Page 22 of Cowboy Heat

Apparently, so was Everett Guidry.

Kissy wantsto finish the tour when we’re back at Blue Lolita. I tell her no, respectfully. She’s been through a lot, and well, there’s dried blood on her still. I don’t think she’s dealing with what happened.

Though I know that feeling, so I instead complain about being hungry to steer her drive somewhere else.

She lights up at an idea then gets a call before I can hear what it is. We’re back at the main house in Blue Lolita, so I walk inside to give her some privacy. Based on the way she’s talking, I guess the caller is Doc Lawson or Wyatt. There’s no tension.

Not that it’s really my business, I remind myself, pressing through the house’s still slightly stale smell. If it wouldn’t look like I was snooping, I might pop open a few windows to get some fresh air in.

Instead, I go for the fridge. I’m disappointed at its lack of contents.

I feel like I haven’t had time to stand still in this place. That goes double for grocery shopping for more than a six pack of beer and sandwich meat.

My phone buzzes in my pocket. The caller ID reads Mr. Night.

The last of the Montgomery brothers to make contact since I’ve come to Robin’s Tree.

I answer it and close the refrigerator door. I lean against it to give my leg some grace when Macy’s voice rumbles a “Hey.”

“Hey back.”

“You made it to Ryan’s place okay?” he asks. I can hear movement on the other side of the phone. Last I knew, Macy was somewhere in Georgia. Before that, Maine. I would ask, but Macy isn’t like the rest of the Montgomery family. He’s isn’t an open book. He’s barely a legible page.

“The drive was nice once I got off the interstate. Thought I got lost once or twice, but that’s only because this place feels a world away from everything else. I think you’ll like it for that.”

I don’t know if Macy was quiet before the Girl Beneath the Floor, but I know he’s grown into a young man who says even less if you get too personal.

Right now, he pivots instead. “How’re you feeling?”

I stiffen. Pain pulses through what he really wants to ask after—my leg.

Since the explosion in Orlando, I’ve gotten enough more questions from my brothers than ever before.

We’re all getting used to it.

I push down my pain.

Well, maybe not all of us.

“Nothing a few stretches couldn’t help.”

I can picture Macy nod. One deep movement while his mind has already moved on to something else.

If there’s one thing to say for Macy Montgomery, it’s that he doesn’t linger.

“Good deal,” he ends. There’s more movement on his side of the call. Then some beeping. “Alright, I need to split,” he adds “Just wanted to touch base. Keep stretching.”

It’s only after I tell him bye that I realize he’s done it again.

He’s left the chat, so to speak, before I can ask about him.

Macy’s number-one skill is stressing out Maximus. I can see how that works. I also realize I’m taking a page out of Macy’s book right now.

I should call the boys and give them a heads up about Alice Dean’s attack on the property.

But I don’t.

I’m still leaning against the fridge when Kissy gives a soft knock and comes in. She’s all big blonde hair and curls and apologies.