Sweet Home Montana Page 18

  I try so hard to swallow the ball of emotion that sits in the back of my throat making it hard to breathe, but I just can’t. And that emotion stings at my eyes. But I won’t cry. I can’t. My shoulders fall and I turn so that I can face him, reaching out a tentative hand and placing it onto his arm. With a heavy sigh, I stare at him for a long moment, his heart and every single one of his emotions laid out bare in the air between us, and my mind is an utter wreck of thoughts, of what could have been, what should have been, and what wasn’t. So many years wasted. So much time taken away. So much energy spent worrying about things that just don’t even remotely matter in the end.

  I release a trembling breath, shaking my head. What’s the use in fighting and arguing over what was said, and what was done as a result? It’s done, now. And now yesterday no longer matters. All we have are our tomorrows.

  “Dad didn’t know about Meg. I never told him. I was going to wait until she said yes, ’til she was my fiancée. And then, that didn’t happen,” Tripp continues with a shrug. “But this one time I got so damn angry with him for something … hell, I can’t even remember what, now … and I told him I gave up the love of my damn life for him, for this place. I stayed. Me! You were at college. Cash was off starting his family. After the way he treated me all my life, it was me who stayed and gave up everything. And you wanna know what he said to me when I told him about Meg?” he asks me with a derisive scoff.

  I nod, although to be honest, from the gleam of unshed tears glossy over his eyes, I’m not really sure I do want to know.

  He continues regardless. “He said, don’t worry about it, son. You’re better off. You probably just would’ve gone and screwed it all up, anyway.”

  My jaw actually drops. I can’t even believe it. I knew my father looked at me differently than my brothers. He loved me differently. I was his little girl. And I loved my father, with everything I had. He was the one true love of my life. My hero. My constant. But to hear this of him now, after he’s gone, to see the unimaginable pain he’s caused Tripp, it hurts like hell and it makes me so damn angry.

  Dad, what’ve you done? I shake my head to myself.

  Tripp shrugs after a beat, a heavy, defeated sigh following. “You know, he was probably right … I would’ve screwed everything up with Meg, eventually. I always do.”

  My shoulders fall and I turn so that I can face him, reaching out a tentative hand and placing it on his arm. “Tripp, no, don’t say that.”

  He laughs another humorless laugh, shrugging a shoulder. “Why not? It’s true.”

  I hesitate as I consider my words. I don’t know if they’re the right words to say right now, but I need to say them. “I know it’s no excuse, and it probably means nothing, and you have every right to be upset at Dad for what he did to you, for what he said, for how he treated you over the years,” I begin, squeezing his arm a moment until he forces himself to meet my eyes. “Dad was always hard on you. More than Cash. Obviously more than me. But …” I pause, biting down on my bottom lip, carefully choosing my words, ever cautious. “But it wasn’t vindictive, or malicious. It didn’t come from a bad place. And despite what you think, he didn’t hate you, Tripp. He once told me that you reminded him so much of himself. So, I think he was hard on you, the way Grandpa was hard on him, because that’s what he was used to. And I know that isn’t an explanation or an excuse, and what he said and did to you is not fair, but in his own messed-up way of thinking, I think it was his way of loving you.”

  Tripp looks at me. Really looks at me. And within his heavy gaze I can’t help but feel a little nervous. Maybe I’ve said the wrong thing. But then the smallest hint of a smile begins to tug at his lips, and I allow myself to breathe again.

  “What?” I ask, my brows knitting together in confusion the longer he continues staring and smiling at me.

  “You always said it was Dad who was the glue that held this dysfunctional family together.” He muses a moment, regarding me carefully, his gaze studying every inch of my face. “But it was never Dad, Quinny. This place fell apart without you, the day you left. You’re the glue. You always have been. And I’m sorry I held that against you for so long.”

  And, with that, with my heart swelling to at least eight times its size, it actually feels as if it’s about to burst right out of me. Tripp throws an arm around my shoulders, pulling me into his side. He places a rough kiss on the top of my head as we stand there staring out at Wagner Ranch, our differences and the pain from our past set aside, quashed once and for all.

  But then our moment comes to an abrupt end when he suddenly asks, “So, you gonna tell me where you were last night?”

  My smile falters, and I close my eyes, that painfully swollen heart coming to a jolting stop as flames heat my cheeks.

  “Um, I-I didn’t …” I pull myself out of his one-arm embrace, regarding my brother as he watches me. I nervously tuck my hair behind my ear, searching for an answer, but, instead, I change the subject and hope he doesn’t notice. “Hey, what are you doing tonight? We should go out. Just you and me. Grab a drink at Duke’s. For old times’ sake.” I smile, praying my change of topic doesn’t seem like the blatant admission of guilt it sure as hell feels like.

  “Yeah, sounds good.” Tripp nods. “I should get to work.” He pushes off from the railing, collecting his empty coffee mug. “I gotta go check out one of the west fences. Damn wolves keep getting in and spooking the cattle.”

  I breathe easy at having dodged his bullet of suspicion, following Tripp toward the front door. But then he stops, and I glance up at my brother to find him gauging me with an uncertain look of trepidation in his steely gray eyes.

  “What is it?” I ask.

  “I’m sorry, Quinn.” He pressed his lips together, a sheepish smile as he bows his head a moment. “The way I’ve treated you, it’s been totally unacceptable. I’m an asshole, and … I’m so sorry.”

  I press my lips together with a smile. “Apology accepted.”

  “God, I missed you,” he mutters under his breath as he ducks down, pulling me into another hug, and I breathe him in, smiling to myself, closing my eyes and realizing that finally, after ten long years, it actually feels as if I finally have my brother back. But then, another spanner is thrown in the works with his words. “Promise me you’ll be careful with Colt?”

  I still, my eyes flying open.

  Oh no.

  He knows.

  “Whatever the two of you are doing, just … take it slow,” he continues into my hair. “A lot of shit’s happened since you left. I don’t wanna see either of you two gettin’ hurt again.”

  I swallow hard, reluctantly pulling back and meeting his knowing gaze. I bite down on the inside of my cheek, just waiting, but he says no more. And with one last knowing look, a tight-lipped smile, he drops his arm from around me and turns, heading inside the house and leaving me there with my stomach in sudden knots and wondering what the hell that was about.

  Chapter 21

  I somehow convinced Tripp to come to Duke’s. He was vehemently against it at first, telling me he didn’t want to deal with the drunk, rowdy cowboys that frequent the saloon on a Saturday night, looking for trouble. He was already in it enough, with Robbie Shepherd; he didn’t need to risk violating the conditions of his bail. He suggested a honkytonk truck stop on the other side of town, out by the interstate. But I wasn’t having it. Duke’s was our stomping ground back in the day, and this is like our sequel. The Wagner twins, back together again for round two; ten years later.

  Of course, I won the argument. I can be very convincing. And so now, Tripp leads me in through the saloon doors, albeit reluctantly, glancing over his shoulder every so often to check on me. I smile as I follow closely, clutching the back of his shirt so as not to lose him in the crowd.

  Inside, the lights are low, drinks are flowing, and the whole place is vibrating with the beat of the live band as they play a pumping country-rock tune to an enthusiastic crowd. We stop at the bar,
waiting in a line six-deep, and I take the opportunity to look around, my eyes narrowing to see through the muted light. But when I spot a familiar face, finding Rylie ducking behind the far end of the bar, I can’t help but smile.

  And then in that moment a thought suddenly pops into my head, and my smile grows when I glance at my oblivious brother. He looks good tonight. Black jeans, a plain white T-shirt beneath an open blue jean shirt, tan boots, scuffed to perfection. With his Stetson left at home, his sandy blond hair is on display, swept back from his cleanly shaven face. Despite the one fading black eye, and the bandages covering the swollen knuckles he’d received in the battle of idiots outside the sheriff’s station the night before last, he looks like a handsome, relatively sweet, twenty-nine-year-old off-duty wrangler, and the Cupid inside of me rears his mischievous head.

  “Hey, do you know Rylie?” I ask as casually as I can manage, casually throwing my thumb in the direction of my newfound friend as she serves a customer from the other end of the bar.

  Tripp follows the direction of my thumb, his brows pulling together as his gaze lands on the curvy brunette, and I don’t miss the blatant look of familiarity in his eyes. Oh, he knows her all right.

  “Yeah,” he says with a grunt, his jaw clenching as he fixes his gaze on the back of the head of the person waiting in front of him. He offers a nonchalant shrug of his shoulders. “Everyone knows Rylie …”

  As if she knows we were just talking about her, Rylie glances over her shoulder, zeroing in on me through the muted light, her eyes widening with surprise. She looks from me, to Tripp and back again, and momentarily she hesitates before finishing with her customer. And I don’t miss the flash of something in her eyes. But, whatever it was, it’s quickly replaced by a wide smile as she begins to move in my direction.

  “Hey, doll,” Rylie yells over the music, waving me toward the counter.

  I pull Tripp with me by his shirtsleeve, abandoning his post in line, and I smile innocently as I approach the bar. “Hey, Rylie.” I glance over my shoulder. “You know Tripp, right?”

  Her smile falters momentarily, her gaze landing on my brother, her eyes raking him up and down. “Yeah, of course.” She smiles again, a little tighter this time. “Hey, Tripp.”

  “Rylie.” Tripp lifts his chin, pressing his lips together in a tight, forced smile of his own.

  I’m not sure why, but the air between the two of them is stifling and awkward as hell, and I watch on as they avoid one another’s gaze; Tripp glancing out over the crowded dance floor, Rylie looking down at her hands. My suspicious gaze darts between them, my brows pulling together. And I’m not sure why, but I have a sneaking suspicion that perhaps Rylie and Tripp don’t just know one another. It almost feels as if there’s something serious between two of them.

  Did they date? There’s definitely a past there—I can sense it between them. It’s in the air hanging heavily between them. In the way they barely even acknowledge one another. In the words they refuse to speak. There’s definitely something going on there.

  But I sweep whatever it is aside, choosing instead to avert the awkwardness. “Rylie, can I grab two whiskeys? Straight up. And a couple beer chasers.” I grin, nudging Tripp with my elbow. “My brother and I are gonna get shitfaced for old times’ sake.”

  Tripp groans through a light chuckle, shaking his head.

  Rylie smirks, the trepidation in her eyes dissipating with a genuine smile. She winks at me. “Coming right up, doll.”

  ***

  Tripp and I have been laughing and drinking, talking about all the stupid things we did when we were kids. And this night, laughing with my brother for the first time in what feels like forever, is one of the best nights I’ve had in a long time.

  “Remember when we went cow tipping at Jenson’s ranch?” Tripp quirks a brow, a knowing grin flashing at me from across the table.

  “You got chased by a bull!” I laugh out loud, slapping the tabletop with my hand. “You screamed so loud you woke up Jenson.”

  “That guy was such a dick. He had it in for me since the first day of term, freshman year.” Tripp throws his head back with a groan, remembering back to our biology teacher. “He came running down from his house, dressed only in his Y-fronts.” He laughs at the memory. “Pulled a damn shotgun on my ass. I almost pissed my damn pants.”

  “The next day Dad went over there,” I continue, and Tripp flashes me a knowing smile. “He ripped Jenson’s stogie right from his mouth, tossed it to the ground and said, Pull that shotgun on my kid ever again and so help me God, I’ll shove that barrel so far up your ass, all you’ll be smoking for the rest of your life is gunpowder, you damn inbred hick.”

  “He really was a badass, huh,” Tripp muses, smiling down at the empty glass in his hands.

  For the moment we fall silent, sharing a fleeting smile at one another across the table as we remember our father. And my shoulders sag in some semblance of relief, because for the first time since being home, I can see Tripp is maybe finally starting to realize that not all the memories of him and Dad are bad. And maybe, just maybe, he’s beginning to see that our father really was on his side.

  “You know the other day, in Cash’s truck when you said you were staying?”

  I meet Tripp’s tentative gaze, and I nod once.

  His eyes flash down to the third glass of whiskey in his hands. “Are you really gonna stay?”

  I consider his question for a long moment. And in that moment, I think about everything. I think of Tripp, and the moment we shared earlier today, when he pulled me into a hug so tight, I forgot just how much I missed him over the years. I think of Colt and our time together last night, how right it felt lying in his arms, falling asleep to the rhythmic thrum of his heart that beats only for me. But I also think back to New York, to where I’ve spent the last ten years of my life, wondering if it really came down to it, could I actually give that all up?

  My eyes meet Tripp’s once again, and I’m fixed within his deep, penetrative stare, and I suddenly remember back to this afternoon, to what he said to me.

  I cock my head to the side, studying him carefully. “Hey, what did you mean today?”

  His brows knit together at my question.

  “You said to be careful with Colt.” I arch a brow. “That a lot of shit has happened … What did you mean by that?” I ask with a shrug. “What happened?”

  Tripp suddenly looks uncomfortable, his hand grasping his glass so tight I’m worried it’s about to shatter in his palm. He shifts in his seat, doing all he can to avoid my gaze. He runs a hand through his hair, blowing out a heavy breath between his lips, but then he fixes me with a serious look, studying me for a long moment.

  “What?”

  “You still love him, huh?”

  I nod without hesitation. “I never stopped loving him.”

  His gaze moves over my head. He watches the lights flicker up above, clamping his bottom lip between his teeth. And I can see the thoughts racing through his mind. He’s battling with what I can only assume is right and wrong. And it leaves me feeling very uneasy. But then, as if he can sense my anxiety, Tripp’s shoulders sag as he shakes his head, his gaze settling upon me once again. “Talk to him about it,” is all he says, finishing what’s left in his glass, his eyes moving back toward the bar. “I’m gonna get another round.”

  And before I can question him, before I can grab hold of his arm and force him to stay right where he is and demand he tell me exactly what he’s obviously trying to avoid, he’s gone, and I’m left there alone, my mind reeling.

  ***

  Tripp has been caught up playing a game of pool with some of his buddies, and I’ve been all but ditched, receiving no more than the occasional glance from across the bar as I remain on my own, nursing my beer, trying so hard to make sense of my brother’s cryptic ramblings and conflicting actions.

  I look up in time to see his eyes on me, staring in my direction unseeingly, a crease etched between his brows as if i
n deep thought, and I’ve had enough. I can’t take this anymore. I can’t take the secrets. The confusing snippets of information. The cautious glances. I need some air. I place my half-empty glass of beer onto the table and grab my purse. I walk away, snaking my way through the swollen crowd as I head to the bar for a water, which is when I crash face first into a hard body.

  A familiar scent envelops me, causing the hairs on the back of my neck to stand on end as memories of last night suddenly inundate every particle of my hazy mind. I tilt my head back, finding Colt looking down at me, a blank, unreadable expression on his face that contradicts the blatant look of heat blazing within his green eyes. A small smile ghosts over his lips, one that he tries to hide by raking his teeth over his bottom lip, and he takes a step closer, completely closing the distance between us.

  “W-what are you doing here?” I stammer, and I’m not sure he can even hear me over the shrill sound of an electric guitar solo currently ringing through the saloon.

  I can feel his breath fan down over my temple, his hand reaching up, gently stroking my arm as he leans in so close. “Isn’t that skirt a little short?” he whispers, his voice gruff and raspy as his lips graze against the shell of my ear.

  I look down to my jean skirt, unable to stop myself from grinning before plastering a look of faux innocence on my face. “You don’t like it?”

  His eyes burn as they implore mine, and I see nothing but a wanton desire in his steady gaze. And suddenly, all I want right now more than anything is to kiss him. But I’m not sure I can do that. I’m not sure we’re there yet. He said this morning that he needs time. Time for what? I have no idea, but time all the same.