Page 11 of Promised to the Cowboy

Evie nods. “It is.”

“What kind of mileage are you getting?”

“Twenty-two, twenty-three on the highway. Twenty-four if I’m running light. Two hundred and forty thousand on the clock,” Evie says proudly. “She’ll outlive all of us.”

Ethan purses his lips and nods. “Original transmission?”

“Rebuilt it myself at one-eighty.”

My cautious, guarded brother pulls out a chair and sits across from a woman because she knows her own truck.

I turn to put the cutting board away because if I keep watching this, my expression will reveal something I’m not ready to share yet.

When I’ve schooled my expression and turn around again, my brothers are doing the thing. The looks. Over Evie’s head. To each other. To me.

Daniel:Who is she?

Ethan:Why is she here at ten at night?

They glance at each other, then back at me, twin smirks pulling at their mouths, the bastards.

Daniel:Ah.

Ethan:It’s like that.

And I hate it. I hate it because they’re right and because they’re watching me unravel over a woman. There is nothing in this world a man wants less than to be obviously, visibly wrecked in front of the brothers who’ve spent their whole lives gently managing him.

“It’s not like that,” I mutter.

“Not like what?” Delaney asks, stealing a triangle of crust off Evie’s plate like they’ve known each other for years.

I shake my head. “Never mind.”

I watch the whole table fold this stranger in without a vote, the way water closes over a stone, and I think,there’s a spare chair at this table, and she’s already in it.

Because her being here is going fine. That’s the thing. It’s going stupidly, dangerously fine.

Evie’s holding her own with all of them, blunt and quick. Delaney’s laughing, and Jenna’s pushing a water glass toward her.

I’m beginning to think I might survive this when Miss Maggie comes in. White braid down her back and a sequined tank top winking under an open flannel. She clocks Evie in half a second.

“Hi, sweetheart. I’m Maggie,” she greets. “None of these reprobates made you coffee yet?”

“Hi Maggie. Nice to meet you. I’m Evie. Evie Gale. And no to the coffee, but I haven’t been here long.”

Maggie nods, turns to the cupboard, pulls down the decaf, and starts a pot.

Evie looks at me. “Your mom?”

Daniel’s hand tightens on the table. Ethan’s eyes flick to me behind his glasses. Delaney’s smile freezes. Jenna bites her lip. The whole room holds its breath, and my heart gives one hard, erratic knock that I feel in my throat.

Miss Maggie, God bless her, keeps pouring the decaf and says, light as anything, “Oh, honey, I’m the help. Been the help since before this one was a glint.” She jerks a thumb over her shoulder at me while setting the cup in front of Evie. “His mama was Caroline. She was tougher than me by a country mile and twice as pretty. But we don’t talk about her enough in this house, which is its own kind of shame.” She pats Evie’s shoulder gently. “Drink your coffee, sweetheart.”

Maggie smooths over the awkwardness, handing Evie a way out and me a way to keep breathing, all in one motion, the way she’s been doing for this family for decades. “The help” doesn’t come close to what Maggie is to us. To me.

Evie’s face has paled under the sun-brown. She looks at me, understanding that she inadvertently stepped on something buried. I watch her decide not to make it worse by apologizing nineteen times.

“Sorry,” she says quietly, so only I can hear.