Kiss My Boots (Coming Home #2)

I turn, face Clay, and nod my head toward the front door. When we came in earlier, there wasn’t a soul outside, so I know we’ll have complete privacy there, and it’ll be easier to talk to him without the pounding music around us.

I look over at Tate one more time, seeing his eyes on me, and point between him, my brother, and myself before pointing to the door. He nods in understanding and holds up a finger. I grab Clay’s hand and walk us outside, knowing that Tate won’t be far behind. I’m not sure why I feel he needs to hear this too, but something inside me knows that it’s just as important for him to hear as it is for Clay. I can fill Maverick in another time: I don’t want to bring this up on his wedding night.

“We waitin’ for Tate before you tell me what’s goin’ on?” he asks unnecessarily as he takes a seat on one of the chairs lining the outside of the bar, pulling out his phone to keep himself occupied.

“Didn’t want to waste time repeatin’ myself for him later when I could enjoy other things instead.”

“God, Quinn, could ya not?”

I laugh. “What’s wrong? I’m sure the guys around the ranch talk about sex all the time,” I continue, knowing which buttons to push.

“They aren’t my fuckin’ baby sister,” he grumbles. “Stop tryin’ to get me all riled up.”

I hold my hands up in surrender, my shoulders shaking with suppressed laughter. “But it’s so much fun to see you break free of all that seriousness you carry around all the time. Come on, big brother, promise you’ll live it up tonight?”

He snorts but doesn’t deny me. When Tate comes out, the noise of the bar wafting out the door around him, Clay rises and pushes his phone back in his pocket before taking the beer Tate offers him and taking his seat on the rail again.

“Where’s mine?” I ask, pointing to the beer in his hand.

“What’s going on?” Tate questions, ignoring me and taking a sip of his beer while looking between us, handing it to me when he’s done so I can have a drink.

“I’ve been thinkin’,” I tell them both, my smile growing when they both get a worried look in their eyes. “Nothin’ bad, give me a little credit.” I hand the beer back to Tate while they both mutter something under their breath.

“Give you too much credit, Hell-raiser and you’ll run with it,” Clay grumbles.

Tate laughs under his breath, and I roll my eyes, knowing it’s pointless to argue, since Clay’s not exactly lying.

“Anyway,” I tell them, not taking the bait Clay’s trying to lay out, “I know you and Maverick have been wonderin’ if I would bring up goin’ out to see Mama again, and honestly, Clay, it’s been on my mind. I felt like maybe I would find something other than the hurt I felt when Maverick told us why she really left, but . . .” I take a deep breath and look over at Tate, reaching out for his hand. He instantly offers it to me and I give it a squeeze. “Now, I’m positive there isn’t anything I need from her, but I’d like to see if maybe Maverick can arrange a visit with her. I have some things I would like to get off my chest and I’m finally at the place that I’m ready to do it. So, while I might not need anything from her any longer, I need some closure so I can well and truly move on.”

Clay looks at me like I’ve just sprouted a second head. “You wanna visit that . . . woman?”

“Our mama, yeah.” I shuffle my feet, waiting for him to process my request.

“What could you possibly need to say to that bitch?”

I don’t flinch, his hatred toward her something she damn well earned. “I know you don’t want anything to do with her, Clay, but I need this so I can put her out of my mind forever. So I can no longer think about the woman who birthed me and wonder if she might actually want me, love me. Part of me still can’t believe what I know is the truth without seein’ it with my own eyes. I thought I needed her, but I know now that she isn’t what I need to feel whole. What I need is to let go, Clay. I need to let go and move on so I can finally have what they found,” I voice, pointing toward the door, knowing he’s going to understand just what I’m referring to. Or whom, I should say.

Tate’s hand tightens around mine, telling me without words that he gets what I’m saying.

Clay continues to look up at me, his expression unreadable, and for a split second I worry that he’s disappointed in me for needing this.

Then he nods once and stands. “If that’s somethin’ you need, then we’ll make it happen. I’ve got nothin’ to say to her, but I’ll do whatever it is you need to help you through this. I’ll even go there with you if you want. I might not understand you needin’ this, but I’ll support your wishes.”

I bite my cheeks and lift my free hand to rub against Clay’s stubbled cheek. “You’re a damn good man, Clayton Davis, and I’m one lucky girl to have you as my big brother. I know you’re only doin’ this for me, and I want you to know I appreciate that more than you could ever know.”

“For a long time I know you looked up to me like one of the only few men that would move mountains for you, Quinny,” he says in a gruff voice. “You took Maverick leavin’ hard, and that made you look at me as the only man that would fight for you, protect you, love you. I think we both know that’s not the truth anymore.” He looks over my head toward Tate with a nod before giving me his eyes again. “You got three men who would do anything for you now, sugar, and even though I know I ain’t that top man anymore, I would do anythin’ in my power to give you a piece of what Maverick has with Leigh.”

I try to speak, but he just shakes his head with a ghost of a smile on his lips. He walks toward the door, turns to Tate, and proves to me just how good a man he is.

“Think you’ll find, Tate, you’ve finally won that war you been fightin’ for way too long. You protected her while sacrificing your own happiness and now you’re savin’ her just by lovin’ her. Don’t think I haven’t put it together and seen just where her confidence to confront this kinda pain with our mama is comin’ from. Owe you my life for givin’ that to her.”

He doesn’t wait for a response but turns and walks into the crowded bar. Neither Tate nor I move for the longest time until a strangled sob rips from my lips and he quickly wraps me in his strong arms.

Saving me, just like Clay said. Just by loving me.





22


QUINN


“It All Started with a Beer” by Frankie Ballard

- -

“You’re so pretty, sister!” I scream over the music at Leigh as she twirls around the dance floor at the Dam Bar, the two of us in our own little circle as we continue to dance the night away.

Her hands whip above her head and she starts to shake them to the Luke Bryan song playing, her blond hair long since having fallen from the braid I had worked so hard to make now in her face as she puffs out her cheeks and blows over and over to get it out of her eyes. Reaching out—being the great friend that I am—I start to pat it away but end up hitting her softly a few times and only making it worse.

“You got butter hands.” She giggles, laughing even harder when I start shaking both my hands in the air.