Kiss My Boots (Coming Home #2)

I roll my eyes. “Whatever. All joking aside, I’ve just been workin’ through some stuff in my head. It has nothin’ to do with Maverick . . . or her. I really do want to have as much of Homer done as I can before Tate sets foot back in Pine Oak.”

“Since when can’t you work things out with me? I get wantin’ to have a head start on this truck stuff, but you aren’t even talkin’ about him comin’ back. You just say it’s nothin’ and then avoid everyone by keepin’ yourself at work all the dang time.”

She doesn’t say all that to make me feel bad. I can tell she’s just genuinely confused that I wouldn’t go straight to her like I normally do to blab on and on about everything and anything. I guess I haven’t been putting on as good of a show as I thought.

“I didn’t want to burden you, Leigh. You’ve got so much goin’ on with the wedding plans and Maverick’s new students arrivin’ on the ranch for the next quarter of trainin’,” I tell her honestly, referencing the fledgling training facility that my brother opened when he was forced to stop riding bulls due to his health—the same one that has now become the talk of the rodeo world. “I’m workin’ through it, I promise, and Clay helped set my head straight, so it wasn’t like I was festerin’ in a vat of crushed dreams or anything.”

Her eyes heat. “That’s bullshit, Quinn! First, I’m never too busy for you. I love you, and you know that. You’re my family, and when you’re upset, I feel that. Don’t shut me out. Second, I love your brother, but there ain’t no way on God’s green earth that Clay can set your head straight like I can.”

“Honestly, Leigh, if you want the truth, I just don’t know how to make sense of all this shit swirlin’ around in my brain,” I tell her on a sigh, pointing at myself with a wave of my hand. “Yeah, I might not have wanted to add to your stress, but I also just don’t know how to explain it all. Even to myself.”

She looks at me, nothing but compassion and understanding in her gaze. “You remember when your brother came back, Quinn? You remember how I was when your brother came back? I think I have a pretty good idea about swirlin’ minds. Come to dinner at the ranch tonight and freakin’ talk to us.”

Her words hit home, their aim true, and I move around my workstation while she gives me the time to get control of the floodgates of my turbulent emotions as they threaten to burst free. The shop is the last damn place I want to have this chat, because I know things are going to get overwhelming once they finally break the hold I have on them, and I’ll turn into a blubbering mess. I heave a sigh of acceptance out and give her a nod.

“I know Ret needs to go over the week’s parts order before I head out today. Let me finish up and holler at him, and then I’ll head out to your place.”

She smiles. “Good. I just know Maverick’s goin’ to want to see for his own eyes that you’re okay and not upset with him over whatever he’s built up in his head. For such a strong-willed man, he sure does turn into a big baby where his sister is concerned.” She winks.

“Help me work through my shit and I promise I’ll take care of the big brute. The last thing I want is him thinkin’ I’m upset with him for something he didn’t actually do.”

She laughs, gives me a hug, and takes off after I promise not to be far behind her. It takes me about thirty minutes to make sure I have everything with Homer ready for tomorrow and to tidy up my work area for the day. Ret waves me off, not willing to stop installing a lift on a beautiful new Tahoe to go over the orders, promising to meet with me first thing in the morning before he sends it in. These guys don’t need me here, something I’m reminded of daily, but I still like making sure they know I’m never far. I might have built this place up so well it could probably run without me for years, but that doesn’t mean I want it to.

With no other way left to kill time, I head out to Harriet and make my way to Leigh and Maverick’s ranch, praying that my best friend can help me get through the muddled mess of my mind.

One thing’s for sure: it’s been close to a month since that first call with Tate, and I know he’s due back in Pine Oak any day now. Well, I don’t know it for sure, but I can feel it. There’s a wicked wind blowin’ and it doesn’t have shit to do with the stormy weather forecasted. I need to hurry up and figure out exactly how I feel about his return and what I want to do about it.

Hell, I don’t even know anything about the man he’s become. Believe you me, I tried stalking him over the years, but there isn’t a hint of him on social media. He could be married with kids by now, for all I know. Or he could be unattached and attainable. Is he even the same young man who disappeared on me? Does his return mean he wants to finish building what we didn’t have a chance to complete? My mind races, the thoughts I’ve been suppressing bombarding me rapidly, but deep down I know he wouldn’t have gone so far out of his way to get Homer in to the shop a week after his call if he didn’t want to ensure some sort of guaranteed connection between us when he got back. A man that was attached to another woman wouldn’t work that hard . . . right?

For all I know, I’m working myself up over nothing, but it’s that little nagging voice in my head, whispering behind all the frantic, panicked yells, that tells me I should know better. That I should trust my gut. There’s something bigger to the reason he’s coming back, I can feel it, and it isn’t just because he’s taking over Fisher’s practice.

Taking over Fisher’s practice.

Oh. My. God.

I slam on the brakes and stop dead in the middle of the road that Leigh’s drive is off of and stare out the windshield in front of me in horror. Thankfully, no one is traveling behind me.

“Jesus Jones. He’s a gyno,” I moan into the empty cab. “Tate Montgomery isn’t just a doctor. He’s a lady doctor.”





6


QUINN


“We Should Be Friends” by Miranda Lambert

- -

After my freak-out on the side of the road, I haul ass so fast to Leigh’s that I kick up dirt and gravel into the truck bed the whole way down the drive to her house. I’m sure I look like a maniac, but Christ, a girl can only take so much.

Leigh is on the porch watering some of her hanging plants. Or she was, but with my manic arrival, she lets the watering can drop to her side, its contents spilling on the ground as her mouth hangs open in shock, her eyes not leaving my truck as I tear into my usual parking spot so swiftly it feels like the truck might split in two from the momentum.

Half a second later I’m out, slamming the door harder than I ever would and rushing to her. I stop, panting, and sputter, “He’s a vagina doctor!” then grab my knees with each hand and lean over to catch my breath, keeping my head tilted so I can see her face.