Page 35 of Halfway to Hell
She remembered that day like it was yesterday. Monday had burst into the kitchen, flirting with the cook like she owned the place. When she finally walked over, she asked Sunday what herlast name was. It was pathetic, Sunday thought bitterly, how Monday acted like she had no clue who she was.
“We’ve always taken care of ourselves,” Sunday said quietly, the weight of those words settling heavy in the room.
She hated her past. Sometimes, she even hated her present.
Her words made Texas ache for her. He had known love—and thrived in it. But Sunday? She’d never known that kind of love. Never truly felt the warmth of family. She’d been a child trying to survive in a world that seemed to ignore her.
Even now, as an adult, she accepted her sister’s love was limited. But not for Sunday, her love was endless and boundless for Monday.
Chapter Fourteen
Sunlight blazed through the window,casting golden streaks across the rumpled bed. Texas lay still, his head propped on a stack of pillows, one arm draped loosely around Sunday. At some point after she'd stopped talking last night, she'd fallen asleep on his chest. Now she’d shifted in her sleep, curled tightly against his side, her breath warm against his ribs.
He didn’t want to wake her.
But he had to get up.
Carefully he eased the covers back, inch by inch, moving slowly so he wouldn't disturb her. His body protested the motion, stiff from staying still too long, but he didn’t stop. With a final glance at the peaceful rise and fall of her breath, Texas slid out of the bed, his movements quiet and precise like a man trying not to break something fragile
“I’m awake,” Sunday mumbled, shifting just enough to give him room to get up.
Texas had barely planted one foot on the floor when he heard her voice. He glanced back over his shoulder. “Morning, Doll,” he said softly.
The sight of her bathed in morning light stopped him. Her hair was a mess, her cheeks still puffy from the night before, but something about her looked more at ease—like sleep had taken the edge off her pain. He watched her for a beat, her eyes still closed, lashes resting against her skin.
“You feeling better?” he asked, voice low, careful.
“I’ll be okay,” Sunday murmured, keeping her eyes shut. It had been easier in the dark to speak the truth, to cry into his shirt and not worry about what he saw when he looked at her. But now, in the daylight, with everything out in the open, she wasn’t sure how she’d manage to meet his gaze.
“I’m gonna grab a shower,” Texas said, running a hand through his hair as he stood.
Sunday pushed the covers back, already shifting to sit up. She wasn’t about to slow them down. “I’ll get up and dressed.”
But his response stopped her. “We’re not in a hurry.”
She opened her eyes, her brow drawing slightly as she looked at him. That wasn’t what they’d said last night. “I thought we were trying to get to Montreal today?”
Texas glanced over his shoulder, one corner of his mouth tugging into something soft—not quite a smile, but close. “Just figured there’s no point rushing you out of bed when you barely slept.”
That caught her off guard. She didn’t know what to say to that, to the way his voice dipped gently around the edges or how hemade it sound like her comfort mattered more than the miles ahead.
He’d lain awake most of the night, staring at the ceiling while her quiet breathing kept him grounded. Somewhere between midnight and sunrise, he made up his mind—he couldn’t leave her in Montreal alone. If her own sister wasn’t willing to stay, that didn’t mean he’d abandon her, too.
The only plan that made sense—the only one he could live with—was to take her with him. Back to the farm. When Monday came back in four to six weeks, he’d bring Sunday back. Until then, she wouldn’t be alone.
Texas gave her a wink as he stood. “We’re still trying to get there today.”
As he crossed the room, he paused, needing to say it out loud. “Sunday... what would you think about coming home with me?”
She sat up straighter, brushing a hand through her hair. “To the farm?”
“Yes.”
She hesitated. “Would your family mind?”
“I don’t live with my family,” he said, glancing back at her. “But my mom and Aunt Helen? They’d love having another woman around to fuss over. You’d be spoiled rotten before the week’s out.”
Texas didn’t want her getting the wrong idea. This wasn’t about them suddenly becoming something they weren’t. He wasn’t asking her to move in, to play house, or pretend anything had changed. This was him dealing with the mess of what hadhappened the night before, and making sure she wasn’t left to face it alone.
