Page 27 of Wild Then Wed
I calmly take a bite, only to find he’s not exaggerating. It tastes like shit, just as I suspected. “That, dear brother, was cashew cheese.”
Ridge stares at me, wounded. “Why would you ever do that to pasta?”
“It’s dairy-free,” I say sweetly. “Very on trend. Very gut-friendly.”
“You should warn people about that shit,” he mutters, wiping his tongue on his napkin.
“Where’s the fun in that? Misery loves company.”
He shakes his head and points at me with his fork. “You’re dangerous.”
“Youstole food off my plate. You played yourself.”
Boone raises his glass in my direction. “She’s got a point.”
Ridge glares at all of us as he pushes my plate a few inches farther away from him like it might try to jump back into his mouth.
“I need a palate cleanser. Someone pass the rolls.”
“You’re welcome to them,” I say. “But they’re gluten-free.”
Ridge sighs. “Of course they are.”
Lark pushes back from the table and claps her hands once. “Alright. It’s officially bedtime.”
Hudson groans. “But Ridge just got here.”
Ridge reaches over and ruffles his hair, earning a scowl for it. “I’m home ‘til the new year, bud. We’ll have plenty of time to annoy each other.”
Boone lifts his water glass. “See? A whole month and a half of non-stop bickering. A Christmas miracle.”
Lark rolls her eyes and starts gathering plates, nudging Boone’s knee with hers. “Can you grab the diaper bag? I’m gonna go rescue the twins from Miller before she convinces them to them to cuss.”
“Too late,” I say playfully just as Lark leans down and pulls me into a hug. She smells like lavender and baby lotion. Lark’s always been the kind of soft that doesn’t demand anything from you. The kind you don’t mind leaning into.
Mom walks in from the living room, Jack limp against her shoulder, his dark curly hair damp with sleep. She kisses his temple before carefully handing him over to Lark. He stirs,frowns like he’s about to protest the betrayal, then tucks his head back under Lark’s chin.
“I’m gonna go check on the horses,” I tell Mom, pushing back from the table.
She nods. “Alright, sweetheart. Layer up. It’s really coming down out there.”
I open the hall closet and grab an extra jacket, tugging it over my sweatshirt, then find the thickest gloves we’ve got in the bin below. They smell faintly of pine and old saddle leather, as if they’ve soaked up decades of Montana winters and still hold the memories.
“Loretta,” I say, catching her just as she’s covering the leftover mac and cheese with foil, “dinner was amazing. Thank you.”
She grins at me, cheeks flushed. “I’ll try a different vegan cheese next time.”
I smile, even though we both know there’s no such thing as good vegan cheese. “Looking forward to it.”
The wind screams through the trees, dragging snow in sideways sheets that sting against my cheeks. It’s one of those blizzards that makes your bones ache before your skin even has a chance to go numb. I keep my head down and push through it, one boot in front of the other, barely able to see more than a few feet ahead. The house disappears behind me like it’s never existed at all, swallowed up by white.
The barn’s about sixty yards away, but in this weather, it might as well be miles. My fingers are already tingling by the time I reach the side door, the cold metal handle biting through my gloves. I push it open, duck inside, and close it behind me with my hip, hard enough to rattle the hinges.
Inside, it’s quiet. Cold, but still. It settles in your chest and makes it easier to breathe.
I didn’t come out here to check on the horses. Not really. I came out here because I needed somewhere that didn’t feel like it was closing in on me.
The house is too warm, too full, sometimes. Too many conversations I’m not part of. Too many silences I don’t always know how to fill. It’s easier to come out here and talk to the horses. They don’t ask what’s wrong. They don’t try to fix me. They just stand there, breathing steady in the dark.
