Page 74 of A Bittersweet Summer

“Breakfast?” I ask, and she walks past me, bending to swipe her shorts up from the floor where I helped her discard them last night. My blood heats as I watch her, knowing that there’s nothing beneath that shirt—that if I wanted to, I could press her against the door again and sing her praises in a very,veryphysical way.

“Yes,” Cass says, hesitating. She looks down at her outfit. “I should probably walk down to the house to get changed, though. I don’t think I should be mucking stalls in…” She gestures to all of her.

I raise a brow, using the opportunity to rake my gaze down her body once more. “I don’t see the problem.”

“Har, har,” she says, stepping closer. As I flip the bread in the pan. Cass wraps her arms around me, pressing herself in tight. “Those look delicious,” she comments, peering around my shoulder to watch the French toast turn golden. “Gus wants to come back out to the farm again soon,” she says. “Even mentioned a possible trail ride. I thought it would be fun. I don’t think he’s ever been on a horse.”

I chuckle. “Sounds good to me. Tell him to take some ibuprofen first. Or his ass is going to feel like it’ll fall off the next day.”

She laughs. “Noted.”

Mud’s tail thumps on the floor just as the screen door creaks open, followed by my sister poking her head in, acting surprised when she sees Cassidy standing beside me.

“Oh!” she says, beaming. “I’m soverysorry for intruding. I never expected to find you here this early, Cass! You must be very motivated to care for these animals.” Roe looks at me, asmug smile on her face. “You must be thrilled that you hired her, Wes.”

Cass’s cheeks turn pink. “I was just stepping out to get my things at the end of the drive.

“By all means,” Roe moves aside, that smug smile turning to a full-on grin. “You’re welcome here anytime, Cassidy. Preferably when I’m out.”

I place the piece of toast on a plate, readying the next slice in the beaten eggs.

Cass slips her shoes on. “I’ll be back for those.” She points at the pan before slipping outside, disappearing in the morning fog.

I regret looking at Rosemary as soon as I do it.

“Don’t even,” I warn.

She glides forward, making a show of the motion. “Do my eyes deceive me?” she asks, her tone taunting. I may be the older brother, but Rosemary always had a knack for making fun of me. “Is my big brother makingmebreakfast with…” When she looks at the plate, she tosses the toast an exaggerated nod. “With the bread I made.”

I point the spatula at her. “Don’t touch it. It’s not for you.”

Roe pats me on the chest. “You’re lucky I’m desperate for a place to stay, Wesley Miller.” She strides to the fridge, pulling out the yogurt and container of strawberries.

I watch her as she prepares her own breakfast, the tension in her shoulders making last night's conversations at our mother’s house very apparent. Though Roe tries to hide it, I can tell it didn’t go well. It’s the way her smile falls when she adds the granola to her bowl—the way her brow creases, and she stretches out her neck by tipping her head side to side.

My mom has never been good at communicating with my sister. It never mattered what the topic was; it would always turn into a power struggle. Sometimes, it felt like my mom simplyrefused to see my sister for who she really was—to love her as she was.

It was always so strange.

Growing up on a farm, every woman I ever encountered had a certain grit to them—a headstrong determination to make the world bend to their will. In horse world, this trait was admirable. Sometimes it came with teeth, and other times, the determination was quieter—the strength coming from a far gentler soul. It was always there, though.

You’d think, devoted to the farm as my mother was, she would have found that headstrong determination admirable in Roe. Instead, it seemed like she resented her daughter for it.

Every second, my mom tried to break her just like a young horse. And her methods were controversial at best, and downright cruel at the worst.

If Rosemary got caught sneaking out, she’d be loaded down with so many chores, I’m certain it broke child labor laws. If she got too mouthy with our mother, one cruel comment would knock Roe off balance. My mother’s sharp tongue was a bit in Rosemary’s mouth.

I swallow, hating the memories as they come up.

The worst part is I didn’t do anything about it. I avoided and ran—found myself busying myself with this place. I never stopped to check on how Roe was feeling—never stood up for her.

“How was Mom’s?” I ask, hesitantly.

Roe sighs, snapping the lid back onto the yogurt container. “Oh, you know,” she starts. “She thinks I either need to ask you for a larger role on the farm or start looking for other jobs. I’m wasting time by not settling down. I think she’s afraid I’m just itching to hightail it out of here and fly my way back to Nashville.”

“And are you?” I ask.

The question forces her to look at me. “No,” she says, glancing away. I can see the sheen to her eyes—the one she used to get whenever our parents would argue. I’d take her out to the hay loft and force her to climb the bales with me. It was the best I could do to get us both away. “Yes?” She shakes her head. “I don’t know, Wes. I’m not happy it didn’t work out. I’m not happy about any of this. I know that deep down she was right, but there’s just thisthinginside me. It won’t stop waiting for my big break, you know?”