Kiss My Boots(5)

Aside from my brothers, the only other person who I know loves me unconditionally is my best friend, Leighton James. We’ve known each other our whole lives. Cheered each other on during every single step we took to become the women that we are today. There isn’t a single part of my life that her presence hasn’t imprinted upon. She is just as much a part of my family as my brothers are, especially now that she’s marrying one of them.

If I’m being completely honest with myself, her and Maverick coming together and finally finding their happily-ever-after is playing a big part in this self-pity stew I’m cooking up nice and powerful.

I’ve avoided finding mine.

I’ve dissuaded male attention and advancements because I know deep down my heart will only ever belong to one man. It just so happens that he wasn’t strong enough to fight for it.

Tate taught me to trust him. Every summer that he spent at his grandparents’ ranch only solidified his unrelenting pursuit of me, of us, of our future together. It took him almost four years to convince me of his adoration, his undying love and loyalty. He took a sixteen-year-old girl who had always feared trusting in the very thing he was offering and made her believe. For two years we survived on emails, phone calls, and only two months out of the year being spent physically in the same place. That was all it took though. The foundation we built was meant to be everlasting—even if his promises hadn’t been.

He taught me trust.

He showed me love.

Then he gave me pain.

So, no . . . all the blame might not be able to fall directly on him, but a large part of it does, and the rest of that dadgum blame only seems to be exacerbated with the unwelcome addition of his memory.

“For fuck’s sake,” I grumble, angrily swiping at the wetness leaking from my eyes. I look out my office window toward the brightly lit garage floor and contemplate my next move.

That’s a lie. I don’t think about a dang thing. I drain the last of my beer, grab my purse—a sweet black leather find I got at Coach the other weekend—and make quick work of turning off all the lights that the guys left on when they scattered. Gravel crunches and grinds under my steel-toed-cowboy-booted feet when I spin from the shop door and look down Main Street. It’s only seven at night on a Friday, but like clockwork, most of the businesses around are dark and closed for the night. There’s only one that I care about, though, and the bright-ass glow spilling from the front windows into the dusk around it makes me quicken my steps.

I hear my name right when I reach for the door to the PieHole, but I’m a woman on a mission. I burst into Leighton’s bakery with determination and look for her blond head behind the counter.

“Jesus Christ, Hell-raiser. You got the hounds of hell hot on your heels or somethin’?”

I spin around at the sound of Maverick, my other brother, laughing behind me as he catches up.

“Shut up, Cowboy. I’m in a mood, and right now if you’ve got a twig and berries between your legs, you’re the enemy. Where is my girl?”

Both of his dark brows go up at the clear venom in my tone and he takes just the barest step back. Maverick might be a retired professional bull rider, but I would be willing to bet he’d rather take on a big-ass bull again then deal with a pissed-off female any day.

Smart man.

“I’m thinkin’ this means I’m not takin’ my girl out on a date tonight?”

“You’re thinkin’ right,” I confirm, hooking my hand on my hip, just begging him to try and stand in my way.

“Got it. Tell Leigh I’ll be at home,” he concedes with a sigh, turning and reaching for the door we had both just entered through moments before. With one muddied boot already outside, his body stills and he looks over his shoulder at me. “If you need me, little sister, all you gotta do is holler.”

I nod, not trusting the turbulent emotions roaring around inside me enough to actually allow me to speak, but he can see everything in my eyes. Maverick always can. His free hand comes up and he lovingly taps his knuckles against my chin before walking out of the PieHole.

Ignoring the handful of townsfolk still scattered around the room enjoying an evening slice of pie, I walk through the cutout in the counter, past Avonlee, the high school girl Leighton hired to help out part-time, and straight into the kitchen. She’s used to me, thankfully, so she doesn’t even bat an eye at my boldness. It’s always been our way.

“Hey Quinn!” Jana Fox, Leighton’s longtime employee and manager of the PieHole, chirps.

I shake my head. “You are way too happy, Jana. Seriously, it’s just not right.”