Page 10 of Drifter’s Heart

“You know you smoked them.”

I grin, already heading for the door and some form of relative freedom. “I know.”

I knock on Winnie’s door and call out, “Sandwich delivery.” There’s silence inside the townhouse. I wait, my hand raised, and I bruise my knuckles again. “Personal sandwich-boy delivery.” That should move her divine tush. Winnie loves to pretend she doesn’t objectify the male form, but this cowboy knows better.

The door opens a crack. “West? West!” Smaller hands than I expect pull the door all the way open, and a tiny body launches at me. “Ihaventseenyouinsolong,” Sally gushes at me.

“Me either, little Rand.” I pat the top of her head. It only takes a second for my stone heart to fracture before I give in and hug her. Plastic crinkles around her back.

Sally freezes and then slips out of my awkward-as-hell embrace. “Is that food?” She liberates the bag from my hand and dashes for the kitchen, leaving me standing in the doorway like the drifter I am. “Oh. Come in,” she calls in a hushed voice that’s loud enough to wake half the street.

I can’t hold back a grin. The kid is as infectious as her mom. Speaking of… “Where is your mom?” I ask casually. Winnie’s too overprotective to leave Sally alone, even though she’s growing up fast, but with good reason. Their family history doesn’t exactly engender trust in neon lights.

“She’s asleep. Her shift ended two hours ago and she’ll be back on tomorrow night.” Sally pops her head out of the kitchen, beckoning me in. “Don’t worry about the door. We never lock it.”

A growl builds in my chest. I close the townhouse door the moment Sally’s head disappears back into the bowels of the building, and I flick the lock quietly anyway. The girls might not have a sense of security, but I hate that they leave themselves so unprotected.

“Not locking the door. That’s a country thing.” I take the half a chicken salad on ciabatta Sally offers, and I lean against the doorway while she hoists herself up to perch on the kitchen counter.

“Yeah? I musta gotten it from Uncle Cord,” she mumbles through a mouthful of food.

“Maybe,” I agree.

“I miss the ranch. Haven’t been back in a while.” Sally swallows a mouthful large enough to choke her.

I watch carefully, but she keeps breathing. “Yeah? Me neither.”

“Cord’s been busy with Lanie.” Sally eyeballs me as though she expects me to impart state secrets.

I snort. “No chance, Rand girl. I’ve got nothing good to share.”

“Huh. Too bad.” She finishes her sandwich in a massive bite and hops off the counter. Holding out the plate with the other whole sandwich on it, she waves it about like she’s calling a hound for dinner.

I take another bite of mine and wait. A moment later, Winnie walks into the kitchen, a robe dangling from one shoulder, the hem just long enough to cover her ass in her boy shorts. Her hair sticks out at all angles, and when she turns to me, her undershirt barely passes as a shirt, or maybe a crop top.

“Why are you here?” Dark circles hang under her eyes.

“Thanks for feeding us, West.” Sally hugs me, her thin arms barely making it around my waist.

I pat her back and look up at Winnie as she dashes away. “Kid’s got the sort of energy your family is famous for.”

She grimaces and tucks her butt against the counter nearest the coffee machine. “Right now, I don’t have the energy to yawn. Shit coffee?”

“Please.”

I’m not a snob like her brother, who only drinks the stuff his fancy machine grinds itself. When she fumbles with the too-tight lid on the tin of instant granules, I cross the room that I swear shrinks with both of us in it. Winnie glares at me and grabs a teaspoon, intent on doing it all for herself. I let her, right until she nearly slices her hand on a piece of wayward foil. Then I flick the lid with my key, placing it on the counter.

“Done.” I pocket my keys and place my half sandwich next to hers, one bite taken out of it. “That was meant to be yours, so have both, okay?” I turn to leave her, but her fingers snag the rolled sleeve of my shirt.

“Why did you come here?” she whispers.

I’d put it down to exhaustion—from her social life and work hours—but when I turn back to face her, unable to leave without answering, the pain that laces across her face triggers alarm bells.

The same ones that drew me here tonight in the first place.

“I thought you might need a little extra care, Winnie,” I murmur, catching her hands in mine. The teaspoon sits between us, an innocuous bystander in a conversation for two.

She frowns, like that’s not something she’s considered before. “But why would you do that?”