.

“Kota called,” he tells me while he adjusts one of the steaks—some of the fattest ribeyes I’ve ever seen—on the searing hot grill. “I told her you were here. I hope you don’t mind.”

I mind.

I mind because even though she’s my sister, I barely know her. Reminding myself that if I can trust Delilah of all people with the location of my hideout, I can trust someone who basically amounts to a complete stranger.

“Nope.” I shake my head while I lift the beer to my mouth, taking a long pull while Damien watches me carefully.

“She won’t say anything, Went,” he assures me, reading my body language and tone perfectly. “I wouldn’t have told her if I thought we couldn’t trust her.”

We.

It’s been a long time since I’ve been a we.

We’re a team, Wentworth. You, Lilah, your grandmother, and me—and we’re always going to be.

“Okay.” It comes out rusty and rough and I have to look away while I take another drink of my beer to ease some the achiness from my throat. “I trust you.”

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