A chill stirs in my stomach, forcing me to look away. All I can see is Sienna in her sleep and remember how I laid there all night wondering how I could capture the moment for the rest of my life, because as crazy as it sounds, it felt like the place I was meant to be.

I tried to picture her as someone else. I pretended to be home and alone. I thought about never seeing her again, never hearing her laugh, or watching her blush as I call her out on something. And all of that, every single thing, was unbearable.

My stomach roils, knowing she’s said she might leave town. Every part of me objects. There’s not a piece of me that would want to watch her go but I’m not in a place to ask her to stay.

“You’ve been through a lot,” Dave says, bracing a hand on the wall and standing slowly. “Don’t you think it’s time to be happy? The woman before Sienna . . . I remember you with her. No good, Walker. No good.”

“Yeah, well . . .” I shrug, not sure what to say and wishing she didn’t exist in any capacity.

He looks around, a smile stretching across his lips. “I’ve haven’t seen this place so bright and cheerful since your mother would come in the first week of the month and clean up after your father,” he laughs. “I’d come in with some of the guys on Saturday morning and drink some coffee and shoot the breeze. Those were good days.”

“I remember you all doing that,” I recall.

Peck’s voice sounds outside the door, and Dave turns to grab his wallet.

“Don’t worry about it,” I tell him. “It was just a quart of oil or so.”

“Are you sure?”

“You kept Peck busy and out of my hair for five minutes. I really owe you.”

We exchange a smile, a nod to a conversation we both know dug a lot deeper than either of us let on. He turns to go, his hand on the door, when I call out.

“Hey, Dave.”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks.”

With a final nod, he disappears into the parking lot as Peck walks back in.

“Just a quart and a half,” he says, wiping his brow. “Getting warm out there.”

Shuffling papers around, I think about what Dave said. I am happy right now. I didn’t think I’d ever be, but damn it—I am. And I don’t want to ever let it go.

“Do we still get a phone book?” I ask Peck. “They used to throw one at the door every six months or so. Do they still do that?”

“Fuck if I know. Why?”

My eyes close, my hands go still, as I force a swallow. I picture Sienna getting in her car and driving away, the guilt and hopelessness that swamps me is something I can’t deal with even pretending.

“I think it’s time I settle this shit,” I say. “No, I know it is.”

Peck nods, knowing exactly what I mean. “It’s about fucking time.”

“I don’t know where to start. I mean, I haven’t given a fuck about it in so long, God knows where to even look.”

He pauses, his hand on his hip. “You could call Blaire. She’d drop anything to help with this. She might even come home to deal with this.”

“I almost don’t want to call her to give her the satisfaction,” I laugh.

“Just do it,” Peck says, watching the tractor pull into the parking lot. “You handle the problem, I’ll handle the tractor.”

He pops open the door and disappears in to the parking lot.

With Blaire’s name staring at me on my phone, I sigh. “A tractor has never looked so easy.”

WE PULL UP TO a little log cabin that isn’t much bigger than a single-family home. The porch is oversized, probably half the size of the cabin itself, and stretches along the front. Whiskey barrels of flowers in all sorts of colors line the walkway to the steps that lead up to the porch, solar lights stuck inside the simple but cozy landscape that immaculately dresses up the front.

Walker shuts off the ignition and then grips both hands on the steering wheel. He takes in the surprising amount of cars lined up in rows.

“It’s pretty busy,” I note, hoping to ease his nerves if he didn’t make reservations. “I’m always good with take-out, you know.”

“We have a seat.” He says it like it’s silly to consider he didn’t call ahead.

“Then what’s the matter?”

“You want to sit here and ask questions?” he grins. “Or go in and eat?”

“You know me,” I say, opening my door over his objection. “I’m always ready to eat.”

His joke was a distraction, but from what I don’t know. I push it away and take his hand as he comes to my side, ignoring his annoyance that I opened my own car door, and step onto the gravel. He doesn’t let go.

Tags: Adriana Locke The Gibson Boys Romance
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