When we get to the backyard, he doesn’t let go. All the food is already laid out on the picnic table under the oak trees. It’s a spread of chicken and beef street tacos with chips, homemade guacamole, queso, and salsa. There are colorful toppings, like diced tomatoes, lettuce, cilantro, and shredded cheese.
“Looks great, ladies. Thanks for cooking,” I say.
Dolly is setting a pitcher of iced sweet tea and another one of lemonade in the center of the table.
“Where’s Pops?” I ask her.
“Inside, sleeping. He didn’t want to eat,” she says, eyes downcast.
Sam approaches her, pressing a kiss to her forehead.
“You guys are filthy,” Dolly complains.
Dutton doesn’t seem to want to let my hand go. Everyone is gathering around the table. Dallas stares at me as Dutton leads me over. I take a seat at the end of the picnic table, across from Dallas. Dutton plops down next to me.
“Are you going to put a shirt on?” she asks, her voice low.
I lean across the table. “Why? Is my bare chest distracting you, Mamas?” I wink at her.
Her cheeks flame bright red. She slowly shakes herhead.
“Then I guess I’ll just eat like this then.” I grab the pitcher of sweet tea. “Tea?”
She nods, holding up her glass.
Her left ring finger is bare, making me curious about how things are with her husband. I fill her cup up, internally debating how to bring it up.
“I’m sorry about your dad,” she says quietly. “Rosie told me about …” Her voice trails off.
My gut feels hollow. I haven’t fully come to grips with the reality of my dad’s terminal diagnosis. After a few moments of tense silence, I finally nod.
“Thanks. Holden, quit hogging the queso.”
My older brother passes it down the table. I pour it onto a plastic plate. I notice it takes Dallas a few minutes to serve up her boys’ plates before moving on to her own. I’m already eating before she even has a chance to sit down and take her first bite.
I wonder where her useless husband is tonight.
Sam and Dolly are discussing the wedding with Rosie, but I’m tuning most of the conversation out. I’m internally debating how out of line it would be to just outright ask Dallas why he isn’t here. I mentally debate how to bring it up.
So, you’re not wearing a ring. Is there something you want to share with the table?
I can’t stop thinking about what you tasted like the other night, and I can’t force myself to care that you’re married. Are you still married, by the way?
Darlin’, you’re way too fucking beautiful to be wasting your life with a pathetic son of a bitch who’s never around.
I just wanted to let you know that if he ever sets foot on this ranch, I will take full advantage of my property-owner rights to beat his face with my fists until he’s unrecognizable. Sound good?
No matter how many ways it plays out in my mind, I don’t see it going well for me. She’d get all angry and embarrassed and leave. She might not ever speak to me again, and she would definitely skip out on the roping lessons for the twins.
“Duke, are you even listening?” Dolly interrupts my fantasies of whether or not I’d rather break Dallas’s husband’s nose with my left hook or the right one.
Definitely left.
I shake my head, looking over at my dark-haired little sister. “Sorry, what?”
She rolls her eyes. “I was wondering if your brown Stetson is still in good enough shape for the ceremony.”
I shrug. “Don’t know. Ask Dallas. She has it.”