Page 27 of Rush Turner
I’d overslept.
The kids were probably feeding themselves cereal and sugar straight out of the bag.
Rush was gone from my bed — of course he was. He always slipped out early, like it made things easier. But his scent lingered on my pillow, along with the faint scrape of his stubble against my skin.
I pulled on a robe and padded down the hall. Halfway to the kitchen, I heard voices — and the unmistakable sound of Rush’s deep laugh mixed with julie’s squealing and Tornado’s angry bleat.
Wonderful. Chaos had clearly started without me.
I stepped into the kitchen and froze.
Rush sat at the table, hair still damp from the shower he must’ve stolen, wearing an old shirt that stretched across his shoulders. Julie sat on his knee, licking syrup off her fingers.
Aunt Marie stood at the stove, flipping pancakes so violently I was half-convinced she was picturing Rush’s face on each one.
And Tornado? Tornado stood on the porch outside the screen door, glaring at Rush through the mesh, as if personally offended he hadn’t been invited in for breakfast.
Rush spotted me first. His grin turned smug in a heartbeat.
“Mornin’, darlin’,” he drawled, like he hadn’t snuck out of my bed at dawn to avoid exactly this interrogation.
Jimmy looked at me, then at him, then back at me. Suspicion bloomed on his sticky face.
“Rush, did you sleep overagain?”
Rush didn’t miss a beat. “Nope. Slept in the truck. Tornado kept me company.”
Jimmy squinted at him. “Liar. Tornado hates the truck.”
Aunt Marie didn’t even turn around. “Lord help me, if y’all get married, you wouldn’t have to do all this sneaking around.”
Rush set his coffee down and whispered to Jimmy,loud enough for me to hear: “Don’t worry, bud. When I marry your sister, we’ll have the biggest wedding in town.”
Jimmy’s eyes went wide as dinner plates. “You’re gonna marry Jessa?!”
Rush winked at me. “One day.”
My cheeks burned hotter than the stove. “Rush Turner, you never asked me to marry you.”
Jimmy grinned like he’d just learned a new cuss word. Aunt Marie banged the spatula down on the counter, muttering aboutmen with big mouths.
And Tornado? He chose that moment to butt the screen door open, strut inside, and steal Rush’s last biscuit right off his plate.
Rush pointed at him, dead serious. “We’re gonna have words, goat.”
I leaned against the doorframe, my heart full to bursting despite the circus around me. This house had seen ghosts, trouble, and heartbreak. But today?
Today it was exactly the kind of messy, loud, perfect chaos I’d always dreamed of.
And Rush Turner? He was right where he belonged — biscuit thief or not.
