Page 15 of Every Single Wildflower
“There was buddy.” I scratch the scruff on my chin. “But everything is good now.”
“Tater Tot is ok?” He asks.
I watch the worry etched across his little face.
“Tater Tot is fine.”
I can see the relief melt into his expression. “Wheeeeew.” He blows air between his teeth. “I almost wasn’t a cowboy anymore.”
I chuckle. “What do you mean?”
“You know a cowboy is nothing with no horse, Uncle Mad,” he points out.
I swear he’s hoarding a sixty-year-old man in his six-year-old body.
“Wise words my man.”
“Can I come to the Ranch?" He asks, his eyes hopeful.
“Maybe in a couple of days. We got to get everything cleaned up then you can come spend the day with me.”
“What about Havoc?” He asks. “That bastard still kicking?”
I snort a laugh.
“Trace Sheppard,” my mother scolds. “You watch your language.”
“But he says it!” He pouts. “Ryder too.”
“Well, I can smack their back ends just as good as I can yours for that foul mouth.”
My mother’s face suddenly appears behind Trace, her eyebrows raised.
A reluctant “yes ma’am” comes from me and Trace before she goes back to her previous task.
“Havoc is good,” I tell him.
Havoc is our prime bucking bull and Trace’s favorite.
“I’m going to ride him one day.” His brow grows serious.
“I don’t doubt it.” I laugh. “I’ll call your mom later this week. You be good.”
“Ok. Stay punchy.”
The call goes black, and I shake my head.Man, I love that kid.Laiken has worked her ass off. Being a single mother isn’t easy, and I’ve tried to be as involved and present as I can be for her and Trace.
Placing my phone on the counter, I bring my beer to my lips, savoring the way it temporarily eases the ache. Glancing out the window over the sink, I spot a familiar truck pulling through the gates, and all my hackles rise.
Chapter eleven
Ivy
I weave my hand through the grass, letting my fingertips dance over the colored flowers for the first time in years. I needed some peace. A reminder of the good things that still exist in this place. Which is why after Brady asked to have lunch with me sometime this week, and I politely tiptoed around an answer, I made my escape out here. My safe haven. I don’t want to give him the wrong idea, but I also wouldn’t mind catching up with an old friend. But that’s all I have to offer him. Friendship.
I pull a gorgeous lavender flower from the ground, twirling the stem in between my thumb and finger. This one will work. Over the years, I’d begun using these to say the things I couldn’t.Or didn’t have the chance to. I can’t count the times Maddox stepped in to cover Brady’s ass. He never hung around long enough for a thank you, so I started leaving these as my way of sayingthanks. Whether it be behind his windshield wipers, on his porch, or the seat of his truck. We may not have always talked, but I was thankful for him anyway. Even though he probably trashed them the second he found them, at least I did my part. I turn to head back to the house, planning to drop these flowers somewhere to say thank you for my dad. For saving him. I hit the gravel just beyond the field when I see Maddox step out from the barn with a tight expression. My insides flip, my nerves still rattled from this morning. I manage to keep my strides even, walking toward him without giving anything away. Before I can breach the driveway, Cooper, Ryder, and Clyde are barreling out from the field to my left. My brows scrunch just as a black Ford King Ranch pulls up in front of us. The logo on the driver side door tells me exactly who’s in that truck.
Rocky Bernard
