Fool for You (Southern Bride 7)

I laughed. “Christ, I’m only twenty-seven; I’m not the least bit worried about settling down.”

He raised a brow as he walked by me.

“Wait, what do you mean, the sooner I admit the truth?”

He ignored me and headed back over to the fence. “Come on, I want to finish this up before the sun starts setting. You’re coming to dinner tonight, right?”

It was Sunday, and that meant family dinner night. It wasn’t just my family, though, it was Emmerson’s as well. Considering our two families lived on top of each other—literally, while growing up—it was no wonder we still had our weekly family dinners.

When my father and Malcolm both retired from racing, they bought a huge mansion of a house in Clifton. It was over seven-thousand square feet and a two-family home. The first and second floors were where Malcolm and Paislie lived, along with Emmerson and Noah. My family lived on the third and fourth floors. The four of us—Noah, Hailey, me, and Emmerson—had known each other our whole lives. We’d grown up like brothers and sisters.

“Yeah, I’ll be there. I need to run an errand first.”

“Don’t forget it’s your turn to bring the wine,” Dad said as he pointed at me.

I rolled my eyes. Once a month we took turns bringing a new wine that none of us had ever had before—or at least one we hoped no one had had before. Last month, Noah had actually flown to Washington State and bought a bottle of wine at a vineyard up there without so much as ever tasting it first. Hailey had bought a bottle once when she was in France, and admitted she almost broke into it in her hotel just to make sure she wasn’t bringing a shit wine to dinner that month. It was the best sangiovese I’d ever had. The types of grapes we grew here on the ranch, vitis vinifera, were mostly used for merlot and cabernet sauvignon, so we were all used to drinking mostly red wines. I liked white, too, but if I had to choose, red would always be my favorite.

“I haven’t forgotten,” I said. “Where do you think I’m going after this?”

He laughed. “Was that what you were daydreaming about? The wine?”

I laughed along with him, but it wasn’t what I had been thinking about. No, what I was thinking was far more complicated than whether everyone would like the wine I picked out.

He let it go, assuming that was where my thoughts had gone. But my mind was actually on the text message I had received earlier that day from Emmerson, asking to meet me before the family dinner tonight. She said she was in a bit of trouble and needed my help.

I hadn’t been able to stop thinking about that fucking text all day. She wasn’t dating anyone right now, so I knew I wasn’t going to have to kick anyone’s ass. So, what kind of trouble was she in? Money trouble? The kind of trouble that would show up in nine months?

My fists clenched at that last thought. No, I knew that wasn’t it. Emmerson hadn’t dated anyone since breaking up with that dickhead Jason Emmes a year ago.

After another ten minutes of repairing the fence, I let out a long breath. I loved working on the ranch, but on days like this when it was so fucking hot out, I longed to be in my shop, tooling around with a car’s engine or watching a badass paint job on a ’55 Chevy. The ranch was in my blood, and anytime my dad or Malcolm needed extra help, I was there. But my heart was back in the middle of Waco in my restoration shop.

After finishing the last of the ties, I turned to my father. “If you don’t have anything else for me to do today, I’m going to head on home and shower.”

He nodded. “That’s it, son. Thank you for helping me with this. I know you’re tired from your trip.”

I had flown back into Dallas last night after traveling up to North Carolina to check on the race team my father and Malcolm both partially owned. It’s the same team I had raced for when I was driving in NASCAR. Not to mention that I was still co-owner of a car as well. I was more of a silent partner, though, and I liked it that way. I hated being in the spotlight; another one of the reasons I left racing.

“It’s all good—I’m going to head on out. Let me know if I need to bring anything other than the wine tonight.”

“Will do! Make sure it’s not another pussy-ass wine this time!” he called out as I climbed into my truck.

I looked back at him and gaped. “Pussy-ass wine? Excuse me, that was Noah who brought the damn fifty shades of fucked-up wine.”