Page 34 of Saddle Storm

I twirl the keyring around my finger. “Could have sworn you said you were free.”

“Mom! You promised we’d do something fun tonight. This is fun.”

She purses her lips.

Thanks kid, was counting on you holding her to it. I wink at him.

“You have school tomorrow,” she reminds him calmly.

“Do you not feed the kid on school nights?”

She glares at me again. And this is a new one. Not one I can’t handle—just new.

“So, I was hoping we’d take your truck tonight since my left arm’s a bit stiff after getting back in mine.”

She snatches the keys from me. “Mine it is,” she growls low and moves to the driver seat. “Get in.”

12

I keep my eyes on the road as I steer the truck through the ranch gates. For once, I’m grateful for the rattle of the engine to fill the silence. Or the simmering beneath my composed exterior.

The truck isn’t old—it’s ancient. It was Dad’s before he turned it over to me after he retired. It’s loud in places it shouldn’t be, but reliable—most of the time.

We tried to go back to The Shack for Max’s jacket but it was already closed for the evening. My kid’s now wearing Silas’s jacket and trying to contain himself in the back seat.

I’m painfully aware of everything surrounding me. The temperature. My breathing, his breathing. The faint scent of clean soap that shouldn’t bother me but does. Silas shifting to remove his sling.

Wait, what?

“Should you be doing that?”

He grunts softly. “Yeah. For short periods to relieve stiffness.” He shifts again and I notice just how much space his frame takes up in my truck—which always seemed big to me until now.

“Okay, there’s no way this is less space than the Hot Wheels you’re driving around.”

“Mom,” Max mumbles in warning.

“It’s okay, Max. Your mom and I go way back. If anyone can take a dig at me, it’s her.”

I shoot a glare at him.

“Really?” Max scoots up in his seat. “Mom, you didn’t tell me you and Silas were friends.”

“Sit back and buckle up,” I snap, glancing sharply in the rearview.

Silas and Max exchange a frightened look and both lean back, reaching for their seatbelt.

After a breath, I answer the question I knew was coming. “And I wouldn’t call us friends.”

I catch Silas wince, clutching his heart and mouthing, Ouch. I fire off another glare.

In fact, I imagine tonight will be an evening full of warning glares and a limited amount of stories Silas is allowed to share with my kid—or ask about him.

This was a mistake.

“You know your grandpa used to work at the ranch. He’d bring me along here and there when I was about your age. Met all kinds of people,” I go on, practically rambling at this point. “And . . . Silas was probably one of them––who could keep up, really?”

I stop at a red light and glance at Silas, who’s staring at me in amused awe. “Wow,” he whispers.