“Hey, Charli?” Grant said a little while later, lowering the music and interrupting her brooding.
“Uh-huh,” she said, not bothering to look his way. She’d been counting the number of billboards with cows on them and didn’t want to lose her spot.
The truck slowed a bit. “You remember that little speech I gave you when we first went over The Ranch’s rules—the part about safe, sane, and consensual?”
That dragged her attention away from the road signs. “Uh, yeah.”
He sent her a don’t-hate-me look and veered right, sending them along the exit ramp. “Well, I promise this is going to be safe…and mostly sane. Hopefully you’ll forgive me on the consensual part.”
THIRTY
Charli had no idea what the hell had gotten into Grant. They’d exited the interstate twenty minutes earlier, and despite her questions, he hadn’t let her in on where they were going or what was about to happen. If he thought they were going to go have some last wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am before they parted, he had another think coming.
But his demeanor was anything but sexual. The man who seemed to always be the epitome of cool control couldn’t stop shifting in his seat or flexing his fingers. She wanted to reach out and touch him, soothe him in some way, but she feared he might actually leap off the seat.
“Grant, please tell me what’s going on. You’re starting to make me nervous.”
But before he had the chance to answer, he turned the truck down a narrow side road. A ranch entrance gate framed the road, and a sign with a W hung from the overhead cross post. What the hell? She leaned over to get a better glimpse of the sign. But the minute they passed under it, Grant seemed to deflate like a tire rolling over a nail, as if he’d been holding his breath since they’d exited the interstate.
They passed a mailbox. Reflective letters on the side of it glinted in the sun—Waters.
Oh, shit. Anxiety welled up in Charli like a flash flood. This was his family’s place.
Grant pulled to the side of the road, a large two-story farmhouse looming in the distance, and turned to her, his blue eyes pleading with her before his words did. “I know that I shouldn’t have dragged you here with me without telling you. It isn’t fair. This is something I should have the guts to do by myself.”
“Grant…”
“I’ve done everything on my own for as long as I can remember. No fear, right? But”—he gave the house a long look, his hat blocking his face—“I think I need your help with this one, freckles.”
The quiet desperation in his voice reached inside her and clamped around her heart. There was no way she could deny him what he asked, not when he sounded so damned lost. She reached out and put her hand over his clasped ones. “Tell me what you need me to do, cowboy.”
He looked over at her then, every emotion coloring his eyes. “Just go in there with me. Be by my side. I know I’ve fucked this up. I’ve been fucked up. And maybe things can’t be fixed.” He lifted his hand and traced his thumb over her lips, stirring an ache deep in her bones. “But for the first time in years, I have the urge to try.”
Her throat worked as she wrangled in her emotions and tucked them down. She didn’t want to read too much into what he was saying. He wanted to face his family and had asked for her to help. That’s it. Nothing had changed from two nights ago in her bedroom. She looked up the long driveway. “I’m here for whatever you need, Grant.”
The drive up to the house was brief, but by the time they climbed out and stood facing the door, Charli had butterflies the size of buzzards flailing around inside her stomach. How was she supposed to do this? Grant hadn’t seen his family in years and she was going to be some stranger tagging along with him. Talk about awkward.
But she’d seen how much it had cost him to even ask for her help. He was a man built on pride and control. This was uncharted territory for him, and no matter how uncomfortable this turned out to be, she wasn’t going to let him traverse it alone.
Grant rang the bell, and soon the hollow sound of footsteps on wood broke through the country air. The door swung open and a woman with the same dark hair as Grant filled the doorway. Charli held her breath. In the space between seconds, Charli saw the recognition dawn, the relief in his mother’s eyes, then the tears.
“Hey, Ma.” Two words, but Charli heard the regret and apology heavy in Grant’s voice.
Without a word, his mom stepped forward and wrapped her arms around her son, her hands pressing along his back as if checking to make sure Grant wasn’t an apparition.
Charli moved back a little, not wanting to interfere with the reunion. Her own tears burned her eyes, the scene a potent reminder of what she no longer had in her own life now that her dad had passed, but she kept them at bay. This was Grant and his mother’s moment.
Mrs. Waters pulled back from the hug after a long minute and looked up at her son with dewy but shrewd eyes. “Well, it’s about damn time, you stubborn boy.”
That actually pulled a quiet chuckle from Grant. “I’m sorry, Ma. Would it help if I told you you’ve gotten even prettier in the last few years?”
“Flattery didn’t work when I caught you tipping cows when you were a teenager. It ain’t any more effective now.” She stepped back and straightened her checkered blouse, but her flip words couldn’t mask the relief in her stance. “Tell me you’re staying for a little while.”
“Not sure yet.” Grant put his hand out to Charli, and his mom’s gaze slid her way, apparently noticing her for the first time.
Surprise flickered over her features. “And who’s this?”
Grant’s hand closed around Charli’s, and he tugged her to his side. “Ma, this is Charli Beaumonde, the girl I love.”