Page 118 of Ride the Sky

Still, there’s no way in hell this summer ends with us parting ways. Losing Fallon—I can’t do it again. Won’t.

Charlie surprises the hell out of me by wrapping me hard in a one-armed hug. “You’ll figure it out. You always do.”

My throat tightens. “Thanks, man.”

Horses fed, feed stacked, chores finished, we trek back from the barn to the cottage.

“Shit,” I swear when we come to the front porch.

Roses. Left on the first step. Only there’s something different about them.

They’re dead. Graying and lifeless and crisp.

I scoop them up, trying to keep a lid on my unease. These weren’t here thirty minutes ago. Someone came to the house when I was gone. When Fallon was here. Alone.

A wave of fear washes over me. The memory of Fallon’s accident. Her wild eyes on me, screaming my name, reaching for me. And I wasn’t there.

I wasn’t fucking there.

Charlie nods toward the bouquet. “Those the flowers you were talkin’ about?”

“Yeah.” I open the card.

Fallon, you break my heart.

The sight of the dead roses, Fallon’s name in strange script, has me seeing red. Has me feeling fucking protective as hell.

“Fuck,” I snarl as I hear the squeak of the rocking chair. “I don’t want Fallon to see these.” I shove them at Charlie. “Give ’em to Ruby.”

“Are you insane?” he hisses, like Ruby is hovering over his shoulder. “I can’t give my wife dead flowers.”

I take one last long look at them and then turn and hurl them into the field next to us. They land in the tall grass. Hidden for now.

Charlie’s blue eyes darken as he studies my face. “Bring Fallon to a family dinner.” His look is chiding. “This weekend. Me and Ruby’s place.”

I groan. “I don’t think a family dinner’s going to help Fallon.”

“She needs somethin’, don’t she?” He claps my shoulder, gives it a squeeze. “Come. You be a goddamn stranger any more, I’m gonna tie you to my hitch and drag you back to the ranch.”

I chuckle and agree, watching as he hops into his truck and heads out of town.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Mrs. Green. She’s watering her rose bushes. I head her way. Flash a smile as she looks up at the scuff of my boots. “Hey, Mrs. Green. How you been?”

Her glasses slip low on her nose. She blinks. “Just fine, my dear. And you?”

“Doin’ well.” I hitch a thumb. “You see anyone come by Fallon’s? Maybe thirty minutes ago?”

She purses her lips. “A cowboy. A big truck.”

In Resurrection, that could be anyone.

Mrs. Green cackles out a laugh. “Lucky girl with all these handsome secret admirers.”

As I stare down the long dirt road, something cold twists in my gut.

Dread.

Dinner at Ruby and Charlie’s at six sharp on Sunday. We show up fifteen minutes late, Fallon banging the front door open with an executioner’s flourish.

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