Two cups of coffee in hand, I take a seat at the table just as he’s setting two plates down. Bacon, sausage, scrambled eggs, and toast.
“Thank you. This smells great.”
He nods silently, bringing the mug up to his mouth to take a sip of the coffee. “How was the BBQ last night?” he asks.
“It was fun. I went with Daisy after we took our horses on a trail ride.”
Eyeing me across the table, brow arched, a look of what can only be described as amusement across his features, he says, “So, went to the party with one Graham, and left with another?”
Fork midway to my mouth, I freeze. “How’d you know that?”
Conrad chuckles, the sound deep and rich. “Was having trouble sleeping last night, so I got up to walk around and get a glass of water. It just so happened to be the same time you were getting home. Saw you two from the kitchen window.”
My face heats, and I know without even looking, it’s bright red. “Oh, uh, yeah. Shooter got drunk, and I didn’t want him driving himself home.”
“So, the only logical thing to do was drive him to your house, not his own. Makes sense.”
Eyes narrowed on him, he cracks a smile, which has one spreading on my own face. “Well, yeah, how else would I make sure he got back to his truck this morning.”
“Of course,” he agrees with a nod, his grin growing wider. “How long has that been going on?”
I bring the coffee mug up to my lips, eyeing him over the top. “Don’t have a single clue what you’re referring to.”
“Sure, you don’t,” Conrad teases. “For what it’s worth, I think you’re good for him.”
That makes me sputter my coffee. “Wh-why?” Reaching for a napkin, I clean the dripping coffee from my chin, gawking at him. “I mean, you do?”
He nods. “I do. I’ve seen how he looks at you, and how you two are together when you think nobody else is paying attention. I’ve never seen Shooter look at anybody like he looks at you.”
I avert my gaze because, suddenly, eye contact is too hard. I’m saved from having to respond, though, when the back door opens, in walking a sleepy Shooter. Although, seeing him in the flesh only makes my cheeks flame hotter, like he magically knew what we were talking about before he walked in. His eyes go from me to Conrad to the food on the table before back to me again. Rubbing his eye with the heel of his palm, he yawns.
“Morning,” he rasps.
“Hungry?” Conrad asks, by way of greeting.
“Nah, I feel like shit, and my head’s pounding,” he grumbles, crossing the room and grabbing a mug from the cabinet. “But I will take some coffee.”
You’d think he’d been here a million times with how comfortable he looks.
Conrad glances over at me, a smirk playing around the corner of his lips as he shovels the last of his breakfast into his mouth. “Well, I’m gonna head outside.”
“I can help,” I offer, scooting my chair back to stand.
He holds up a hand. “No worries. There’s not much to do today. I got it.”
“You sure?”
“Yup. Besides, you leave tomorrow, so you probably want to relax as much as you can.”
At the mention of tomorrow, my spine steels as I remember what Shooter said last night about not coming with. I wonder, in the light of day, sober, if he feels the same.
“Thanks,” I manage before ambling over to the sink to rinse our plates and put them in the dishwasher. After I dry my hands, I turn, resting my ass on the counter as I watch Shooter sit down and take a drink from his steaming cup of coffee. His eyes lift, red-rimmed, slightly puffy, and a little groggy, meeting mine. I can’t read the expression passing through them. Nodding toward the door, I say, “Come on. Let’s go talk in my room.”
We cross the yard, into the barn, and up the stairs in silence. When we get into the room, I take a seat at the chair in front of my desk while he sits with his back against my headboard, coffee in hand.
“Why do I feel like I’m about to be scolded?” he asks teasingly, a smirk tipping up on his lips.
Chuckling, I shake my head. “I’m not going to scold you, weirdo. I just want to talk about what you told me last night, now that you’re sober.” Shooter looks away, biting the inside of his cheek. A niggling of worry builds inside my gut that maybe I’m overstepping, so I add, “Only if you want. You don’t owe me anything. It’s your business, but I’m here if you do want to talk.”
