Page 52 of Wildflowers & Whiskey

“Why do you care, Maeve? You’ll be home before you know it. We will be just a stop in your little journey. Don’t leave behind drama in places you do not belong.”

I instantly regret my words. Maeve’s face shifts from angry to hurt, but as quickly as it comes, it goes back to anger again. But her voice softens a little. Almost into that sad anger people go through.

“I care because Colt is probably the nicest guy I have met. He cares for people too much; he makes himself vulnerable. He deserves to know why you treat him the way you do. He deserves the truth, Wade…”

What the hell is she going on about? This conversation ended early yesterday. Why is she only just coming to my cabin at 11:30 p.m. to hash it out again?

“You don’t know what you’re talking about. Now, please leave my cabin.” I shift my body away so she is out of my view. I can’t stand the sight of her being upset. Don’t usually bother me with others, but with her, I want her to see me differently. It’s too late for that. She is getting too close to us, and she is dangerous to my life and the things I’ve done to protect my own.

“I know, Wade. I know why you don’t want to speak about you and Colt. I know what it is you are so desperate to hide, yet you treat Colt the way you do,” She pauses, and my knuckles go white from holding the glass so firmly.

“I know you’re not Colt’s biological father.”

My eyes widen as I lock my gaze into my nearly empty glass. I was right, I am going to need more than two.

Chapter Nineteen

Maeve

I've done some irrational things in my life, but storming out in full goblin mode to air out my brooding cowboy boss' biggest life secret might just take the fucking cake.

Seeing that picture—three months pregnant, May 1998 written in faded blue at the bottom—made everything click into place with a sickening kind of clarity. Wade had told me he’d been gone for four months before his last win. Ruby was three months pregnant in May.

My brain did the maths, and the math wasn’t mathing.

If those dates were right, Ruby had conceived while Wade was still out on tour. While he was gone.

And I am no scientist, but I’m pretty sure Wade doesn’t have super sperm that can get a woman pregnant across the continent.

Maybe I’m wrong.

God, I hope I’m wrong.

But I don’t think I am.

That’s why I don’t hesitate. Why my voice stays steady when I say it, standing on his porch in the cold dark like I have any right to be here at all.

“I know you’re not Colt’s biological father.”

The words hang in the cold night air; the silence is almost deafening.

Wade doesn’t move, still sitting with the whiskey glass clasped in his hand, the porch light catching the amber liquid. He’s frozen in the chair, head bowed low, fixed in place.

I wanted to be wrong. But he’s not correcting me, not telling me I’ve gone batshit crazy. Which means I’m right.

Fuck.

I take a step closer. Then another. Approaching with caution. Not because I think he’d hurt me—Wade isn’t that kind of man, I know that in my bones. But because I have no idea how this is going to go. Whether I want to be close enough to see whatever’s about to show on his face.

Get a fucking grip, Maeve. He’s the asshole here.

“Just because he isn’t your biological son doesn’t mean you get to treat him the way you do.” The words come out sharp, the anger front and centre in my tone. “It’s not his fault! You can’t take out your feelings about your ex-wife on him. He deserves so much more!”

I suck in a breath, cold air burning down my throat and my lungs. I'm drowning in emotions right now. Fury for Colt, mostly. But also, disappointment—in Wade for being exactly what he appears to be, and in myself for believing otherwise. For being attracted to a man who proves me wrong every time I think I've glimpsed something decent beneath his scowling silence.

Seconds tick by, the silence stretches.

“Can you say something? Please?” I move around to face him properly.