Page 46 of Saving Grace

And she is all I see.

I will bend into whatever she needs.

Friend.

Great boss.

Platonic companion.

Her heart is safe with me.

If that fucker Joel ever sets foot on my ranch, he’s a dead man.

Grace pulls her phone from her back pocket as it vibrates. With nothing more than a frown, she returns it to her pocket as she leans against Ma’s kitchen counter.

Ma putters around, cooking her Sunday favorites. Addy is by the fridge with Rubes, explaining the plans for Ma’s next birthday party. If anyone deserves a birthday celebration, it’s Grace.

After what happened on her twenty-first birthday.

Harry sits at the table with me, newspaper in hand. Reed waltzes through the front door, making tracks for his wife. Wrapping her in his arms, he folds himself around her from behind. She melts into him.

Lucky bastard.

Adds chuckles and pads to the table. “What you workin’ on, Mack?”

I clear my throat and drop my eyes to the tax papers I’m supposed to be giving the once-over before Sunday lunch. “Ah, the usual, Harry’s dirty work.”

The newspaper rustles, and my old man’s gaze turns into an incredulous expression over his reading glasses. “Son, you never been anywhere near my dirty work.”

“Damn straight,” Huddo says, walking through the front door as he tosses his Stetson onto the hook and toes his boots off. He’s covered in dirt and sweating up a storm. “Hey, sweetgirl.” He drops a kiss onto Addy’s cheek, and she screws up her face, scrunching up her pert nose.

“Don’t you dare hug me in those filthy clothes, Huddy,” she squeals.

Huddo chases her down the hallway with his arms out like a monster. Huffing a laugh at my ridiculous brother and the way those two are insufferably happy, I turn back to the papers.

Assets.

Liabilities.

Depreciation.

Yada yada yada.

I zone out.

Ma’s arm slides over my shoulder as she bends over. “Can you give me a hand with the table?”

“Sure, Ma.”

I follow her to the counter, and she loads me up with warm dishes. They all smell amazing, the savory fragrances tangling together. We push through the back screen door, and Charlie, Huddo’s dog, growls at me.

I growl back. A giggle hits me from behind. Snapping my head back, I find Grace, also with a stack of lunch stuff.Nice one, Ma.

I head to the weeping willow we have every Sunday lunch under and unload onto the long wooden bench seat. Addy appears with a cloth and flings it open, letting it settle over the long table. Without a word, she heads back inside.

Grace stands, cradling her load. “Ah, where do you want these?”

Shit. I move in and take the top two dishes covered in foil, setting them on the table. She pops the last one beside them. Turning back, she slams into my chest. With a breathy laugh, she steps out of my space, tucking a long strand of hair behind her ear. “So, Sunday lunch is kind of a big deal for your family?”

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