gonna sell Pistol, too?”
“No way. He’s the smartest investment I ever made. I’m going to stud him out for as long as he’s interested in fraternizing with Texas fillies.”
“How long is Render willing to put you up at his ranch?”
“He’s agreed to trade his foreman’s cabin for my services until I can find the right place or he hires a permanent manager.”
Car doors slammed and high-pitched female voices announced the arrival of Cullen’s guests. Rocket’s head angled toward the sounds. He woofed softly and ambled down the hallway to the front entrance.
“Sounds like your date’s here.”
“Cut it out. Alma’s coming over too so it’s strictly on the up and up.” Cullen dismissed his brother’s insinuation. “The lady could use a friend and I happened to be in the right place at the right moment. And between you and me, Blair suggested I try something completely different, stretch my legs a bit. So I’ve enrolled in a psychology class for the fall semester. I figured observing some kids who have lost their daddy, kind of like we did, might be helpful to me in the class.”
“Yeah, well, just watch your step or you’ll have a ready-made family on your hands.”
A ready-made family...
A knock on the door resounded in the entry hall. Rocket began to bark in earnest and giggly girls squealed in response on the front porch. The tranquility of his home was about to be shattered, for the day at least, and he had no one to blame but himself.
A ready-made family?
Perish the thought!
“Want me to get it?” Joiner said, offering to greet Cullen’s guests.
“I’ll go. But you can keep an eye on Rocket for a minute.” He took a leash from the peg by the door, attached it to the puppy’s collar and handed it to Joiner.
The two moved toward the kitchen to let Cullen pass and he inhaled a final deep breath of calm air before letting hurricane Eason into the house.
“Greetings!” He pulled the door wide, expecting Sarah’s girls to be lined up like little soldiers waiting for instructions. Boy, howdy, had he been wrong. The force of being crowded and squeezed by three pairs of arms as young bodies crushed against his midsection nearly knocked that final calm breath out of him.
“Ladies, we agreed to show some restraint today, remember?” Sarah coached her exuberant brood. “Sorry, Cullen, but Meg and Hope have been watching the clock since their Cheerios went mushy at 6:00 a.m. If they’d had their way we’d have been here hours ago.”
“Yeah,” Hope mumbled, her face pressed against Cullen’s pant leg. “Even Carrie got out of bed without griping for a change.”
At the mention of her name, Carrie dropped away from the group hug, a mask of indifference replacing the smile she’d been wearing. “MYOB, Runtzilla. It’s not exactly front page news when a person gets up early on a Saturday morning.”
“By early she means ten o’clock,” Meg explained with an unsympathetic roll of her eyes—eyes the same lovely color as her mother’s. “I wanted to come sooner to enjoy the clear weather. It’s a documented fact that spending time in the sunshine is the only reliable way to create vitamin D in your skin, and studies show the lack of it can lead to schizophrenia.”
“Well, then, Dr. Jekyll, you’d better get outside quick before Miss Hyde makes her first appearance of the day,” Carrie snapped.
“Where’s Rocket?” Hope looked past Cullen and into the house.
“He’s inside with my brother.”
“The Cowboy Chef’s here?” Carrie’s question was almost breathless, her eyes all kinds of dreamy.
“I’m sorry to disappoint you but it’s my older brother Joiner. Hunt’s working today. His fiancée owns Temple Territory and they have their own pool event going on over there this afternoon.”
“Oh.” Carrie’s face fell. “I hadn’t heard he was engaged.”
“What did you expect, that he’d wait on you for ten more years?” Meg taunted.
“No, but I was at least hoping to see him while he was still available. The Cowboy Chef is a hottie patottie.”
“Hey! He’s my identical twin so I assume that makes me hot, too, huh?” Cullen held his arms wide, waiting for a compliment.
“I meant hot in a television sort of way. Your look is more...” Carrie paused, not wanting to dig the hole deeper.
“Rustic?”
“Exactly!”
“Gee, thanks.”
“Your word, not mine.”
“I wanna see Rocket!” Hope danced with excitement, the ruffles on her swimsuit cover-up jiggling to her imagined beat.
“Let him loose, Joiner!” Cullen called down the hallway.
Seconds later the golden-haired pup came flying through the doorway, skinny legs a flurry of speed, mouth wide in a doggy grin as he hit Hope with big front paws and knocked her to the ground.
“He remembers me!” she shouted, and then burst into shrieks of laughter, assuring Cullen she’d survived the impact. Meg and Carrie joined the calamity on the ground, rolling in the warm, summer grass, taking turns letting Rocket plant wet, joyful kisses on their faces.
Cullen watched, fascinated by the moment of sweet innocence and pure play, trying to remember a day when he’d been so young, so unafraid.
Trying to remember what life had felt like before PTSD.
Before he started cutting himself.
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