Page 87 of Saddle Storm

“I think he’d like that—even if he doesn’t show it. But probably best if I run it by him.”

Connor scratches his beard, clearing his throat. “Life’s too short to hold a grudge. I know it, sure he knows it too.”

“Well, if he’s anything like his daughter,” Silas winks and squeezes. “None of us have a shot.”

Willow sets the baby down and Wilder demands a rematch with the kids after pie.

“I know y’all don’t eat this much sugar every Sunday,” I call out, eyeing the spread of pumpkin pie, pastries, and ghost-shaped cookies. I hold back my comment about the rock-hard abs on these men being exhibit A.

“Course not,” Wilder confirms, sliding into a chair beside Rose. “And these dinners are every other Sunday.”

“Still too much for some people,” Dallas comments low from across the table. “With or without an away game.”

Ooof.

Silas’s jaw tightens but he doesn’t respond.

Wilder catches it and leans back. “Careful bro, he’s injured. Might be fragile.”

The older brothers snicker and seem to be the only ones who find anything funny.

“Here now, aren’t I? And I could take you both out.”

Connor snorts. “With one arm?”

Silas doesn’t look at him when he answers. “Not just one arm, my left one.” His confidence sure hasn’t taken a hit.

Dallas holds up his hands like he’s actually concerned. “No need for violence. Probably how you got yourself into this mess. I’m just saying . . . Sundays were always . . . optional once you made it big.”

We both know he can’t deny that. But I think I’m starting to see why. Silas glances at me—as if a reminder to keep his cool. Then leans in for a cheese Danish with ease. “You know what’s not optional? You cooking and hosting these for the next twelve months.”

“What?” Willow shrieks.

Dallas winces. “Did I forget to mention that, Sunset?”

She glares at him. “I think you did.”

The teasing and snickering continue—but this time, it’s not from the boys who started it.

Dallas’s grin is tight when he turns back to Silas. “Perhaps my little brother can tell you why.”

Silas doesn’t take the bait and looks at the middle one. “Oh, I think Wilder’s better suited for that.”

Wilder looks up mid-bite, his mouth full as he speaks, “Wha?”

“The reason Dallas agreed to host Sunday dinners for a year.”

Dallas growls. His eyes flicking to me quickly before diverting. “Never mind. I’ll tell you later, Sunset.”

I narrow my eyes at my boss. “You lost a bet, didn’t you?”

I pick up an awkward vibe from all the Thorne men around the table. “Oh no. It was about me, wasn’t it?” I groan.

“No!” Two guilty brothers call out from across the table.

“Ugh, do I want to know?” I whine, mostly to myself.

“It was his idea.” Dallas’s thumb flicks at Wilder.