Ridin' Solo (Sisters From Hell Book 1), Marika Ray [librera reader txt] 📗

front of me naked, giving me that come-hither look. The dream always morphed and faded right before I touched her, leaving me frustrated and afraid that my dreams were a premonition of how real life would always be.

Watching men fawn all over Oakley last night at the Shoots & Ladders game had been another nightmare. Could I really just go on with my life being her partner at work, but watching her dating other men in her personal life? It was all too clear after last night that I was fooling myself into thinking we could just be friends. My feelings definitely went deeper than I’d been willing to accept.

Which meant I had some life cleanup to do. Immediately. The only chance I had of winning over Oakley meant I had to address some issues back home. For real this time. Oakley deserved a guy who had his shit together and for even a small shot at her affection, I was finally willing to try.

I threw on a collared shirt and slacks my mom would approve of and hit the road, getting to my parents’ gated community just after nine in the morning. I parked along the curved driveway, just outside the stairs leading into their house. Funny how the place you grew up could look so familiar and yet feel so foreign at the same time. I may have grown up in a mansion with a staff of five, but I’d truly loved living on my own dime for the last two years.

The doorbell echoed through the house as I waited on the other side of the ornate front doors. When the door finally swung open, a woman with her hair severely pulled back into a low bun answered the door. Her frown seemed etched into her face, a warning, perhaps, of her personality.

“May I help you?”

I nodded, only smiling because the bun reminded me of Oakley. “Yes, I’m here to see my mother.”

She lifted an eyebrow, not impressed in the least. “And you are?”

“Wyatt.” I wagged a finger around the huge entryway behind her. “I grew up here? Emmaline’s brother…”

She sniffed and stepped back. “Right this way. I’ll find Mrs. Dolby.”

The woman showed me to the tea room I hardly ever went into as a kid. Too much to break for a rambunctious little boy. I glanced around the room, spotting the crystal, pottery, and fine drapes in subdued colors. The thick rug under my feet looked new, but that was about it. Not much had changed over the past two years.

“Wyatt!” Em burst into the room, hair already curled and five pounds of makeup on her face.

She ran over and gave me a hug. “I was wondering if you’d actually show.”

I frowned at her, keeping my arm over her shoulders. “Of course I came. I told you I would. I just didn’t want you yelling at me again. You’re kinda scary, little sister.”

She snorted, poking me in the stomach and snuggling into my side. “Mom’s probably not even up yet. Want to go to the backyard and look—”

“Wyatt?” Mom’s startled voice came from the doorway.

Em and I looked over to see Mom in her robe, her hair a mess, and her eyes still red and puffy from either sleep or crying. Perhaps both. She looked like she’d aged ten years since I last saw her at my graduation from the sheriff’s academy.

“Hi, Mom,” I said quietly, my heart dropping into a pool of guilt and worry. She’d always been the life of the party, flitting from one social activity to another, looking like she’d been born in Versace. Not a hair out of place or a chip in her classic French manicure. She’d only been busier after my father died. I’d falsely assumed she’d be fine.

Mom flew across the room and pulled me into a hug, her arms banded around my waist like she was afraid I’d vanish if she let up. A sob hit my chest, a sound I’d only heard once from my mother, the day the doctors told her they couldn’t save my father. I hugged her back, looking over her head to see Em bite her lip. She shrugged like this behavior was normal.

The grandfather clock in the corner kept time while we hugged. Finally, her breathing evened out, and I put my hands on her shoulders to step back. She sniffled and swiped under her eyes, refusing to look at me.

“Mom? What’s going on? Be straight with me.”

I watched her transform in front of me, straightening her spine, lifting that nose in the air, and tightening the knot on her robe.

“Let’s have a seat, shall we?” she said serenely, like she wasn’t disheveled and crying at the sight of me.

All three of us had a seat, Mom and me on the couch, Emmeline on the chair that was probably worth more than my truck. Mom snapped her fingers and that sour-faced woman from before entered the room.

“Tell Cook we’d like a full brunch, please. For three.” Mom reached over and squeezed my hand, sounding more like her old self.

The woman left the room after a brief head nod. Mom turned back to me, a sparkle in her eyes that eased some of the alarm in my gut.

“I’ve missed you so much, Wyatt. Why haven’t you visited me?”

I hung my head, feeling guilty for being a horrible son. “I’m sorry. I’ve been busy in my new career.”

Mom got that expression I hated. “Too busy to see your mother?”

It felt all kinds of wrong, but I took a page from Oakley’s book. “No, you’re right. Not too busy for that. I guess I just stayed away because being here was too hard.”

Em sat forward, her elbows on her knees. “Because everything reminds you of Dad?”

I nodded at her, realizing she knew exactly how I felt. While I’d been hiding out in my new life, she’d been here, surrounded by memories of our father and dealing with a spiraling mother.

“Oh, let’s not talk about sad