Confessions from the Quilting Circle - Maisey Yates Page 0,138
linked. Tied together by a deep and terrible tragedy that few people would ever be able to understand.
They could just look at each other and know. That it was a particularly hard birthday or that the anniversary of the accident was weighing heavily on one of them.
That was why, no matter where she went, no matter what she did, this place was home.
And the people in it were the most important ones to her. Even if they did still treat her like a kid.
It was Sammy who rushed out to greet her, all wild blond hair and flowing skirts. Ryder’s best friend was so feminine that sometimes she made Pansy downright uncomfortable.
Samantha had been one of the most dominant female influences in Pansy’s life. She had started coming around about six months after the Daniels siblings had lost their parents, and Pansy still had no idea how Sammy had managed to wiggle her way in. The friendship between the free-spirited woman and her taciturn older brother always mystified her.
She was half convinced that Sammy had targeted him, decided that they would be friends and simply hadn’t gone away when Ryder had said no.
Nothing that she had witnessed had yet to disabuse her of that notion.
“I made lasagna,” Sammy said. She grabbed hold of a mass of blond hair, wound it around her wrist and then effortlessly looped a scrunchie over it into a big messy bun.
Pansy was suddenly incredibly conscious of her own tight ponytail that had not a single strand out of place.
She didn’t know why the contrast between herself and Sammy suddenly hit her so hard. Only that it did.
“Great,” she said, ignoring that weird feeling. “I’m starving.”
“Me too. But I’ve been sampling garlic bread liberally.”
“You slapped my hand when I took some,” Ryder said, coming out of the sprawling ranch house behind her.
“I’m the chef,” Sammy said, pointedly. “I can do what I want.”
Ryder shook his head, but didn’t make further comment.
Like her, her older brother was a rule follower. Though she wasn’t sure if he was one by nature or if he was one by circumstance. It was hard to say.
Not even she really knew when it came to her own self. Because she had a hard time remembering life before her parents’ deaths in clear detail. It had made her terrified at first. Paranoid. She had been afraid every time Ryder had gotten in his car to drive to town to go to the store, much less go farther afield. And then sometimes she’d remember herself, her behavior, and sadness would overtake her entirely. All the ways she’d disappointed her dad, and how she’d never been able to make up for it.
What she found solace in was her dad’s legacy. She had found purpose in it. She had focused in on it. And she had come to the conclusion that if she was in authority, she might feel a little more control over her life.
Ironic, since her dad had clearly still been vulnerable enough to die in a plane crash. But somehow it all made sense. In a strange way.
And even if it didn’t make sense when it was all spooled out in front of her like that, she didn’t much care.
In the end it might not make her safe. But it would make her good. Would do his memory proud. And that... Well, her real fear was that she might not manage that.
She would rather be carrying a gun either way.
“Just as long as you left some for me,” Pansy said. “I’m starving.”
She walked across the gravel drive, and the four ranch dogs seemed to sense her presence, running in from the direction of the barn barking with glee. The little pack was much like her family. Ragtag and thick as thieves. Comprised of a malamute, an Australian shepherd, a border collie mix and an unidentifiable rescue mutt Rose had found on the side of a highway.
“Yes, yes,” she said, bending down and petting the dogs. “I’m here.”
It wasn’t long before Logan followed up behind the dogs, his cowboy hat pushed up off of his forehead, dirt on his chiseled face, his blue eyes shining all the brighter for it. “Afternoon, Pansy,” he said.
“Hi yourself,” she said.
Logan wasn’t blood related to them, but he was like a brother to her all the same. His mother had been killed in the plane crash with her parents. He’d been staying with them for the duration of the trip, and he’d never left.