Page 62 of Saddle Storm

Is there even a reason to? I step into the living room, finding my phone on the counter. There’s a message from Silas that makes my heart skip a beat.

It’s a picture of him and Max at the wedding—sent early this morning. I heart it and set it down, heading straight for the coffee machine.

Minutes later, as I’m sipping the strong caffeine, soaking in the morning peace—and the accommodations—a long, persistent honk outside the front door pulls me back.

Heck is that? Don’t tell me the boys have a wake-up call here.

I peek behind the curtain. Oh. It’s Rose getting a little honk-happy in her colorful golf cart. One she’d stolen from the lot, claimed as her own—and personalized it. The words Wild Rose painted pink across the front.

Willow is with her and I take it the two are on good terms again now that wedding-day stress is behind them.

I pull the door open and lean along the door frame with my coffee. “You causin’ trouble again?”

“Always.” Rose grins and points to Willow. “Brought my accomplice.”

“Mornin’,” Willow calls. “Get dressed, we’re going to breakfast.”

I narrow my eyes then purse my lips. “Well, all right, give me a few. Still got to get Max up.”

Fifteen minutes later, Max and I are back in our wedding attire and climbing into the back seat. And because I didn’t wear a sweater with my dress, I’m wearing Silas’s suede blazer he left here last night.

“Shouldn’t you be packin’ for your honeymoon?” I ask the newlywed. “Or at least hanging out with your new-ish husband?”

“Probably. But there’s plenty of time for that later. Right now we want to be with family and friends and do all that mushy stuff later.”

Rose glances back. “So, how do you like the cottage?”

I look over at Max and he jumps in. “It’s awesome. But Mom says we can’t stay.”

“Nonsense,” Rose insists, cutting through a curve faster than she should. Tires rattle over dirt and the cart bounces hard enough to knock my teeth together. I grip the side rail and my kid’s forearm hoping she’ll take the hint, but she doesn’t ease up. Rose knows exactly how far she can push this thing. “Of course you can. You work here.”

“So do thirty others but we’re running out of Thorne men to play hero,” I tease.

Willow pushes her wind-blown hair back from her face. “Hey, least you two were offered your own place. I snuck my way in, only for that cowboy to toss me and my suitcase in the back of his truck and drive me to the airport.”

Rose laughs and while I’ve only heard Willow and Dallas’s story in pieces through the grapevine, I wouldn’t be surprised if that’s exactly what happened.

Rose pulls up in front of The Shack and I hop out, certain my hair is all out of sorts since I didn’t have time to braid it this morning.

“Oh, we’re not eating here. We’re just dropping off Max,” Rose tells me.

“There he is,” Dallas calls, and that’s when I spot the table of men gathered around one of the wooden tables on the patio.

Both my bosses, Connor, Wes, and . . . one annoyingly gorgeous black sheep. While I’m over here wearing last night’s dress, his jacket, and not an ounce of make-up.

Wilder stands and heads down the steps, giving Rose a kiss and a playful warning that makes me smile. “One of these days you’re gonna figure out that cart’s not indestructible.”

“Here’s to hoping that day’s not today.” She gives him a peck back. “I’m going to grab some coffees to go and we’ll be on our way.”

Wilder shakes his head, then looks at me. “Shoulda never upgraded her tires.” He stretches a hand out for Max. “Come on buddy, been waitin’ for ya.” He shuffles his hair. “Hope you came hungry, we eat like cavemen when the girls aren’t around.”

“Cool! Can I stay, Mom?”

I hesitate. “Oh, I don’t know where or how long—”

“We’ve got him. Besides,” he glances back and lowers his voice. “We need someone responsible to go along for whatever these two got planned.”

He tells the girl who got knocked up at eighteen.