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He wants to crawl inside her brain and rip out every last bad memory.

And he wants to do terrible, vicious things to the people who created them.

“Did you finish it?”

I peer down at the little boy clutching my legs. “Finish what, buddy?”

The spitting image of his mother, Alex gives me a look that reeks of exasperation. ““Izzy’s blankie.”

Ah, shit.

“Not yet.” Palming the top of his head, I gently push him away from the hot stove, turning off the burners so breakfast doesn’t burn while I squat down to my nephew’s level. “But soon, yeah?”

Alex drops his head back and sighs like I’ve dealt him the utmost inconvenience, so dramatic it makes my mouth twitch.

“You want some breakfast, kiddo?”

That perks him up. At his emphatic nod, I ruffle his hair and straighten to grab a plate from the warm stack beside the stove and load it up with the only foods I’m really capable of cooking well—scrambled eggs, bacon, and sausage.

I’m adding toast to the pile when Alex suddenly hollers, and I glance over my shoulder just in time to watch him hurtle across the kitchen and into the arms of his second favorite man.

“Damn, Alex.” Finn whistles as he hoists the kid up without breaking his stride, looming over me half a second later. “Leave some for the rest of us.”

My gaze drops to the full plate of food I belatedly realize I probably couldn’t even finish.

And, I also realize, Alex probably has a plastic plate that won’t shatter into a million sharp pieces with a slip of his clumsy toddler fingers.

Jesus, I probably would’ve given him real cutlery too, wouldn’t I?

Ah, shit again. Aunt of the fucking year.

Sighing, I move to ditch my terrible parenting attempt, but before I can, Finn snatches the plate away. “The little man’ll share with me. Won’t you, bud?”

Eyes wide, Alex enthusiastically agrees like that would be the honor of his life.

Bouncing him on his hip, Finn carries him to the table and smoothly transfers him to his booster seat. “You on your own today?” he asks me as he dips into the cutlery drawer to grab a yellow plastic fork before taking the seat beside Alex.

Nodding, I absentmindedly explain that Eliza is sick, Lux is holed up in her office, Jackson is knee-deep in a feed delivery. He asks something else and I register it enough to answer, but I’m not quite all there, I’m a little distracted. A little too focused on other things.

Like the soft, sweet upturn of a pair of full lips as Finn talks to me, but smiles at Alex. Playfully fights him for a piece of bacon. Listens intently as the toddler blabbers about the Halloween costume he wore a couple of days ago.

He’s good with him. I knew that already—I’ve seen them interact, heard Alex wax poetic about Uncle Finn—yet it still gets me every time, smacks me right in the ovaries.

I don’t have the burning desire to procreate right this very minute—frankly, I think I need to be at least forty before I pop out a kid to balance out the median age of parenthood in this family—but I think quite literally anyone, everyone , would take one look at Finn crooning at my nephew and have seconds thoughts.

Right?

I don’t realize I have an audience of my own until a shoulder brushes mine. “Woah.” Blue eyes widen with an obviously false sense of concern. “Watch out.”

Reluctantly, I shift my gaze to my sister-in-law-to-be as she bypasses the coffee pot in favor of the kettle, pouring boiling water over the teabag she already dumped in a mug. “What?”

Bringing her mug to her smirking lips with one hand, Luna gestures at the floor with the other. “That puddle of drool. I don’t want you to slip.”

Running my tongue over my teeth, I scoff. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Uh-huh.” Luna slurps her herbal blend, loud and obnoxious. “Sure you don’t.”

With a huff, I turn back to the stove, trying to ignore Luna’s not-so-quiet snickering and finding it a lot easier when the front door opening signals the arrival of several hungry ranch hands.

Taking up the rear, my brother crooks a brow at me. “You done?”

I’m mid-handing over Yasmin’s breakfast, but I nod anyway.

Mouth quirking, Jackson shakes his head once before jerking it towards the open front door. “Go on. She’s here.”

It’s a miracle I manage to muster up the patience to make sure someone else has a good grip on the plate in my hand before I let it go. Wiping my suddenly clammy palms off on my jeans, I scoot around the other ranch hands and haul ass outside, making it to the barn just as a truck stops outside it.

Unfolding herself from the driver’s seat, a tall blonde scans the dust road she just rambled down before smiling at me. “You must be Lottie.”

Briefly, I wonder how my brother described me—medium height, medium build, temper as red as her hair . “That’s me.”

“Carmen,” the new trainer introduces herself, holding out a hand for me to shake as her green eyes flit to someone behind me. “And you are…”

Another hand appears in my peripheral, grasping the one I just let go of. “Finn. I work here.”

“Nice to meet you both.”

Carmen’s gaze flits between us, lingering on Finn a little longer, dipping and rising in what cannot be mistaken as anything other than an appreciative glance.

I can’t blame her, can I? I can’t judge her either—the look on her face makes me want to drag Luna out here and ask if I was wearing the same one a few minutes ago.

To her credit, though, she doesn’t let the stupidly handsome vision that is Finn distract her for too long. “You wanna introduce me to your guy or should we wait for you brother?”

“I can do it.” I’m already halfway to Ruin’s stall, Carmen hot on my heels and Finn right beside her, for some reason. Eyeing him over my shoulder, I let him know, “I don’t need a bodyguard, cowboy.”

He holds up his hands, the picture of innocence. “I’m just here to see if you pull out any more tricks.”

I snicker. Yeah, right. There’s a hot blonde giving him the eyes, but it’s my running mount he’s here to see. Okay . “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

His wink catches me so off-guard, I don’t notice his hand moving until it’s yanking one of the two braids I managed to split my ponytail into all by myself this morning, no help needed. Screeching a protest, I try to bat him away but miss, and the other braid suffers a similar fate.

Managing to wrap my fingers around a thick wrist on my second attempt, I shove the offending limb away. “You’re a little boy in a decrepit old man’s body, you know that?”

“Decrepit old man?” With a scoff that sounds genuinely, deeply offended, Finn flexes both arms so those plentiful muscles bulge beneath a thin, dark gray long-sleeve. Looking way too cocky to find attractive—yet here I am anyway—he repeats, “ Decrepit old man? ”

“Am I supposed to be impressed?” Because I am. Extremely. I’ve always been a sucker for arms and his are… well, I might actually be drooling now. “Put those away. Show off to Carmen on your own time.”

Finn’s arms drop. A little furrow appears between his brows, his downturned mouth opening, but before he can, I don’t know, reprimand me for embarrassing him in front of his little crush, a loud neigh makes someone’s else’s presence known.

The next half hour passes quickly. A deluge of information is thrust upon me, training plans and trust exercises and books I should read, techniques I should know, classes I could take, if I’m serious about this horse training business.

Which Carmen thinks I am. She thinks I’ll be good at it.

She watches me intently as I interact with Ruin, she croons a compliment or two, and when the stallion rests his heavy head on my shoulder, nuzzling between my shoulder blades like he can sense the healing bruised skin beneath my shirt, she remarks, “He likes you.”

I smile at Ruin as he headbutts me, a firm reprimand when I dare to stop scratching for even a second. “I like him too.”

It’s not until a beat of silence has me glancing sideways, until I realize Carmen’s gaze is focused somewhere else, on someone else, that I wonder, just for a second, if maybe she wasn’t talking about the horse.

“Mind if I join you?”

Briefly, I consider telling Adam that yes, I do mind. If I were in a bad mood—if I were in a worse mood, I should say—I probably would.

As it is, though, I kind of feel sorry for the poor guy. He’s spent the past hour by the firepit watching his loved-up friends reenact a scene straight out of a Hallmark movie. I’d have to be a real monster to send him back out there. “Knock yourself out.”

A vision of relief, Adam flops down on the other end of the sofa. “What’re you doing?”

For that dumbass question, I almost rescind the invite.

Deadpan, I hold up my knitting needles . “What does it look like I’m doing?”

One corner of his mouth lifts. “It looks like you’re knitting.”

“Bravo.” Although, trying to knit would be a better description. I really thought it would just all come flooding back to me and I’d whip through my little project in one shitty shark movie. Alas, at the rate I’m going, it might take me the entire genre.

“Excuse the fuck out of me,” Adam quips playfully. “But you don’t exactly strike me as a knitter.”

“Yeah, well, I’m full of surprises.”

He hums a noise of assent. “You did good with Ruin today.”

I barely did anything with Ruin today. The prime objective was getting him to join-up under Carmen’s watchful eye, but his mood was so off, I don’t think an entire bag of sugar could’ve calmed him down.

He didn’t attempt to trample anyone to death though, so I suppose that’s a win. “And that surprised you?”

“Am I gonna get a knitting needle through the eye if I say yes?”

“Possibly.”

Adam laughs, slouching a little, and I use the handful of minutes he takes to get more comfortable as a chance to study the man I’ve barely spoken more than five words to.