Page 78 of Huckleberry Hill
“Oh, good.” I cocked my head to the side. “Is that all?”
“Do you think I’d be sitting in your bedroom waiting for you to wake up if that’s all it was?”
“I’m really tired. So can you please?—”
“I won’t lie for you,” she said.
“Excuse me?”
“To your father. I won’t lie to him about what you and Declan are doing.”
“Declan and I aren’t doing anything.”
“Hadley.”
“Muddy,” I replied.
“I’m not an idiot.”
“Okay? What do you want me to say?” I demanded. “So you won’t lie for me. I never asked you to. And what about Dad?”
“What about him?”
“You’re lying for him, aren’t you?” I asked. “Since when does Dad stay out late at night, or come home during the early morning hours smelling like perfume?”
“Your father’s business is his business.”
“And my business is my business.”
She shook her head. “No, your business is your father’s business—especially if one of his ranch hands is putting his hands all over you.”
“I thought you were for it.”
“I am.” She shrugged. “You’re a grown woman who can make her own choices. But that doesn’t mean there aren’t consequences to those choices.”
“I’m a little old to be getting this kind of lecture, don’t you think?”
“You’re never too old.” She leaned back in her chair. “What you two are doing isn’t as simple as knocking boots. He works for your father. And you just broke off an engagement.”
“I’m aware of all those things,” I said. “Thanks for the reminder.”
“You don’t do casual,” she said softly. “And I don’t want you to get hurt . . . again.”
My anger softened. “I know.”
“And you know how cowboys are.”
I raised my brows. “Your son is a cowboy.”
“And he married your mother four months after meeting her,” she said with a smile. “Powells are built differently.”
“Yes, we are,” I agreed.
Muddy gathered her crochet project and rose. “I’ve said my piece. You’re an adult and you’re going to make your own decisions.”
“That sounds like you don’t trust me to make good ones,” I remarked flatly.
“Take it however it sounds.” She shrugged. “Word of advice?”
