The Bluff (Graham Brothers, #2)(19)

“She works for me.”

Chevy rolls his eyes. “Obviously. But I’ve seen you two together and there’s this … I don’t know, something between you. And whether it’s actual dislike or an attraction you’re both pretending doesn’t exist, I figured it best to discuss now, before we have a problem.”

“We won’t have a problem.” Even as I say the words, I feel like I’m trying to convince myself as much as Chevy. I already feel like Winnie is a problem. Or, at least, the complicated reactions I have to her are a problem.

“I hope not. Because I kind of like you and your family.” Chevy plays with his fork, dragging it through the whipped cream melting on his plate. “Ever since our dad died, I’ve been waiting to ask someone what their intentions are with my sister. I’m not passing up this first opportunity.”

Chevy and Winnie lost their dad? I can’t stop the spread of warm empathy through my chest, a visceral ache. Losing Mom when I was thirteen changed me.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” I say quietly.

Chevy shrugs. “Thanks. It sucks. My mom died when we were teenagers, so in a way, we already knew about loss. Not that it made it easier, per se. But it was less of a shock, I guess. And then again, it’s like a double dose of life being unfair, you know?”

I can only nod, because a lump the size of Texas is expanding in my throat. Winnie and Chevy lost both parents. I wonder what my life would be like if I’d lost Dad as well as Mom. I can’t picture a world without Tank in it. He’s the rudder to our little family ship, steering us on a steady course, holding us together.

Or, he has been since he regained his footing after wading through grief. For a brief period, I had to be the one keeping us afloat—feeding everyone, putting the trash cans out by the curb, forcing my brothers to shower, making sure laundry got done.

I still remember the palpable relief when Dad finally emerged from his room, having showered and shaved and gotten dressed after what felt like weeks but was probably in reality, just days. Long days. Tank took back over, doing more as one man than some people get from two parents. And yet, the sense of needing to be in charge, of needing to hold things together never left me altogether, like that period of time altered my DNA permanently.

I force myself to take another bite of pie, but the taste is gone.

“I heard you lost your mama as well, and I’m sorry,” Chevy says.

I nod, avoiding his eyes. Does everyone in this town always know everything? Though to be fair, my family history is readily available on any search engine.

Chevy continues. “Not that all loss is equal or hits people the same, but I’m sure you understand how loss can bond family. I look out for Winnie, even if she doesn’t want or need me to.”

I do understand this and wish neither of us had to know what it’s like to be the older brother after the loss of a parent. Or, in their case, parents.

This new knowledge softens me in ways I don’t want to be soft toward Winnie. It’s not pity; I saw enough of that emotion directed toward me when we lost Mom, and again when I blew out my knee in college, ruining my chances at going pro. I know Winnie would hate pity just as much as I do.

No, I don’t feel pity for Winnie. It’s far worse.

Instead, a grudging admiration is growing along with a sense of camaraderie I definitely don’t want to feel. A connection, pulling that tether of attraction between us even tighter—which is completely unacceptable. Years ago, I promised myself I wouldn’t ever let myself develop deep feelings for a woman. Not after witnessing love and loss.

Tank barely dragged himself out of his grief. He recovered, but it changed him, and I swear, I always see a shadow behind his smile. He poured himself into all of us but seemed to lose a chunk of himself along with Mom.

Besides my big personal qualms about catching feelings, there are lots of other logical reasons.

Don’t start going soft toward her just because you share a similar loss. She’s still your employee. A meddler. And she has a boyfriend.

That last thought pulls me out of the drain I’m circling with a jolt. I haven’t given a single thought to Winnie’s boyfriend since I met the guy at Pat and Lindy’s reception earlier in the week. It only took a minute or two in a room with him for the buttoned-up and boring Dale to rub me totally the wrong way. He seemed all wrong for Winnie. Or maybe it’s just a reminder that I barely know the woman.

“You said this is the first time you’ve asked about a man’s intentions. Haven't you had this talk with Dale?” I cannot help the derision with which I say the man’s name.

Chevy raises both brows. “You met the guy. Do you really think he warrants this talk?”

Do I really warrant this talk? I let that thought stay in my head and simply shrug. “I don’t know him. Or your sister, for that matter. But this kind of question seems much better suited to a boyfriend, not a boss.”

Chevy pushes away his empty plate. “Ex-boyfriend.”

I drop my fork, then silently curse myself for being so obviously shaken. Chevy doesn’t miss a thing, and I swear, there’s a hint of a smile on his lips.

“Since when? Last I heard, she was calling him her almost-fiancé.”

Chevy rolls his eyes. “They were never gonna get married. Guys like that—if they’re not giving you a ring after this long, they don’t intend to. And even if he had gotten down on one knee, I know my sister. She’d have taken one look at that ring and bolted. I think she only stayed with him as long as she did because he was safe.”