Kiss My Boots (Coming Home #2)

“I said she wants that time to get to know each other again, not me. I agreed to it because I’ll tread as lightly as I need to to keep her from runnin’ spooked.”

“You need to give her more credit than that, Tate.” He sighs, leaning back in the rocker. “No doubt that girl’s a frightened little bunny right now, especially if you just laid all this on her, but make no mistake, that little hell-raiser is just waitin’ to slap some sense into that bunny.”

I laugh softly, knowing his description of his sister is spot-on. She never did let that bunny win for long.

“She’s been hurt a lot, though, Tate and I have a feelin’ you made the right move regardless of her normal take-charge attitude: that timid little bunny might not run away as quick as you’d like.”

“I’ll make it up to her,” I promise, not looking away from his probing gaze.

“You know about our mama leavin’, Tate, but I reckon she’ll bring up what we learned about her last year soon enough since you already know most of it. Quinn’s a smart girl and she’ll not waste a second tellin’ you, knowin’ you can help her figure it out for herself. Maybe while you’re makin’ up your past to her you can find it in you to help heal that part of her pain, too.” With that, he stands, places his hat back on his head, and walks down the stairs, turning before he steps off the last one completely. “It’s good to see you here, Tate. I always did think you fit in like Pine Oak had always been your home. When you have this talk with Mav, give him more credit than whatever it was that had you thinkin’ you need to split us up. He’s softer than he looks. Take care of my sister, and don’t make me regret hopin’ like hell you win her back.”

He’s in his truck and pulling back on the main road not even thirty seconds later, leaving me to wonder what the hell happened last year to make her mama’s abandonment worse than it was before.





14


QUINN


“Confession” by Florida Georgia Line

- -

“Why are you so damn hyper this morning?” Clay grumbles, cutting short the upbeat tune I had been whistling with a narrowed glare of his eyes.

I giggle and switch from my whistling to tapping out a light beat on the floorboards with my bare feet. “Can’t a girl just enjoy a Saturday morning?”

He scratches his head, his hair messy from just waking up, and mutters under his breath before dragging his ass to the coffeepot. The coffeepot that, might I add, I made sure was full of strong, freshly brewed, delicious dark roast—just like he likes.

“Seriously, Hell-raiser, you drink some of those energy drinks we told you to stay away from this mornin’ or somethin’?”

“Nope,” I say with a smile.

“I’m not playin’ twenty questions with you, no matter how much you love makin’ people work for whatever it is you want them to know.”

I feel my smile dim just a little at my brother’s surly tone, but nothing can take away the excitement that hit a fever pitch around four in the morning, waking me up knowing I would be seeing Tate in just a handful of hours for our first date. Well, not our first date technically, but it might as well be. We’re the same people we used to be, but also so very different.

However, just because it would be hard as hell to kill this kind of excitement I’ve got rushing inside me, doesn’t mean I’m not nervous talking with Clay about it. I’ve never kept things from him before, but this seems different somehow. A lot has changed since he gave me that pep talk a few weeks ago. I went into that talk with him not knowing what would happen when I came face-to-face with Tate again after all this time. Now, well . . . now I know, and it would hurt a whole lot if I didn’t have Clay’s support going forward with Tate. Wouldn’t stop me, but it would still hurt.

“I’m going on a date. This morning. Well, today, not this morning. Hell, I don’t know. It’s a date for some undisclosed time today and I’m excited about it.”

His mug stills halfway to his mouth and the tired look in his eyes clears. “With Tate,” he says knowingly.

“Yes, with Tate. He called last night to ask me, officially, out on a date.”

“Hmm.” He takes a sip—a long-as-hell sip, if you ask me—of his coffee before arching a brow at me.

“That’s it? You ‘hmm’ me and then just nothing? You don’t have an opinion? A little pep talk for me? Some kind of big-brother motivational speech?” I huff when I finish my rapid-fire questions and plant my hands on both hips, throwing every bit of sass I have at him.

His lips twitch, but other than that, nothing.

I puff out a grunting breath and shake my head at him, encouraging him to speak. My hair drops from the messy bun I had pulled it into earlier, and some of the dark strands fall into my line of sight. I blow them away, only to have them fall back into my eyes, effectively ruining my tough-cookie act when I have to move my hands into my bird’s nest of hair.

Clay starts laughing, deep belly laughs, when my ponytail holder snaps just as I’m wrapping it around my thick hair, leaving me with a stinging mark on my hand and a face full of thick, wavy strands.

“Please keep goin’. You know I love watchin’ you stumble your way through tryin’ to be intimidating.”

“Whatever,” I grumble, stomping to the junk drawer and grabbing a new hair tie, only to have that one snap too. By the time I finally get my hair back up and in place, Clay’s still laughing his ass off. “You’re such a jerk.”

“How am I a jerk? Because I think it’s funny as hell when that shit happens to you?” he asks, still laughing softly.

“Are you really going to give me nothin’? I tell you I’m going on a date—with Tate—and you give me nothin’ at all?”

He shrugs. “What do you want me to say, sugar? I’m not gonna stand in the way of this if it’s what you want. You want me to remind you I’m here if you need me, for anything? Because I will if you need to hear that, even if it goes without repeatin’, Quinny. I want you happy, and if Tate is the man to help get you there, then that’s good, little sister, that’s real good.”

“Well, I suppose that’ll do,” I mumble through the thickness in my throat.

He puts his cup down and opens his arms. Not needing to be told, I walk into his arms and soak up his comfort. “I knew he was makin’ his play to win you back, Quinny. Talked to him myself last night, just didn’t know you had a date today. I really am happy for you and will support you with whatever you need from me. Just promise me you’ll listen to what your gut’s tellin’ you now.”

I sniff and nod.

“You talked to him?”

His silent confirmation gives me pause: I’m afraid to hear how it went.

“That’s all you’re goin’ to say?” I ask.

“It’s all you need to know, sugar. Wasn’t a bad talk, and all you need to take from it is that I’m happy you’re takin’ this chance.”

My throat gets thick, and as much as I want to push him more, I can’t say I’m upset about what he’s willing to tell me.

“Talkin’ loud now, huh?”

I look at him, confused.