“I think he might be warming up to the idea—just a little. Only time will tell.” I shrug, realizing she hasn’t let go of me yet.
“When Wyatt told me he bumped into you the other night, he said you two didn’t chat for long,” she says. “I’d think after a decade apart, you two would have all kinds of things to catch up on.”
Under normal circumstances one would think that, yes.
“Say, what are you doing tonight for dinner?” Her eyes widen and she lifts on her toes in excitement. “We have our weekly Sunday supper around five. I’d be so honored if you stopped by and joined us. All my boys will be there, and you can meet my grandkids, too. Cash has a little guy, and Hart and his wife have a daughter. It’ll be just like old times. What do you say?”
Before I have a chance to respond, she waves her hand.
“Oh, why am I even giving you an option. You and I both know I’m not going to take no for an answer,” she continues. “Five o’clock, sweetheart. I’ve got to run off now, but I’ll see you tonight. Can’t wait!”
She lets me go, pointing at her watch and mouthing five o’clock a couple more times as she strides down the block and climbs into a dusty white pickup.
Well … shit.
12
Wyatt
* * *
I’m washing my hands before supper when I step out of the bathroom and spot a flash of headlights coming down the drive. A second later, a silver sedan parks beside my truck.
“You expecting more company, Mama?” I ask since the gang’s already all here.
“As a matter of fact, I am,” she calls back before traipsing out of the kitchen. She wipes her hands on her apron before propping open the front door with her hip. “My goodness, sweetheart, you didn’t have to bring a pie.”
Sweetheart?
Pie?
Peering over her shoulder, I spot what appears to be Blaire Abbott making her way up the front walk. In cut-off denim shorts, strappy leather sandals, and a white button down tied at her waist, she’s a vision of the past.
“Mama …” I say, keeping my voice low. “Care to explain what’s going on here?”
Turning to me, she swats my shoulder. “Ran into her this morning and thought it’d be nice to have her over for supper so we could all catch up. That’s what old friends do, you know.”
“A heads’ up would’ve been nice.”
“Wyatt, not everything’s about you,” Mama says before Blaire’s within earshot. “Welcome, welcome, come on in!”
Mama takes Blaire’s pie and throws her arm around her, ushering her in.
We lock eyes in passing, but she doesn’t look at me for more than a second or two.
“Everyone, look who I ran into this morning,” Mama announces as they head into the dining room.
I stay in the hall for a moment, watching from a distance, still wrapping my head around the surrealness of this entire situation. I knew Mama always thought the world of Blaire and missed her terribly when I told her we were no longer together—but the fact that she invited her over without mentioning it to me reeks of ulterior motives.
“Holy shit,” I hear my oldest brother, Hart, say. “Look who it is.”
“Blaire, wow,” Tripp says. “It’s been forever. How the hell are you?”
“Cash,” Blaire says. “Good to see you again. So good seeing all of you again. This is all kind of …”
“Serendipitous?” Mama finishes her sentence. “Blaire, this is my grandson, McCoy. McCoy, this is Miss Blaire. She’s an old friend of the family. What do you say, McCoy?”
“How do you do, Miss Blaire?” His tone is robotic. Maybe if she were animated and could shoot laser beams from her hands he’d be a little more interested.
“And this little cowgirl over here is Daisy, my granddaughter,” Mama says, referring to the cherub-faced, pig-tailed blondie who stole our hearts approximately six years back. “Daisy, tell Miss Blaire who you’ve been riding this year.”
“Um, I started riding a horse,” Daisy says. “And do you know what her name is?”
“I don’t know, but I bet you’re going to tell me,” Blaire says with the gusto of a kindergarten teacher.
“Her name is Ginger. And she’s kind of old and slow, but my daddy says that’s why she’s perfect for me.”
“You know, Daisy, Miss Blaire used to ride Ginger back in the day, when she was a little … more spirited,” Mama says with a laugh. “But she’s a good learning horse now, isn’t she?”
Blaire lifts her palm to her chest, her head tilting. “You have no idea how happy that makes me. She’s a really good horse, and I loved her dearly. Sounds like she’s in very capable hands with you, Miss Daisy.”
My niece beams proud and her mother gives Blaire a warm and welcoming smile.
“I’m Kendi,” she says, extending her hand. “Hart’s wife.”