Big Man’s Claim by Wylder, Penny (new ebook reader TXT) 📕

moves down the aisle. Flicking my head up, whoever it was, is gone. Feeling satisfied with the stuff in my cart, I round the corner and come to a stop.

Bran is at the end of the aisle, his eyes down on the item in his hand. Holding my breath, the world begins to spin. My instincts kick in and I do the only thing that seems right in the moment. I abandon my cart and run for the door.

I always knew there would be a point where we would run into each other. This town is too small to avoid each other forever. At some point we were bound to wind up in the same place. I'm just not ready for that day to be today. Dashing to my truck, I'm in and I have it running before I even inhale a breath.

I drive home on autopilot, and when I pull into our driveway, I barely recall navigating home at all. I open the door, and step inside. I'm ready to just go upstairs, take a nice long bath, and then right to bed. As I step from the small entryway into the kitchen, Ryder is standing at the table.

“You're just in time,” he says, holding two plates of food in his hands. “Come have some dinner.”

“I'm good. I'm not really that hungry.”

The abandoned cart at the store says otherwise, but after seeing Branson, I can't eat anything. My nerves are still jangled and my stomach is knotted up tight like a tight rope.

“Sit,” he says sternly. “It's not an invitation. We need to talk.”

“Where's Jenna?” I ask, looking around, expecting some sort of intervention style attack.

“She went out to shop for the baby. She'll be gone for a while, I'm sure.” He taps the back of one of the chairs and gestures with his head. “Come on. It can be like old times.”

“Like when you would try to talk to me like Dad?”

“No, like when I talk to you like your older brother.” He tilts his head and arches a brow. “Sit, Mel. I want to talk, but I also haven't seen you eat anything at all lately.”

“Because I'm at the hotel sixty hours a week, Ryder.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Fine,” I say, dragging my feet across the floor and dropping into the chair. Picking up the fork, I poke at the food on my plate. “What is this?”

“Pig slop, just like Mom used to make.”

“I don't remember it ever looking like this.” Giggling, I scoop up a forkful and let it plop back down like a glob of pudding.

“Just try it before you criticize it.” He takes a giant bite, chewing it slowly.

Filling my fork, I take a bite. It's not good, but I do my best to grit it down because I don't want to fight with him or hurt his feelings.

His mouth moves in long, slow chews, until he finally says with his mouth still full, “I can't.” Grabbing a napkin, he spits the mouthful out. “This is terrible.”

“I wasn't going to say anything, but since you did, I agree. It's awful, Ryder.”

We both start laughing as he pulls out his phone and opens the screen. “Pizza it is then.” Ordering us dinner, he sets his phone down and folds his hands on the table. “Since we have a little bit before our real dinner gets here, maybe you want to tell me what's going on with you lately?”

“What do you mean? I'm fine,” I lie.

“You're not fine, Melody. You've been walking around here like a zombie. I know you; something is wrong. So, tell me what it is.”

“Ryder, please. I don't want to do this with you. Can you just leave it alone?”

Shaking his head, he sits up and leans back. “No, I can't. Maybe I can help, maybe I can give you some advice. But I can't do anything if I don't know what it is. Is it work? Did something happen there?”

“No, it's not work, Ryder.” Pressing my fingertips to my forehead, I massage my temples. “You wouldn't understand, okay? I just need to get through it on my own.”

“How do you know I won't understand?”

“Ryder,” I groan, laying my face on the table. “You just won't.”

“Try me,” he says, folding his arms over his chest.

What does it matter anyway? It's not like he can do anything.

“Fine,” I snap, popping up in my chair. Laying open hands on the table, I stare him in the eyes. “You really want to know what's wrong?”

“Yes, I really want to know.”

“I did exactly what you told me not to do, and I got involved with Branson.” He arches a high brow, but I keep going, not giving him a chance to speak. “But it doesn't matter anymore anyway because he dumped me. He isn't who I thought he was. You were right. Is that what you want to hear? You were right, Ryder,” I say, lifting my hands up in the air in surrender. “I was wrong, and I didn't listen to you. Now I'm really sad and hurting because I thought we felt something for each other. Obviously I was the only who felt anything at all.”

Ryder sits quietly for a moment, his eyes jumping around mine. “When was this?” he asks.

“About three weeks ago. Everything was good, then I stopped hearing from him. For over a week he ignored me. So, I went to confront him and see what was going on. He told me to leave, that it was over. That was last week. Remember when I came home and you thought something was wrong?” He nods, dropping his eyes to his hands. “That's when he broke it off.”

“So a few weeks back he just stopped talking to you?” His eyes are moving between his hands, his voice almost sheepish.

“Yeah.”

“Oh.” He says it as if he knows something I don't.

“What, Ryder? What is it?”

“I'm not sure if this has anything to do with it, but I ran into Branson at the bar about