Page 13 of Stunner (Whiskey Dolls 3)

Before she could answer, another voice rang out. “Oh, thank God you’re alive!” At that declaration, I shifted my focus in time to see Sloane move into the kitchen, two bottles of wine tucked under each of her arms. “We’ve been worried sick!”

I pursed my lips and scrunched them to the side. “Yeah? That why you went down to the basement to raid Jackson’s wine collection before coming up to look for me?”

She shrugged, not the slightest bit repentant. “Priorities, babe. You’ll be thanking me when we’re curled up on the couch, Netflixing and drinking a fine vintage.” My stomach lurched at the thought of more alcohol as she continued. “And a few missing bottles of wine is the least that jerkoff deserves for what he did to you.”

I chewed on the corner of my bottom lip in thought. “Hmm. You might have a point.”

She nodded resolutely. “Damn straight I do. And I think you should hit up that asshole’sreallyexpensive collection before we get the hell out of here. I’m talking the stuff you don’t find on the shelves at your local grocery store.”

Maybe I would, but that wasn’t as high on my list of priorities as getting another cup of coffee. I stroked the top of the espresso maker lovingly. “Oh, my sweets. I think I’ll miss you the most,” I cooed, feeling a little misty before making myself a heavenly latte.

“Ooh, that thing looks snazzy,” my mom said, sidling up beside me. “Wouldn’t mind a fancy coffee myself. Do your dear old mom a favor and make one for me too, would you?” She pulled another bundle of sage from her massive purse that contained everything from ten tubes of lip balm that were probably covered in fuzz to expired fruit snacks for God knows why to tampons that she hadn’t needed since she hit menopause a decade and a half earlier. Along with it came the deck of tarot cards she never left home without. “I’m just going to do a quick reading to make sure everything’s good, then I’m going to work on your aura.”

“Mom, my aura’s fine,” I insisted as I moved my mug from beneath the machine and started another for her. “And there’s no need for a reading. I can tell you myself that everything is good. Or at least it will be just as soon as I’m out of this damn house.”

“Well, here.” She riffled through that purse again, setting the worthless junk inside to rattling as she fished for what she was looking for. “At least take these,” she said as she passed me a couple crystals. “The banded agate will help with anxiety and stress, and the malachite is the heart chakra stone. It’ll help get rid of that yucky emotional sludge and restore emotional balance.” She dropped them into my palm and curled my fingers around the cool, smooth stones, giving my hand a pat.

Arguing with my mom was pointless. As far as she was concerned, there wasn’t anything one of her pretty little rocks couldn’t cure. She was a product of growing up on a commune that leaned heavily toward hippie, for sure. All about spirituality and tapping into the earth’s vibrations and communing with the universe and nature. She was so passionate about it, she even owned her own shop, The Modern Bohemian, where she sold everything from crystals to essential oils to special teas, and so much more. She gave card and palm readings a couple times a week, and once a month held workshops in the back of the shop where she helped people balance their chakras and cleared their energies, stuff like that.

To say she and my nerdy, bookish, accountant father were an odd match would be putting it mildly. Growing up, my mom’s behavior had caused no small amount of embarrassment for me until I realized the opinions of the other kids at school, the little shitheads who made fun of me because they thought my mother was weird, weren’t worth a damn. My mom was actually cool as hell, even if she was constantly stinking our house up with sage and incense and giving me tacky jewelry made with big, gaudy crystals and gemstones.

“Thank you,” I told her, curling my hand around the crystals and stuffing them into the pocket of my shorts. “I appreciate it, Mom.” And I did, honestly, even though I’d probably end up putting them in a drawer with all the others I’d accumulated over the years, thanks to her ‘generosity’.

“Of course, sugar plum.” She planted her hands on her curvy hips and shifted personalities with a simple narrowing of her eyes. It was a look I was all too familiar with, one she’d used on me countless times growing up. A look that said the sweet, mellow hippie was gone, and the beat-your-ass-if-you-deserve-it momma was in the house. “Now how about you tell me where the hell you’ve been for the past damn day, huh? We’ve beengoing out of our ever-loving minds. I’ve been scrying like a mad woman, tearing up my damn maps looking for you. It took everything in my power to keep your daddy from going to the cops. Only reason he didn’t was because he believed me when I told him I could still feel your life force.”

That was another one of my mom’s quirks. She was convinced that since she carried me for all those months, growing me in her womb until I was ready to come into the world, that she could feel my life force wherever I was.

“So start talking, missy. Where on the Goddess’s green earth have you been?”

Well, this was going to be awkward. “I’ve been...”

“Personally, now that I know she’s okay, I’m more interested in knowing whose clothes she’s wearing.” My gaze shot to hers. She arched a knowing brow, her lips quivering with a smirk she was doing a terrible job hiding. “Could it be a certain strong, silent, dark and handsome, tattooed veterinarian?”

“Wait. What?” My mom’s attention bounced between Sloane and me like she was watching the world’s most interesting tennis match. “Owen? Are you talking about that nice, big slice of man beef, Owen Shields?”

Oh, for the love of— “It’s not like that.”

Sloane’s eyes bulged. “It’s not? Because the man practically sprinted out of the venue when I told him you’d taken off? Thought the man’s ass was on fire, which would have been a damn shame, because that’s onefineass.”

My mouth opened in bewilderment. He said he’d volunteered to find me, but I didn’t know he’d been so... determined about it. “He did that?” The question came out with a lot more awe than I’d intended.

At the tone of my voice, Sloane gave up fighting back her hilarity and let her shit-eating grin come, full force, her expression full of smug amusement. She set the wine bottles onthe kitchen island and crossed her arms. “Yeah, he did. So I ask again, who’s clothes are you wearing, dollface?”

I rolled my eyes, throwing my hands up in exasperation before letting them slap back down at my sides. “They’re Owen’s, okay? They’re Owen’s clothes.”

My mom sucked in a gasp before her face split into a beaming smile. “Asher, oh, that’s scandalous.” She clasped her hands together, mischief and humor in her eyes. “Good for you, my dear girl.”

I held up my first finger. “Okay, first of all, it’s not what you think.” My middle finger came up beside the first one. “Second, you really shouldn’t be so excited about your daughter hooking upever, but especially the day she got left at the altar, and with a man who wasn’t the jilter.”

She waved me off and took a sip from the coffee cup I’d just handed her. “Pfft. You’re young, beautiful, and in the prime of your life. That son of a bitch bolted. That means you’re free to bed whoever you want, sugarplum.”

I clenched my eyes shut and shook my head as I held my hands up to stop my mother from talking. “No. You know what? I’m done with this conversation. Nothing happened between Owen and me. He found me at a bar, three sheets to the wind. He took me back to his place and put me to bed after I hurled all over him, then I woke up this morning with the hangover from hell. He made me breakfast and dropped me off back here, and that’s it.”

“He made you breakfast?” Mom and Sloane asked at the same time, eyebrows shooting upward.

“He was already making breakfast for himself anyway. Everybody’s gotta eat,” I mumbled, repeating Owen’s words from earlier, hoping I sounded a hell of a lot more casual than I felt. “Now, if you two don’t mind, I have to start packing, so unless you plan to help out, it’s time to go.”

“Of course we’re going to help out,” Sloane said like it was a forgone conclusion, and that was just one of the many reasons she was my best friend.

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