Don’t know how I always forget that.
“Oh, baby," she whispers like I’m still five. "I’ll get the sweet tea.”
Few minutes later, we’re sitting side by side on the old wicker bench with the faded yellow cushions—the ones covered in daisies and bees she refuses to throw out. She hands me a glass, doesn’t say a word, just sips slow and gives me space.
It reminds me of Georgia, and for a second, I wonder if that’s why I’m so drawn to the woman. It’s familiar.Calming.
But I immediately know it’s not just that. With her, it’s something different entirely.
I stare at the fields stretching out in front of us, then finally say it.
Rip the fucking Band-Aid off, Archer.
“Marlee’s dead.”
Mom gasps, pressing a hand to her chest. Her iced tea glass nearly slips free, but she sets it down at the last second.
I wasn’t sure if she’d heard through the gossip rings, or if the news had even reached Heart Springs, but judging by the tears in her eyes, it clearly hasn’t.
“How?” she manages to ask.
And for the second time, I tell someone a tragedy. Only thing I hold off on is Aurora. I need another breath before I can slice into the wound again.
She listens, shoulders tight, hands bundled between her knees.
“I thought she moved away. Where did this happen?” Then she frowns—like the dots are trying to reach but can’t quite connect. “Wait. How did you even find out?”
I chug half my tea like it'll make the words easier. It doesn’t.
“A social worker told me.”
Her eyes light up like a switch got flipped. “Georgia?”
I jerk a nod, biting the inside of my cheek as I watch her fight an incredibly inappropriate smile.
“Oh my Lord, I knew it. Saw her at the farmers market this morning, and I just felt it in my bones.” She pats my leg. “Something's going on between you two, isn’t it?”
“You saw her?” I ask, the words out before I can stop myself.
There’s a look in her eyes that sends a tingle down my spine. Matches the look she had outside Thread & Thimble all those weeks ago. Like she’s hiding something—plotting.
Before I can ask what the hell she’s done, she continues, and her words have my jaw clenching.
“She met the twins—girls adore her. And Hazel invited her to girls’ night at the Saddle.”
My stomach twists knowing exactly what Hazel and her friends get up to on girls’ nights in town. Hazel can drink more than most big men I know—and handles her liquor like any cowboy—but she’s reckless and wild on a good day.
Drunk and surrounded by her feral girlfriends? I’ll be surprised if someone doesn’t wind up arrested, or in a random’s bed.
Thought of Georgia in the middle of all that? Alone with my sister?
Hate it. Hate it hell of a lot more than I have any right to.
“Y’all shouldn’t be inviting her to anything,” I mutter, glancing away to hide my unwanted irritation. “’Specially not girls’ night. Georgia’s not from here, and she’s not staying.” I chug some tea. “Besides, she’s not my social worker any more. We’ll probably never see her again. Last thing we need is the girls getting attached.”
“The girls, huh?” she murmurs, chuckling.
“You’re already halfway obsessed with the woman, Ma. The twins spend any more time with her, they’ll start calling her their new sister.”
