Page 55 of White Collar Rancher

“It’s me.”

“Good. I can speak English and not pretend I’m British.”

A laugh escaped Priya. “Why would you do that?” Though Dev was probably excellent at it. All she had to do was copy Papa and Nana.

“Artists can be…weird. I get more street cred as British than I do as American. People here see how I look and don’t know what to say when an American accent comes out. Especially if my Minnesotan slips and I say uffda.”

“Some of the patients are still like that,” she said drily.

“Seriously?” Her frustrated sigh gusted over the line. “Anyway, what’s up?”

“I called to see how you’re doing.”

The other end of the line went quiet. “Are Mom and Dad worried?”

“I’m worried. We need to talk. Do you want to go first, or do you want me to?” She wasn’t giving Devya an option to back out. They were sisters. They were going to talk like sisters.

“You? I’ve gotta hear this.”

“Only if you promise to tell me what’s going on with you.”

“Cross my heart.”

“Remember when I mentioned hanging out with Justin Walker?” The story poured out of her like floodwaters over sandbags.

“Pri…” Devya breathed. “I don’t know whether to be sad or proud. I’m a little of both, actually. And mad at him. What the fuck is he thinking? He’d be lucky to have you.”

She should’ve called Devya weeks ago. “I wish I could sound as righteous, but you were right. He grows wool, I prefer cashmere.”

“Then wear cashmere! On s’en fout.”

“You know I don’t speak French.”

“I said ‘who cares.’ But you deserve the best and if he doesn’t see it, then he’s not the best.”

Her head knew it was true, but her heart refused to get the message. “Don’t think I forgot our deal. Talk.”

Priya started the car to kick in some heat. Laying her head back and closing her eyes, she listened as Devya described her perceived failures as an artist and her refusal to come back until she made something of herself. Turned out that having two highly professional and driven parents and a sister who followed in the same footsteps was intimidating. Devya was hindered by insecurity. Enough so that it affected her daily routine until she neglected her responsibilities and partied instead.

She stared at the cloudy sky. “That’s why our parents and grandparents are worried about you.”

“I’m proof it’s possible to babysit someone from thousands of miles away.”

“I’ve always been jealous of you, you know.”

“You’re kidding.”

She wished. “Serious as a heart attack.”

“Dad always says that.”

“I know. Being the responsible one means it feels like you get all the attention. Ask me if it still bothers me even though we’re adults.”

“I get all the attention? They call me and talk about you. Priya did this. Priya did that. They’re so proud of you.”

Hadn’t this argument been part of Justin’s issues with her? She didn’t talk. Not about herself, and never about her life. She’d been doing it to her sister, too. “They’re proud of you, too. You have talent and you’re chasing it. Don’t give up. Unless it’s driving you crazy. Then come home.”

Devya chuckled. “Is that your professional opinion?”

---