Page 17 of Sweet and Wild

West turns and leaves, the screen door slamming behind him.

“He’ll come around, Lemonade.”

“I’m not so sure.” I shake my head, staring after my brother. I don’t know why the others can forgive me and West can’t, but he doesn’t seem to be warming to his little sister any, and I don’t know if he ever will. “I’m not sure I deserve it.”

Daddy’s funeral went much the way I imagined it would go, with copious amounts of tears, and townsfolk I haven’t seen or thought about since I left offering empty platitudes and invitations to visit with them. I don’t bother telling anyone that they made my life here a living hell and the only intentions I have are to leave them in my rearview as soon as I possibly can.

Back at the ranch, I put Mama to bed and drink several glasses of wine as I heat up a casserole in the oven for the boys. I set the table on autopilot, and I lose it when I accidently place a plate at Daddy’s spot.

Upstairs, I don’t bother changing out of my dress, but I do switch my heels for boots and throw a long cashmere wrap around my shoulders. It’s not really warm enough for the chill that settles in from the mountains overnight, but anything is better than feeling this numbness in my bones.

I don’t eat. I don’t want food—I want my daddy back, but if wishes were horses, right? I grab a bottle of my father’s whiskey and head outside, walking the stables and then the grounds for what feels like hours. Eventually, the hurt lessens, and I smile as I bring the whiskey bottle to my lips and deem myself well and truly drunk.

I cut through the pastures toward the bed-and-breakfast. I could lie to myself and say my feet carry me, but I know exactly where I’m headed. Because when I feel this way, there’s only one other person on this earth I want. I take another long pull from the whiskey—it burns my throat all the way down and I raise the bottle heavenward. “I miss you like hell, Daddy.”

“Lemon?”

I sniff and turn. Colt is standing behind me.Of course he is. He’s already changed out of his funeral clothes and is wearing faded jeans and a Henley. Every damn muscle can be seen through the thin shirt, and I don’t mind that he’s catching me looking.

His face is stern as he rolls his gaze over me, finally settling on the whiskey that I try to hide behind my back. “What are you doin’ out here?”

“Lookin’ for trouble.” I bite my lip and poke my finger at his chest, trailing my hand over hard, warm muscle that’s practically begging to be touched. “You seen anyone who fits that description?”

He leans forward and takes the bottle from me. I try to snatch it back, but settle instead for pouting and not falling over.

“You never could handle your whiskey.”

“I handle my whiskey just fine. It’s everyone else who’s the problem.”

“Right.” He’s stone-faced as he looks me over from head to toe and takes my hand.

I stare at his rough fingers in mine and sadness slams into me, clutching at my throat, squeezing my heart until it hurts.

“Jesus. Did you even eat today? Come on.”

“Where are we going?”

“To my place.”

“I don’t think so. Nothing good ever came of you and me being alone.”

“Don’t flatter yourself, Lemon. I’m not taking you back to the ranch house because your Mama don’t need to see you like this.”

I puff out my cheeks, blowing my bangs out of my eyes. “Like what, drunk and grieving?”

“That what you’re callin’ it?”

I yank my hand from his and stop dead in my tracks. “How dare you. My father was just laid to rest.”

“Yeah, and all your worst demons are coming out to play. I don’t think your family needs to see that side of you right now.”

“That side of me? What the hell does that mean?” I scowl. “And how would you know what they need?”

“Goddamn it, woman. You haven’t changed any. You’re still an obnoxious drunk.”

I deepen my scowl and throw in a pout for good measure. “And you’re still annoying.”

Colt raises a brow. “Annoying?”

---