Gone Country (Rough Riders #14)(62)

Part of her wanted to go to bed. Gavin’s discussion with and discipline for his daughter were his business, not hers. But the mothering side worried for Rory and always would, demanding she wait up to see her daughter’s face. And yeah, Rielle wanted to make sure Sierra was all right too.


At one-thirty, Gavin quit pacing and grabbed his coat from the coat tree.


“Where are you going?”


“To find them. To alleviate my worry that they’re in a ditch somewhere or shitfaced and neither one is capable to drive.”


“No one at the Golden Boot will serve Sierra.” When Gavin opened his mouth to argue, she held her hand up. “Rory is a bartender in a college town, used to dealing with underage drinking. She won’t buy drinks for herself and pass them to Sierra, nor will she let her drink. So I’m one hundred percent sure at least your daughter is sober.”


“That’s reassuring,” he muttered.


“It should be.”


“I’d be a lot more reassured if I could talk to her.” He swore. “Why aren’t they answering their goddamned phones?”


“Because they’re both pissed off at us and that’s what people do when they’re mad, Gavin. Ignore the person who made them mad.”


“You’re not concerned about this at all?”


“Honestly? No. Rory is an adult. A responsible adult.”


“Well, my daughter isn’t.”



Rielle held his gaze. “Then you shouldn’t have let her go out with mine.”


Gavin’s mouth tightened, but he didn’t say a word.


Headlights shone through the window.


She breathed a sigh of relief. Their conversation had been headed toward dangerous ground and she didn’t have the mental energy to deal with it right now. She recognized the vehicle as Rory’s truck since the engine continued to sputter after it’d been shut off. A truck door slammed. Just one, not two. The porch floorboards creaked. The handle on the door moved as if the person was testing to see if it was locked.


The door opened and Sierra stepped inside.


Sierra wasn’t surprised to see her father glaring at her in the entryway. She removed her gloves and scarf, hung up her coat and kicked off her boots. She jammed her hands in the pockets of her jeans. “Sorry I’m late.”


“Why didn’t you answer your phone?” Gavin demanded.


“I left it in the car?”


“Bullshit. You’re surgically attached to the damn thing. Try again.”


“Fine. It was loud in there.”


“You knew I called you. You could’ve texted me if it was too loud.”


Sierra lifted her chin. “I didn’t answer because I was having an awesome time. Talking to you would’ve ruined it. I already knew I’d be in trouble.” Her eyes met Rielle’s. “Rory told me to tell you she had too much liquid fun tonight. I dropped her off at her cabin and put a garbage can by her bed just in case she gets sick.”


“Thank you, Sierra. I appreciate you looking out for her.” Rielle looked at Gavin. “Good night.”


She felt his angry and surprised gaze following her but she didn’t turn around. He could deal with his daughter now; she’d deal with hers in the morning.


Rielle wasn’t surprised to see Rory in the kitchen at seven a.m. making breakfast. Even as a small child, she’d been quick to anger, but she’d mend fences just as quickly. They’d never stayed mad at each other for longer than a day, but she had the niggling feeling this conversation would test that theory.


“Morning,” Rory said. “Coffee’s done.”


“Thank you.” Rielle poured a cup and sat at the breakfast bar. She eyed the bacon sizzling in the skillet and watched as her daughter expertly cracked four eggs. Then she dropped the bread into the toaster, flipped the hash browns and set out two plates.


“Want fruit too?”


“No. This is good.” Rielle sipped her coffee. “How bad’s the hangover?”


Rory shrugged. “Digesting grease and salt will give my body something to do rather than trying to expel the excess alcohol in my system.”


She laughed. “Who’d you run into last night that made you get your drink on?”


“Dalton.”


“How is he? I haven’t seen him in a while.”


“The man drives me insane. I almost got into a fistfight with him.”


“What did he say that pissed you off?”


“What didn’t he say.”


“I thought you two were friends.”


“We were. Until we weren’t.”


Cryptic.


Rory dished up the hash browns and bacon. The toast popped up, she buttered it and sliced it before adding the eggs to the plates.


“You would’ve been an awesome short order cook.”


“Doesn’t pay as much as bartending.” She ripped off a piece of bacon. “Or a master’s degree in Ag Management.”