Page 62 of Promised to the Cowboy

Kitty frowns. “I wasn’t that bad.”

“You tried to eat peanut butter twice.”

“I forgot.”

“You forgot the first time. The second time, you thought maybe it wouldn’t aggravate your asthma.”

Kitty has the grace to look sheepish. “I was very optimistic at thirteen.”

The room fills with laughter.

Delaney’s expression softens as she looks at her sister. “Our parents died when Kitty was little.” She says it simply, without asking for sympathy. “Somebody had to remember doctor’s appointments, school forms, allergy lists, bills…”

“And birthdays,” Kitty adds quietly.

Delaney smiles. “And birthdays.”

Kitty reaches across and threads their fingers together. “You did a good job, sis.”

Delaney squeezes her hand. “I did my best.”

For a second, neither of them says anything. They don’t have to. The love between them sits in the silence, easy with years of practice.

“Now she organizes all of us instead,” Shay says with a grin, breaking the moment.

Delaney looks entirely unapologetic. “Organization prevents emergencies.”

Daniel’s voice drifts in from the kitchen. “It also creates filing systems for emergencies.”

“I heard that,” Delaney calls back.

“You were supposed to.”

Another ripple of laughter passes around the room.

For a little while, the conversation drifts wherever it wants.

Pregnancy.

Cravings.

The merits of ginger biscuits over peppermint tea.

Shay insists heartburn means the baby’s going to have lots of hair.

Delaney immediately announces that’s an old wives’ tale. “I’ve got a spreadsheet somewhere.”

I laugh. “About hairy babies?”

“Pregnancy myths,” Delaney corrects.

Kitty grins. “Column C is ‘Hairiness.’”

Shay tops up my water before I realize my glass is nearly empty.

“So,” she says gently, “can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”