Always Enough (Meet Me in Montana 2)

I’d been named after him, since I was lucky enough to be born first. My brothers—Brock, Beck, and Tanner—followed after me. Beck died while serving in the marines, something I knew still weighed heavy on my folks’ hearts, but my mama never talked about him. I wished she would. I really felt like in some way it would help us all heal from his loss. Mama’s knack for avoiding bad or unpleasant situations was one of the reasons I held my own worries and fears inside. Who was I to add any more to their already-full plate of sadness?

Now there was something familiar in my father’s eyes as he looked at me. Worry. Fear.

Stella and Ty Shaw Sr. were amazing parents, but when my dad looked at me like he was looking at me right now, the guilt almost crushed me. Heaven knew I’d given them both enough to worry about: both after my accident four years ago and then when I got lost to an addiction to pain pills . . . it had nearly torn my father and mother in two, especially when they’d found out how long I’d been keeping it from everyone.

I knew he worried enough about Brock and Tanner as well. Being the oldest, I also knew I should be the one setting the good example for my siblings, and I’d failed miserably at that so far.

So I looked at him, wanting to quell his unspoken worry. “It’s all good, Dad. I’ve got a lot on my mind, that’s all.”

He nodded. “Want to talk about it?”

I forced a smile. “Nah, it’s nothing, Dad.”

His brows pulled in tight, but he nodded again and went back to working on the fence.

“How is the counseling going?” he asked after a minute or two.

“Fine. We’ve cut it back to meeting every other week,” I replied.

“That’s good, son.”

“Yeah.”

I had gone back into therapy last summer, after I was tempted to take a few pain pills that Brock was given after a bull-riding incident left him pretty banged up. He’d left them on the counter in his kitchen, and the temptation to pop them into my mouth scared the living shit out of me. I wasn’t sure if it was my own willpower that stopped me or if it was Kaylee Holden walking in and seeing me with that bottle.

Kaylee was the best friend of Lincoln, Brock’s wife.

Whatever the reason, I didn’t take the pills—but I was left with even more of an unsettled and confused feeling, because Kaylee walked up and kissed me as she took the pills from my hand.

It was the second time she’d kissed me. The first time was only a few weeks after she and Lincoln had moved to Hamilton, Montana, from Atlanta, Georgia. And that first kiss sent me into a tailspin of confusion and fear. It was a fear I’d never experienced before, one that rivaled any anxiety I had felt about a relapse into addiction. One I still couldn’t completely understand, or at least refused to understand.

I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t attracted to Kaylee from the moment she crawled out of Lincoln’s car. She was beautiful. Blonde with the bluest of blue eyes. A smile that made my knees feel a little weak and a laugh that went straight to my dick. She was supposed to be a one-night stand, or maybe a few nights if things really clicked between us. Then she was going to leave and go back to Atlanta, and I would move on to the next woman.

But that kiss, in the back hallway of the Blue Moose bar, fucking shook me to my core.

For the first time in my life, I didn’t want a woman purely for sex. And I saw something worth working for when I looked at her. My chest felt tight, my stomach felt like I had stepped onto a roller coaster, and my body longed for something more. Something I never allowed myself to think about.

That night scared the living piss out of me. So I did what I was good at doing. Hid my true feelings and pushed Kaylee Holden directly into the friend zone. She was still a pain in my ass, though. I wasn’t sure if it was because I was constantly fighting an erection when I was around her or if she really did just get on my last nerve.

Both were probably true.

I sighed and got to work on the fence. “Brock going to be joining us today?” I asked, looking at the storm clouds that were moving over the valley.

“Ty, he just had a baby. Can we not let him spend time with Morgan and Lincoln?” my father asked, a slight frown creasing his forehead.

Brock had retired from the Professional Bull Riders last November after he’d won the PBR World Championship and was now enjoying life here on the ranch with Lincoln and their two-week-old daughter, Morgan Elizabeth. “I s’pose you’re right. I just know that this would go quicker with an extra pair of hands.”