Page 52 of Drifter’s Heart

And before I left, I realized that all that time has been wasted. Nothing changed. I knew that the day that Cord made the bet, but I kept kidding myself.

My knuckles grind into the marble benchtop, bone pressing to stone in an unwinnable battle. My favorite kind. A shriek I recognize rips along the hallway that I just left.

“She’s where?” Winnie screeches as she powers past me with Sally in tow.

My pseudo niece throws me a well, shit look that’s years too old on her tiny frame. She follows Winnie through the oversized kitchen and along the hallways that leads to Cord’s end of the homestead.

“I’d stay out here if I were you, cute stuff,” I mutter, turning my back to the bench and pulling out my phone.

One missed message from Dustan shows me a picture of him dressed in chaps—not his own—that are purple with glitter edges that suit him perfectly. Another comes through with him looking over his shoulder wearing only the chaps, nothing else. I get a great eyeful of ass cheeks that I never needed, but at least the cheeky—ha—pic lifts my mood. Maybe the Invitational can do a calendar for promotional purposes at some point. Make the grannies in town happy. Hell, maybe the grandpas too. I have no idea.

Sally deviates her path to the sofa, building herself a pillow fort and burrowing under a crocheted rug with a wolf on it for good measure.

Voices echo back to us from the direction of Cord’s office. Sally burrows deeper into her pillow fort. “I hate it when they fight.”

I pocket my phone and haul my ass off the edge of the bench, finding a part of the modular sofa that’s not taken up with pillows. “Can I sit here?”

A pillow is moved a fraction. I take it as an invitation to plant my butt.

“Brad never fought with Mom. Not like this.”

I look down at the small patch of Sally that I can see. “You call your dad Brad?”

The crochet blanket huddle shrugs. “Yeah. Because he’s an as— I mean, he’s not very nice to her. He doesn’t shout, but he says awful things. All the time.”

My blood freezes. “This time isn’t the first he’s been about?” As far as I know, Sally shouldn’t have seen her dad since she was a toddler. That makes it a memory so far buried that they’re probably suppressed at this point.

“Yeah.” The toe under the wolf blanket wiggles near my knee. “He’s around every few weeks. He tells her that she shouldn’t work and that she doesn’t do a good job at pretty much anything. And that she’s fat and ugly and⁠—”

But hearing what Brad has said about her boils my blood. “Your mom is none of those things.” I can’t help the way the words jar from my throat. I cough, and squeeze her toe through the blanket. “I’m sorry for talking over you, Sally. You deserve to be heard. And I’m sorry Brad hurts your mom with cruel talk.”

He’s there every few weeks, abusing the fuck outta her? And she’s told no one? Winnie and I have lots to talk about once she’s done tearing her brother a new asshole.

“It’s okay, West. I know she’s none of those things. I love her.”

My heart clenches on the simple statement all bundled up in a tight ball under Lanie’s old wolf blanket as Winnie and Cord hit their crescendo. Hell, I hope it’s their crescendo, or else they’ll never be done.

“Where’s Lanie?” I change subjects. Winnie went on a tirade earlier. I figure I’d better keep up to speed.

“She’s at the hospital in Cloakton.” The toe wiggles beneath my feet. “I’m sweaty.”

I nearly choke on my spit. “She’s where?” No wonder Winnie lost her shit. “Cute stuff, how long has Lanie been in the hospital?”

Sally sits up like she’s reciting facts. “She had some cramps after she and Cord picked me up. So we went to her doctor, who told her to go to the hospital. And headaches. It was a false alarm for the baby, but they wanted to keep her. So they did. And Uncle Cord got me a burger and brought me home.” Sally shrugs, just like a ten-year-old who’s an only child does in the face of accepted chaos and no other frame of reference.

“Uh-huh.” I run a hand over my face and let Winnie and Cord run on with their argument. I’m staying the hell out of this one. Besides, my girl has it covered. “You want some snacks, or something?” I offer Sally.

“Maybe later? I think there’s a dinosaur movie on TV.” Her eyes peek out from between layers of the wolf blanket.

“Uh-huh,” I repeat, my vocabulary deserting me. “And are you supposed to watch said dinosaur movie?”

Sally’s blanket vibrates, though it doesn’t giggle—yet. “Maybe not? But they’re going to go for a while,” she points out as Winnie yells yet again. “So really, who’s going to know? You won’t get in trouble,” she tells me seriously.

I snort. “That is not how it works, wolf stuff.”

“That’s not my nickname.” She sounds like Winnie to a T.

“It is now.” I give her toe a squeeze. “Let’s see what we can find that’s borderline safe and that won’t get me castrated, all right?”