Page 80 of We Drank the Dawn

“Got you. Now just let go.”

My hands grew slick. “I’m scared.”

Peter snickered. “Sarah.” His hands moved to the back of my knees, demonstrating how close he actually was. They were strong, warm through my jeans, and an instant balm to my soul.

My stomach slammed into my heart as my body dropped to the ground. Peter’s arms came around my waist and he pulled me into him. With the grace of a tumble weed, we fell together on the cool grass in a fit of laughter that might’ve woken half the neighborhood.

I should’ve cared, but I didn’t. I couldn’t stop laughing. My night had been fraught with parents fighting, spilled beer, and broken dishes. I got berated for something I didn’t do, and I crawled into bed crying. But then Peter came to make it right. Came to my rescue with a list adventure.

He rose out of the grass and slapped a hand over my mouth. He hissed, “You’ve got to be quiet.”

My apology was muffled by his hand.

And, looking up, my heart stopped. His eyes, though shadowed, sparkled with life that couldn’t be stamped out. The passion that kept him alive burned in the darkness. Then he smiled and I nearly became one with the earth from the way I melted.

Now quiet, his eyes bounced around my face and then he swept a strand of hair behind my ear. Laying in my backyard, time stopped for a few milliseconds.

Just me, Peter, and the stars above us.

Then he leaned forward, pecked my lips, and pulled me to my feet.

TWENTY-SEVEN

Cooper

Two days ago

Itold myself not to panic as I dropped the dish bin by the kitchen sink, but that didn’t convince my chest to loosen or my breaths to come deep. With sixty seconds left to go, I was lightheaded with worry and the beginnings of a stress headache pulled at my temples. All because Tag had stopped me at breakfast and told me to come to his office in fifteen minutes.

I checked my watch dozens of times in that quarter hour as I helped Hollie clear the plates and wipe down the picnic table. I fretted over every single thing I’d done in the last week or two, certain there was something my brother would hold me accountable for. A gate left open? Or maybe I forgot to do something on the schedule? My duties at this point were fairly basic—chores, mucking, overseeing the riding schedule, keeping up with inventory, and this and that as needed.

Maybe he wanted to discuss what happened on Saturday night. But I hoped not. Embarrassed as I was for showing up in Kerrville to drink with the cowboys, I didn’t take a single sip. What if Tag didn’t believe that for some reason? All addicts lied and claimed they were sober. I’d done it myself many times. If he didn’t believe me for some reason, what would I do?

If I got fired, where would I go?

Tag had forgiven me for so many things. I’d lost count. But when I returned to Meadowbrook in January, he left me on no uncertain terms. According to Tag, if I wore a Meadowbrook polo, attended a Meadowbrook event, clocked in, or represented the ranch in any capacity, I would be sober.

And if I wasn’t, he would fire me.

From the time I was a kid, Tag felt invincible to me. So strong, nothing could possibly touch him. So seeing him tear up as he laid out my options shook something loose in me. He had said, “More than anything, I want Meadowbrook to be your home. But, Meadowbrook is home to a lot of people now, Coop. And I have to protect it. Help me protect it.”

Man, that was fifteen minutes straight from hell.

Breathe. Just breathe, I told myself as I circled the wraparound porch and slipped through the formal front door.

Tag was so rarely inside the big house, I forgot he had an office there. Frequenting the kitchen was normal for me because that’s where Hollie typically was, but I couldn’t remember the last time I’d ventured deeper into the big house. It had been years. But today Tag had summoned me, so I used the formal front door and stepped into the foyer.

My eyes raked over the basic ranch decor, noting our grandpa’s map of the original Meadowbrook still hung on the wall. Back in its heyday, it was thousands of acres. Now, it was just eighty-five. Honestly, I couldn’t really believe Tag had achieved so much success with eighty-five acres. I’d heard him talking to Jesse about expanding one day, but he was land-locked. The pasture we leased from Bessy Cline helped Tag have new grazing ground to rotate onto, but right now, renting was the best he could do.

I stopped beneath the map, recognizing Grandpa Taggart’s scrawl in several places on the map. Racking my brain, I realized I had no idea why Tag sold off those acres. Even as a kid, he adored every inch of this place. So why would he sell it? Maybe Tag told me at one point and I just didn’t care enough to really listen. Shame prickled up my neck. That felt like something I should know.

Shrugging the feeling off, I quietly pushed through the foyer and around the corner until I saw the Office sign on the door. I opened it to see Tag in his swivel chair behind the desk, looking as out of place as a polar bear on a beach. Jesse sat in the chair opposite him, leaning back and nursing a mug against his navy Meadowbrook polo.

The room smelled like paper, coffee vapors, and old house.

“Mornin’, Coop.” Tag said, his voice still rough from sleep.

“Hey.” I shook Jesse’s hand when he held it over his shoulder.