Page 105 of Peaches & Pistols

What I need to do isn’t going to be quiet, despite Lucky Spurs Ranch already being miles from curious ears.

“Done. Meet you there in thirty.” James hangs up.

A rush of adrenaline floods my system and I’m more than ready to take care of business.

Back in the living room, Mia remains a statue. Unfortunately, I’m going to be worsening her distress before alleviating it for good.

I crouch before her, rubbing her stiff quads through the blanket.

“Mia, honey. We need to go to the ranch. Think I can help you stand up?”

Her eyes, dead just a moment ago, bore right into me, lit with panic.

“Where’s Carter?” she asks, and I’ll never lie to her.

“James, Reid, and Connor are taking him to a distant property at the ranch. He has no idea where you or Everly are, or where he is. There’s no way he’ll slip his restraints, and he sure as hell won’t get past the guys.”

She nods repeatedly, processing this turn of events.

“Why do I need to come?” She sounds so defeated already, but I’ll fix everything.

“Because I need to be within reach of you at all times. I’m not leaving you here, and I’ve got some business to take care of with your soon-to-be ex-husband.” I raise both my eyebrows in a way that says I’m dead serious.

A text diverts my attention. She needs a minute anyway.

Cecelia: Bring an overnight bag for the girls with their swimsuits.

Me: Why? You taking them swimming in the frozen Whitetail River?

Cecelia: Hush. Grandma and Grandpa Andersen are taking them for a little adventure to the hot springs to get them far away from the ranch while that sorry excuse for a man is here.

Me: Thank you. Truly.

Cecelia: That’s my boy. Now get your fanny in gear!

I pocket my phone and throw together the girls’ overnight bags. Mia doesn’t even notice until I set them by the front door.

“Can I get you anything, love? We need to hit the road,” I ask, gathering up the rest of our things and slipping boots onto her feet.

“I want a grilled cheese sandwich,” she says.

I chuckle. “Alright. You’ll have a grilled cheese sandwich, honey. How do you like it?”

She thinks I’m joking, which I’m not, but it gets me a small smile, nonetheless.

“Growing up we used those processed cheese slices that come individually wrapped. It was something Charlie and I could make ourselves. Carter wouldn’t let me make grilled cheese even for Everly because he said it was unsophisticated. I just want a grilled cheese. With good bread nice and toasted, and real cheese melted inside.” Mia nods, her little smile disappearing, thinking this was a fun little dream exercise.

My future wife has been denied so many loving experiences, and it’s my privilege to rectify that. One tap to my phone and my call’s nearly instantly answered.

“Greyson, dear. Is everything okay?” Cecelia worries, seeing as we were just texting.

“We’re about to get in the truck and Mia wants a grilled cheese sandwich. Can you have one waiting for her?” Mia socks me in the arm, incredulous I’d ask for such a thing on her behalf. I have to hold back my smile.

“Of course. Any allergies or requests?” Cecelia asks, surely with a pen poised in hand.

“She wants the opposite of a white-bread, fake-cheese, floppy grilled cheese sandwich.

“Say no more. See you soon.”