Page 105 of Wildflowers & Whiskey

“Oh, don't you dare,” Iris says, but her voice has gone soft around the edges. “Don't you dare start again because I will start too, then we will just be blubbering messes when we should be having fun! I’ve not seen my bestie in months, so here’sthe plan.” She gets off the bed, jumping to face me, “Tonight it’s self-care, wine, and no mention of men. Non-negotiable! Tomorrow, we are going to dress up like two badass cowgirls and raise money for charity while having an absolute fucking party!”

I don't say anything for a moment. Just look at her, here, in this room, because of him.

“Okay,” I finally say.

Iris smiles, kicks her shoes off, and makes herself at home on my bed like she has done a hundred times before in a hundred different places. And somehow, that small familiar gesture is enough.

“Right,” she says, reaching for her suitcase zip. “Where does this ranch keep its wine?”

Chapter Forty

Colt

“Where the hell are these girls?”

Bryan’s halfway through his second whiskey, ice clinking loud every time he tops the glass, which is every two seconds with the way he drinks. Don’t know what’s in the air tonight, other than the cloud of cologne he’s drowned himself in, is the one hitting the back of my throat with how potent it is. He has never been ready first for anything in his life. This is a man who’d turn up to his own funeral late. Yet here he is, all showered and groomed, leaning on the kitchen island. Boots and Stetsonon and all.

“They’ll be here soon,” I mutter, grabbing a glass and pouring myself a drink. I take my whiskey over to the end of the long table, dropping into a chair close to Wade. He is leaning back in his chair, arm stretched resting on the table as his index finger taps away.

He hasn’t said a word, barely has looked up from his tapping finger. Couple weeks ago, I wouldn’t have questioned it. He’s always been the quiet brooding one of us lot. But now… After everything, this feels strange. We’re supposed to be in for a fun night, and he is sitting here like he is about to go to war. Something has to be wrong.

I slide my drink over toward him without a word. He looks up at me and just nods with a very faint smile, taking the glass in his hand and downing the contents in seconds.

Bryan breaks the silence. “They’re always late.”

“Dude,” I snort. “You’ve known Iris for half a day. Calm down.”

“Well, in the whole twelve hours I’ve known her,” he says, dead serious, “she’s always been late.”

This man. Always melodramatic.

I go to open my mouth to tell him as much, but then the stairs creak, causing my attention to move towards the kitchen door.

Naomi enters first. Her braids catch the sway as she walks, new colours threaded through—orange and different shades of blue. They are bright against the dark denim of her dress, which hugs her figure just right, cutting off at her mid-thigh. She is wearing her usual boots, leather worn but still going strong.

Iris comes in right behind her, all fire and pure chaos. Ginger curls bouncing wild all the way down her back, ink crawling up her arms and down her legs, disappearing beneath denim that barely counts as shorts. Rings flash on her fingers when she grips the top of a bottle of wine, holding it up in the air, “Let’s get this party on the road, boys!”

An absolute wild card that Wildbrook Hollow is not ready for. We probably should send out a town warning, but I doubt that would even stop Bryan as he lets out a low whistle.

“Do you want me to rip your tongue out?” Iris bites, a grin tugging at her mouth as she does.

Bryan folds quicker than I’ve ever seen. Probably shocked that he has met a girl that won’t take his shit. He just sips his drink and stays quiet, but I know it won’t be the last attempt he makes.

“Stop threatening men, Iris,” a laugh comes from the doorway. Maeve. She looks… Well, gorgeous. Her hair’s down tonight, catching gold where the light hits it. Shorts just as short as Iris’, a corset-type top fitted tight, accentuating her curves.

She is your friend, I remind myself. Doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate how beautiful she is. At the end of the day, she still means a lot to me, that isn’t going to go away overnight. As long as I am aware of the ways my brain works, and pull back my expectations, then it will be fine. One small step at a time.

“You look great,” I tell her.

She smiles at me, warm and easy. “You scrub up alright yourself, cowboy.”

Her eyes drift past me, landing on Wade. He doesn’t move, doesn’t speak. Just stares into the empty glass he is still holding tight. She offers a faint smile, then turns, clapping her hands once. “Alright, come on. We’re late.”

Bryan mutters something barely audible under his breath. The girls head out in a wave of laughter and noise, excited for the night ahead.

Us men, we take our time. Even Bryan, who was practically vibrating with impatience all that not long ago.

Outside, the evening air is cooler, carrying dust from the slight breeze. The trucks sit lined up waiting for us after Wade paid some townies to come take us to the bar, letting us not worry about designated drivers.