Take the Reins (A Cowboy's Promise #2) - Megan Squires Page 0,23

their actions.”

Josie huffed. “If I allowed myself to be weighed down by the guilt of my family members’ transgressions, I’d have enough to bury myself at the bottom of the Pacific Ocean. You aren’t them. They aren’t you.” Half the bottle gone, she placed the beer onto the ledge of the butcher block counter and moved to grab her jacket from the hook near the door. She handed Seth his hat. “I’m reserving my judgment of you for your actions. Not the actions of your mom or dad or brother.”

“Guess I ought to be on my best behavior then.” Like a gentleman from an earlier time, Seth fit his cowboy hat to his head and propped out his elbow. “Milady.”

“Okay, now I’m totally judging you.” Josie hadn’t planned to finish the beer in full, but Seth’s silly antics made her reach for another sip. “You this formal with all of your girlfriends?”

“No. Handholding is usually sufficient.”

“I can go for that.” Without another thought, Josie chucked the drained bottle to the trash and reached for Seth’s hand with her good one, hauling him out of the trailer and leading the way down the steps at a pace so quick Seth stumbled.

This wouldn’t be difficult. She could do this. His hand felt fine in hers. A little unnatural, but that seemed to be the state of things lately.

“Hey. Hold up a second.” Seth tugged her gently to ease up her determined stride. “Something feels a little off.” He wriggled his hand out of her grip and readjusted. “There. That’s better.”

Admittedly, it did feel more comfortable with his hand over hers, but there was a reversal of roles that Josie didn’t anticipate. She hadn’t meant to take the lead, although she didn’t really give Seth the chance to do so first. Was this really how relationships worked? No wonder Josie had dodged them for the entirety of her adult dating life.

“We only have to hold hands when we show up and when we leave. And I don’t expect any PDA while we’re at my parents’ house, so you don’t have to worry about that.”

Funny how many expectations his mother had had when Seth—the one Josie was supposed to be in a relationship with—had so few.

“I could give you a kiss on the cheek for good measure,” Josie offered, only half joking. “And I’ll even throw in a little butt smack if you like.”

“Oh, wow. Yeah. No. That won’t be necessary.” Something that resembled a blush crept just above Seth’s scruff. “Hand holding is fine. Maybe you could also sit by me during the meal?”

“Absolutely. That was my plan.”

Josie sensed the relief in his smile. “I guess the good news is that I never really shared anything about my relationship with Bridgette with my parents, so you won’t have to keep any stories straight.”

“Just the one where we pretend to be madly in love with one another.”

“Yeah.” He chuckled. “Just that one.”

9

Seth

Seth would be shocked if any tread remained on the bottoms of his nephews’ shoes after all of the circles they ran around him. It was like they were competing in some NASCAR race, both vying for the title, increasing in speed at each turn. They zipped about in his periphery, two cyclones of unbound, adolescent energy. At first Seth couldn’t keep from tracking their frenzied movements, but as the night wore on, their presence was more like a persistent gnat buzzing about rather than any real distraction. He easily managed to tune them out.

Seth remembered doing the same thing as a kid when his parents would sit on the back deck with Gramm and Pops, beers in hand and sun suspended low in the late October sky.

Tonight was a replica of those Thursday nights, just a different generation carrying it out. Dad had New Yorks on the grill for the men, petite filets for the women. Amy was always in charge of the side dish; Seth in charge of the dessert. Without fail, Amy would bring a casserole comprised of whatever ingredients she had left in her fridge after cooking for her family for the week. Usually some vegetable slathered in cheese or a sauce he couldn’t quite pinpoint. Seth would bring cookies. No surprise there.

It was always the same, a rerun of every previous family dinner at the ranch. That’s how tradition was created, Seth supposed, week by week, month by month, generation by generation.

But the woman at his side—the one who sparred good-naturedly with his brother, withstood his mother’s blatant,