frowned at the incoming text. Her mom.
Love you, honey. I hope you’re having fun!
Fun?
At a recovery center?
Even though that cowboy named Westin had said it wasn’t for addicts, this place still wouldn’t be fun.
Silvia gritted her teeth as she wrote back: Thanks, Mom. Love you.
Her mother never said a mean thing, ever. She was always bright and positive, and it honestly wore Silvia out. Her mom was an expert at keeping any negative emotions buried, always pretending things were fine. In fact, as a child, Silvia had thought her dad had ridden off on the proverbial white horse into the sunset. Until one night when Axel had told her the truth about their father.
How he used to beat their mom and Axel. How her brother finally stood up to him and called the cops. How he’d been hauled off, then released. And that’s when their bank account had been cleaned out. No one had heard from him since.
For all Silvia knew, her dad could be living in a tiny town like Lost Creek. Maybe working at a rodeo or the gas station. Drinking himself into oblivion each night to forget that he had a wife and two kids.
A bell rang, and Silvia jolted from her memories that were getting very close to self-pity. An easy road for her to go down when she was alone like this. It wasn’t like she was going to Instagram her story at the recovery ranch. They didn’t allow pictures, anyway—Silvia had signed the nondisclosure.
“Dinner’s on,” someone hollered.
No peace and quiet in this place, it seemed.
At least the reward would be whatever smelled amazing. Silvia put her phone away, then stopped in the bathroom for a minute before heading into the kitchen. The table was set with plates and mugs and heavy silverware, along with napkins and salt shakers. No skimping here. Four women were busy in various stages of preparing food, although it looked like it was mostly done.
“Can you fill that pitcher with water, hon?” a woman of about fifty asked. Her short hair was spiked with gray, and her red-framed glasses made her look like a stylish librarian.
The name Glory popped into Silvia’s mind. They’d already been introduced.
“Sure thing,” Silvia said, although her voice sounded scratchy for whatever reason. She picked up the surprisingly heavy metal pitcher, then moved to the refrigerator, looking for a water dispenser.
“Oh, we just use tap water,” Glory said with a chuckle. “No fancy filtered water out here.”
Silvia smiled, but inside, she felt dumb. There was no ice or water outlet on the fridge at all, so she should have put two-and-two together.
“You go, girl!” someone bellowed from outside, but the sound was loud and clear in the kitchen.
Silvia turned with a start to see two women clomp into the kitchen in heavy boots. A thin woman with raven hair was grinning like she’d won the lottery, and the redheaded, curvy woman behind her had her arms raised in the air as if she was in the middle of a victory dance.
“Dirty boots at the door!” someone else hollered. Kellie. She flashed Silvia a grin. “Rule number one. If they’re not clean, they’re not coming in.”
The redhead who’d done the bellowing said, “Hardly! Rule number one is no cross talking.”
“That’s for group,” Kellie said, a laugh in her tone. “But it might be nice if you cut down on cross talk at the dinner table.”
“Right,” Glory said. “I’m not holding my breath.”
Someone laughed.
The redhead unceremoniously pulled off her boots, then her eyes landed on Silvia. “Well, toot my horn. We got us a hatchling.”
Silvia had no idea what cross talking meant, or why this redhead would call her a . . . hatchling.
“I’m Vonnie,” the woman said, crossing the room and extending her hand.
Silvia put the pitcher on the table, then shook the woman’s hand. It was like shaking a man’s hand—a sturdy farmer’s, to be exact. “I’m Silvia Diaz.”
“Ah, the baseball player’s sister.”
Silvia’s stomach felt like she’d swallowed a rock. “Uh, yep. That’s me.”
“Knock it off,” the black-haired woman said. “No one likes to be identified by their brother. You should know that.”
Vonnie looked up at the ceiling, her mouth moving, as if she were counting. When she met Silvia’s gaze, she said, “Sorry about that.”
Silvia had no chance to respond because Kellie clapped her hands together. “The food is half-cold, ladies. Sit down, or I’m eating your portion.”
It seemed that Kellie’s words weren’t really threats or commands, as no one really moved that fast..
“I’m Lidia,”