Page 9 of The Lilac River (Silver Peaks #1)

Bad Blood – Taylor Swift

Nash

A s I walked back toward the house, I could hear the sharp clip of Dad’s expensive shoes behind me. Every precise step echoed off the gravel, a sound too clean, too polished for this land. For this life. It didn’t belong here. He didn’t belong here.

His presence had always made my skin crawl, the way he filled a room with his expectations, his judgment, his ego. Nothing was ever enough. Not for the town. Not for the ranch. Not for him.

I kept walking, hoping he'd get the message and leave.

No such luck.

When I reached the porch steps, I exhaled hard and turned. "What the hell are you still doing here? You gave me your news, news I already knew. Now you can go."

"We need to talk about getting rid of her again," he said.

I reared back. "What?" The words scraped through my throat. I stepped closer, jabbing a finger toward him. "Get rid of her? Again? What the fuck does that mean?"

"She'll drag you back in, son." His tone was hard, like even calling me "son" cost him something.

"Drag me back into what? She's not a damn drug cartel, she's a woman." I stalked toward the house

He followed closely, his presence a damn specter at my back. "You don't know what you're inviting in."

I laughed, cold and low. "You think I don't know pain? You think I haven't lived in the ashes she left behind? You think you get to tell me how to feel?"

Shaking my head, I stomped up the steps, the wood creaking under my boots, and pushed open the door.

"Hi Daddy!" Bertie chirped from the living room.

My entire body softened as soon as I laid eyes on her. "Hey, Munchkin." I ruffled her hair and dropped a kiss on top of her head. One look at her, and the rest of the world faded to gray.

The TV was paused. “Bless Your Beautiful Hide?” Having watched it enough to feel confident I was right.

"Uncle Wilder was too busy, so I took the opportunity," she said with a shrug, sass written all over her.

God, she killed me.

Before I could say more, Dad followed me in.

"Oh, hey Grandpa," Bertie said politely, but her voice lacked warmth.

He gave her a lazy wave but barely looked at her before turning to me. "Roberta?—"

"What did I do?" Bertie exclaimed, wide-eyed. "Uncle Gunner said he’d fix the window!"

My brows lifted. "What window?"

She winced. "I hit a baseball through the barn window. It was an accident."

Before I could respond, Dad barked, "Nash, stop talking about the damn window and start talking about that woman."

Bertie gasped. "Grandpa said a bad word!"

"Yeah, I know, Munchkin." I turned to him, steel in my voice. "Do not curse in front of my daughter."

He rolled his shoulders, jaw tight, clearly choking back whatever venom was next. But then he turned to me again. "Lily Jones. What are we going to do about her?"

Exhaling slowly, I pressed my fingers into my temples. "Just go," I said. "Go back to your Mayoral throne. Let me live my life."

"But—"

"Dad, I don’t want to hear it."

"Nash, son?—"

"I don't like interrupting people," I said, voice low and cutting. "Mom taught us it was bad manners. But I will gladly keep interrupting you if you keep talking about something that’s none of your damn business."

Bertie nodded solemnly. "Daddy says interrupting is like stealing someone’s words. And those words might be important."

His mouth thinned. He looked at her then, really looked at her, and for a second, I thought maybe something would crack. But it didn’t.

I stepped forward, hand flat against his chest.

"Get. Out."

His eyes burned. He stamped his foot like a spoiled kid and pointed a shaking finger at me, but when I widened my stance and glared, he finally turned and stormed out.

The door slammed behind him.

"Woah," Bertie said, eyes wide. "Grandpa is very angry. What’s his problem?"

"Something you don’t need to worry about, sweetheart."

"But I do worry, Daddy." She frowned, tilting her head up, her quizzical gaze on me. "You look sad. Grandpa just makes you cuss, so who’s making you sad? 'Cause I know it's not me."

My heart twisted.

I dropped to my knees and pulled her into a hug.

"Sometimes," I said, smoothing her hair, "your heart just feels too big for your chest. And when it gets too full, it aches. When that happens, you have to let some things go, and that can make you sad."

She blinked up at me, absorbing every word like gospel.

"You fill my heart, Daddy," she whispered fiercely, "and I’ll never let you go."

I closed my eyes, pressing a kiss to her hair. "You're my heart, too, Munchkin. Always."

And just like that, she tapped my butt and said, "Okay, good. Can I watch TV now?"

Chuckling, I handed her the remote. "Go on. Howard Keel’s waiting."

She flopped onto the couch with a grin.

"Cookies and milk after bathtime?" she asked sweetly.

"You already had two plates of pot pie."

"I’m a growing girl!"

"You’re a growing negotiator."

"That too."

I shook my head. "Fine. Milk and cookies after your bath."

"Yay! Oh! Daddy, I forgot.” She dug around in her overalls, pulling out a crumpled paper. "Miss. Carmichael gave us this before summer."

Crumbs and what looked like half a gummy bear fell out.

"Bertie," I groaned, unfolding the note. "Why didn’t you give this to me sooner?"

"I was busy this summer!" she protested.

Scanning the paper, my stomach dropped.

Get To Know You Day.

Of course.

"Bertie," I said slowly, "you volunteered me to make thirty cupcakes ?"

She gave me a beatific smile. "You make great mac n' cheese, Daddy."

"So why not volunteer me to make that?"

"Cupcakes impress teachers."

I sighed. "They have to be homemade. Not store-bought."

"I want Miss. Gray to love me!"

"Bertie, you know Mrs. Lagerfeld bakes your birthday cakes, right?"

She gasped like I’d confessed murder. "You lied to me!"

"It was more an emotional...embellishment."

She flopped onto her back. "I'm discombobulated!"

"And the Oscar goes to."

"But my world is shattered."

Laughing, I held out my hand and pulled her upright.

"I’ll make the cupcakes, Munchkin. I promise."

"Yay! You’re the best Daddy ever."

"Damn right," I said, tucking the paper into my pocket.

"Now go watch your movie, Drama Queen."

"Okay, Daddy. See you in thirty minutes!"

As Howard Keel started singing again, I headed toward my office.

Thinking about cupcakes.

And Lily fucking Jones.