Page 3 of When the Smoke Clears

LUKE: And you need to buy better napkins for the bakery.

EDEN: Haters gonna hate.

Sav renamed the chat to “Testosterone Trashfire.”

DALTON: I didn’t even say anything…

I toss my phone on the couch with a soft chuckle. The news about Gretchen Tanner has probably spread through the grapevine by now. The last thing I want to deal with tonight is our unique family dynamics. Yet, the thought of seeing my mom tugs at me, and as the oldest sibling, it’s up to me to keep an eye on everyone.

With a resigned sigh, I quickly shower and change before grabbing two bags of pre-made salad and heading out to Wildhaven Ranch.

My brother, Dalton, bought the ranch from our father a few years back. Every time I drive the dusty road toward its weathered gates, the weight on my shoulders eases a little.

It was the first thing my great-grandfather built when he came to this town. It was his pride and joy until the day he died.

My grandfather expanded it, my father turned it into an empire, buying up half the county along the way. He moved us into a mountain estate with marbled floors and manicured gardens when I was a sophomore. I hated it then. I still do.

This ranch will always be home.

I pause as I step onto the porch and approach the heavy, ornately carved oak door. The sound of animated conversation and bursts of laughter drifts out, overwhelming after the day I’ve had. I hesitate, my feet itching to retreat down the path I had just traveled. Then, suddenly, the door swings open.

My mom stands just inside the doorway, her eyes widening as she presses a hand to her chest and laughs softly. “Luke, you scared me.”

“Hi, Mom.” I step forward, wrapping my arms around her.

“I was just about to come outside and check if you were pulling up.”

I hold up the plastic salad bags. “I’m here, and I brought the salad.”

Savannah breezes past us and snatches the bags from my grip. She raises an eyebrow. “You bought bags of romaine lettuce, Luke. That’s hardly what I’d call a salad.”

“Next time, I’ll just forage it from my organic garden, Sav. You can always make someone else ‘Salad Guy,’ you know?”

She offers me an incredulous look. “And then you’d be what? ‘Drink Guy’? All we would have is IPAs and Bourbon.”

I shrug. “Sounds good to me.”

Speaking of bourbon, once inside, I head straight for the bar and pour myself two fingers of the amber liquid, neat, into a crystal tumbler that catches the light just right. With the glass in hand, I enter the kitchen.

As soon as I step inside, Eden darts over and envelops me in a tight hug. Her golden hair reminds me of fresh wildflowers, and there’s an undeniable warmth to her presence. I swear my little sister has golden retriever and sunshine in her DNA. It’s irritatingly endearing.

Eden pulls back from the hug and rubs her cheek where it brushed against my stubble. “You need to shave your scruff!”

Sav, lounging by the counter with a knowing grin, chimes in. “I like it. He’s got a bit of that season-nine-of-Supernatural-Jensen-Ackles vibe going on.”

“He’s so handsome,” Mom adds.

Chase sidles up to me with a playful grin and flutters his eyelashes exaggeratedly. “So handsome.”

I smack him on the back of the head, just as Dalton strides in from the backyard with a platter of ribs balanced expertly in his hands.

“Speaking of your ruggedly handsome good looks,” Chase adds, “Stacy asked about you again today.”

I ignore him, just like I do every time he mentions how his administrative assistant asks about me. Stacy was a stage-five clinger in high school and remains one to this day. She’s actually become more unhinged over the years. I wouldn’t date her if I were being held at gunpoint.

Changing the subject, I turn to Dalton and extend a hand. “Hey, D. How are things?”

Dalton is wearing his typical uniform of worn cowboy boots and dirt-streaked jeans. Nothing embodies the ruggedness of Wildhaven more than a hard-working cowboy, and in our family, that cowboy is Dalton.