am over Brantley,” she repeated. “I am.”
But it was going to be a bitch to deal with the fact that he was not only truly over her, but he’d also moved on to the life that he’d always wanted.
Sophie didn’t cry. She made a promise to herself then and there that she’d never shed another tear over Brantley or what might have been. Instead, she fished around in her back pocket and came up with the slip of paper that Mila had put there.
Shane’s number.
And Sophie called him before she could change her mind.
* * *
CLAY STEPPED OFF the walkway to his house and ducked behind a scrawny hackberry tree. He only hoped that no one saw him doing surveillance of the chickens.
There were three by the side of his house, and they were doing what appeared to be normal chicken things by pecking at stuff on the ground. Maybe feed that someone had maliciously strewn, maybe just bugs and such.
Occasionally, one of them—the biggest one—would lift her head and look around as if doing surveillance, too. Clay didn’t want to believe they could recognize him and want to use him for chicken ninja training, but after three attacks to date, his pride couldn’t stand another go-round with the little bitches.
He considered just shooting them where they pecked, but the shots would spook his horses. Plus, it might spook Freddie or one of his sons if they were inside the house actually working. Clay doubted they were since there was no other vehicle around, but maybe he’d get lucky. He didn’t hold out hope, though, that whatever Freddie and the boys might be working on would be done right.
After all these months, Clay had given up on right, but he hadn’t given up on the remodeling. Even if it took him the rest of his life, he was going to hold Freddie’s feet to the fire and get the projects done. To the best of Freddie’s and his son’s abilities, anyway. Which wasn’t much.
After he was satisfied that the chickens were staying in the same general area, Clay left the cover of the hackberry, and yeah, he hurried to the porch. He threw open his front door and nearly had a heart attack.
“Surprise!” someone yelled.
He cursed and reached for his gun before his brain shifted from the cop to the brother mode. This wasn’t a threat that his body had prepared itself for. It was April with Brantley by her side. Brantley had some yellow balloons in his hand, and his sister thrust out a cake she was holding.
A birthday cake.
It took Clay a moment to realize that the cake was for him. And that this was indeed his birthday.
“FYI,” Clay said, taking his hand from his gun, “it’s not a good idea to start any conversation with a cop by yelling surprise. Nor is it a good idea to hide in his house and yell at him when he walks in.”
“How else were we going to give you a surprise party?” April answered. “We parked in the back so you wouldn’t know we were here.” She grinned, kissed his cheek.
Clay didn’t grin back. In fact, he narrowed his eyes, his normal reaction when it came to his kid sister and her husband. He’d accepted the marriage because he didn’t have a choice, but he hadn’t accepted that they’d been stupid enough not to use those condoms he’d sent them.
Hell.
His sister would be the mother of three—maybe four if she had another set of twins—before her twenty-fourth birthday.
April and Brantley had told him the happy news at the café the same day Sophie had found out. Clay had to hand it to her—Sophie had kept her cool despite his sister’s witchy comment. He’d kept his cool, too, but only because he hadn’t wanted to act like a horse’s ass in front of his nephews.
Of course, now he’d have another nephew or niece, and he would love him or her just as much. But since he didn’t have stars in his eyes like April, Clay knew she had a tough road ahead.
“Hayden and Hunter fell asleep so I put them on your bed,” April explained when Clay looked around for them. “Say, did you know you have a toilet in your closet?”
Clay could only sigh. No, he hadn’t known. The last he’d seen, it’d been in the corner of his bedroom, waiting to be installed in the guest bath. He hoped Freddie and/or his offspring had only moved it there to get it out of the way and that they hadn’t actually misrouted the plumbing again.
“So, is your mood better today?” he asked April, and he didn’t clarify what he was referring to because she knew.
April’s chin came up. “I meant it. I don’t want Sophie interfering in our lives. That includes your life.”
“I’m thirty-four. Last I checked, that makes me old enough to decide who I see or don’t see.”
“And you want to see my husband’s ex?” She didn’t wait for him to answer. “Brantley and I have enough adjustments to make without Sophie Granger watching our every move.”
“I doubt she’s watching anybody’s moves. She’s got her hands full with the ranch.” But he was talking to air.
“I don’t want her in our lives,” April declared.
The silence came. So did Clay’s temper, and he considered telling his one-and-only sister to take a hike. But he remembered this level of bitchiness. It’d happened with the last pregnancy so maybe it was just the hormones.
“We got you some presents.” Brantley tried to sound happy and not like he’d just got caught in the middle of a sibling shit-storm. He tied the balloons to the leg of the coffee table and took a couple of bags from the sofa. “The first one is from Vita.”
Clay’s hand hesitated in midreach.
“Vita saw us in town and said to give it to you but to be careful because it could break,” Brantley added.
Clay was certain that put a fresh scowl on his face, but he took the bag, looked inside and saw yet another crap-streaked chicken egg.
Brantley had a look at it, as well, though Clay doubted it was his first look. “Vita said the other one she gave you was too old and that you needed a fresh one.”
Even though he didn’t come out and ask, there was a definite question mark at the end of that information. Brantley and everyone else in town probably knew about Vita helping him with the feral chicken problem. Or rather what Vita considered to be helping. But Brantley must have guessed that if Clay didn’t volunteer anything, then it was a subject best not discussed.
But the first egg hadn’t exactly gotten old, not on his watch, anyway.
He’d tossed it the day Vita had brought it to his office, but Ellie had fished it out with the claim that she would keep it for him, that it wasn’t a good idea to diss Vita’s cures. So, Ellie had put it in double Ziploc bags and shoved it in the tiny freezer of the office fridge.
This one was going in the trash.
Clay put it aside for now and took the other bag, this one tagged from April and Brantley. There was a bottle of his favorite
