Adam decided it wouldn’t be wise to mention Abby’s recent changes in philosophy on those matters. “I’m not a random guy, Grant. It’s me. You know I’d be straight up with her. We’re both raw after what we’ve been through and looking to have some lighthearted fun. I like her. I think she likes me. That’s all it is.”

“Did you like her that way when I was dating her?”

“Get real. I never gave her a second look when she was your girlfriend, and you know it. Bottom line—she’s not your girlfriend anymore. You’re happy with Stephanie. Why should you care if I hang out with Abby?”

“I don’t want you to hurt her, Adam. I did enough damage where she’s concerned. That’s why I’d rather you found someone else to hang out with.”

“But I like her. She gets what I’m dealing with. She’s not looking for anything more than something fun—same as me. Is that really such a threat to you?”

Stephanie stepped through the back door, startling them both. “Why are you threatening him?” she asked with a teasing smile as she went up on tiptoes to kiss Grant’s cheek.

He put an arm around her, giving Adam a warning glare over her head.

“I’m not threatening anyone,” Adam said, looking directly at his brother as he said the words.

“Good,” Steph said. “No bickering allowed in our house.”

“That’s right,” Grant said.

“Then I’d better get out of here,” Adam said. “I’ll see you guys later.”

Grant followed him to the door. He grabbed Adam’s arm. “Adam…”

“Aah!” Adam pulled back his recently tattooed arm.

“What?”

“Sore arm. Long story.” He put a hand on his brother’s chest to stop the conversation. “I heard you, Grant.”

“So what’re you going to do?”

“Have some fun and do no harm. I promise.”

Grant nodded but still looked annoyed as Adam walked down the stairs to the driveway.

The crushed shells crunched under his feet as Adam made his way out to the road that led back to town. All the way, he could feel his brother watching him.

“What was that all about?” Stephanie asked after Adam left.

Grant turned to her, and she could see that he was angry. “Nothing.”

“You’re getting awfully good at keeping things from me. Should I be worried?”

His shoulders seemed to lose some of their stiffness. “No.” He came back into the kitchen and put the cover on the bottle of whiskey. That had been the first thing she’d noticed when she came in, after, of course, the visible—and unusual—tension between the brothers.

“Kind of early for whiskey, isn’t it?” Stephanie asked the question casually, mindful of his fragile state and not wanting to make anything worse.

“It was for him. Not me.”

“What’s up with him?”