Page 24 of Yours To Hold
“Ouch!” I turn onto the long drive that leads up to the ranch and Gramps’s house. Every good memory I have is from here.
There’s nowhere else I would rather be than here.
Pine trees tower over the paved drive that eventually turns to gravel as we turn off the main road. I roll the windows down, letting Daisy’s head hang out, breathing in the fresh mountain air.
Based on the number of cars, we’re the last people here. It doesn’t surprise me. Trying to wrangle Willow, who is more concerned with Daisy most days, isn’t the easiest thing in the world.
Gramps is rocking on the front porch as I pull in behind Gemma and park the truck.
“Hi Gramps!” Willow calls through the open window, unbuckling herself and then jumping out of the truck. Daisy follows her.
“There’s my favorite girl.”
She snickers as she runs up to him and jumps in his lap.
“Hey! I thought we were the favorites.” Layla opens the front door, coming out onto the porch, two beers in hand.
“You were my favorite when you were this age.” Gramps is all smiles.
“You’re my favorite, Aunt Layla.”
“That’s my girl.” She hands me a beer and high-fives Willow.
“I even made a painting for you,” she chirps. “Did you get it, Daddy?”
“You had them in the back seat with you.”
“Can you get them?” She stares up at me with big brown eyes.
Brown eyes I can never say no to.
“Fine.”
“You’re such a sucker.” Layla laughs.
“You’re the exact same way.” I sip on my beer as I go to grab the drawings. Peter, Nash, and Gemma are now out on the porch.
“Way to be late for dinner, Mason.” Peter punches my arm in way of greeting.
I subtly flip him the bird. “Doesn’t look like we’re late because we’re not actually eating.”
“Aunt Gemma! Can we have broccoli tonight?”
“Broccoli? Since when do you like broccoli?”
Willow launches into her newfound love of the green trees to Gemma while I peek my head inside, looking for Logan.
“He didn’t want to come tonight.” Peter knows exactly what I am doing.
“Is his leg bothering him?”
Nash shakes his head. “If it is, he didn’t tell us. I don’t think he was in the mood for a big Winchester affair tonight.”
“We’ll take him leftovers,” Peter tells me.
“I wasn’t actually worried he wasn’t eating.”
“You’ve done nothingbutworry about him since he got back. It’s a little smothering actually.” Peter sips his beer, staring me down.
