Page 131 of Spurred On

“Pink is my signature color,” Porsche recited, as though she’d heard the phrase one time in a movie and liked it.

“Well, you can’t ask a grown man what shade of pink he prefers. It’s not . . .”

“What?”

Cade shot Cody a panicked glance. “It’s not manly.”

“All right, fine.” Lisa sniffed. “Then come over here and help us pick the flowers.”

“And why are we picking flowers?”

“For the wedding, silly.”

It was amusing watching his brother pale. Watching his Adam’s apple make the long journey down his throat and back again. “W-wedding? I-I-I thought we were going to wait until your mom could make it,” he said in a scratchy voice. “Did I miss a memo?”

“Not our wedding, silly.”

Cade’s gaze flicked to Claire. “You and Charlie? But . . . I . . . No one said anything.”

Claire blew out a breath. “Honestly.”

“It’s my wedding,” Porsche said.

Cade’s relief was comical. “Oh! Congratulations, Porsche.”

Claire threw out her arms. “It’s going to be so grand.”

“And pink,” Cody felt the need to mention, considering the mélange on the table.

“And pink.” Porsche beamed at him. “I’m so happy.”

“Brandon is a great guy,” Cody said. And he was. In the last few months, he’d opened up a restaurant in town to rave reviews from the residents who were damned sick and tired of Bubba Burgers, and he’d started catering some of the dinners for the Stud Ranch as well. This took tremendous pressure off of Lisa. Which alleviated a ton of worry from Cade. Which made him stop griping to Cody. Which made everyone’s life easier.

More to the point, Ford had actually accepted Brandon into the McCoy Clan. It was practically a miracle.

For Porsche.

And Cody was happy for her.

He was.

“Cody?” He glanced up to find her gaze on him, solemn and steady.

“Yes, Porsche?”

“Can you come help me with something?”

He forced a grin. “Is it pink?”

She chuckled. “No.” She stood and hooked her arm in his and led him to the porch. He expected she needed him to carry something in from her car, but she tugged on his elbow and led him to the porch swing. “Sit.”

A man never refused an order issued in that tone.

“What is it?”

She perched on the edge of the swing so she could face him. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you.”

“Shoot.”