Sweet Tomorrows
Book Six of the Honeysuckle Texas Series
Chapter One
The familiar scent of old leather, paper, and their father’s cologne should have felt like coming home. Instead, leaning against the doorframe of the study, to Kade Sweet it felt like visiting a museum of a life that was no longer his. The chaotic, sprawling family of his youth had now settled into smaller, tighter pairings of two. Carson’s hand rested on Jess’s knee, an easy, possessive gesture. Across the room, Preston murmured something to Sarah Sue, and the private smile they shared was a conversation all its own. Garret and Jackie sat on the floor, their easy affection a comfortable fixture in the room now. Even Rachel and Jim, his free-spirited sister and her childhood-friend-turned-husband, seemed to share a quiet, solid understanding. And then there was Jillian, his youngest sister, radiating a new, confident happiness as she leaned against the rock star who had somehow become her husband.
Kade felt relegated to little more than an observer. A low, contented sigh from his side was his only anchor. Kade looked down at Brady, the big German Shepherd’s head resting on his boot. The dog, at least, was a constant.
“All right,” Preston’s voice cut through the low chatter, pulling Kade’s attention from his thoughts to the laptop open on their father’s desk. “Time for the state of the union.”
A collective settling fell over the room. This was the new normal—the family pow-wow, the mission briefing for the ongoing campaign to save the Sweet Ranch.
“Good news first,” Preston continued, a rare, unforced smile touching his lips. “Thanks to the initial payments and everyone’s hard work, we’re holding the line. The operating budget is stable, if not exactly comfortable. We’re meeting the monthly payments.”
A collective, quiet sigh of relief went through the room. It wasn’t a victory, not yet, but it was a far sight better than the desperate freefall they’d been in when he’d first heard of their not so trusted foreman’s thievery.
“The real light at the end of the tunnel is still the anniversary payouts,” Carson added, his voice steady. “Only a few more months to go and the first anniversary stipend will hit. From there, we can easily pay off the biggest of Dad’s loans. Give us some real breathing room.”
“In other words, by the time they all roll in, we’ll be in the clear?” Garret squeezed his wife’s hand.
The plan was working. The insane, beautiful, ridiculous plan had actually worked. Kade felt a surge of pride for his siblings, for the incredible new spouses who had stepped up to join their fight. For the homes they’d created.
Preston lifted his chin to his older brother. “I’m not making any promises yet, but, if all continues to go well, you, brother Kade, may very well be off the hook. We might be able to hold the fort down until the big payments start rolling in.”
It was Jillian who turned her gaze on him, a mischievous sparkle in her eyes that he remembered all too well from their childhood. “Of course,” she said, her voice laced with theatrical innocence, “now that Blake and I are moving into our own place, the master bedroom will be free again so… if you happened to fall in love in the next few months, it certainly wouldn’t hurt the budget.”
The room erupted in easy laughter. Kade felt the corner of his own mouth twitch. “Noted.” He held back a chuckle, shaking his head. Though lord knows why he was laughing. Perhaps because, for everyone, the guillotine of foreclosure was no longer hanging over their necks.
As the conversation shifted to a brief, if uneventful update on the still-missing Ray and the two ranch hands caught in Wyoming, Kade’s mind drifted again. He looked at his brothers, men who were now husbands and fathers, their lives intricately woven into the fabric of this land. He had always defined himself by his service, his duty to his country. It was a clear, honorable path. But for the first time, watching the life his family was building, a life of shared burdens and quiet joys, he questioned his own future. Was a career spent thousands of miles away truly the best thing for him, or for them? What was his legacy beyond a distinguished service record?
The sharp ring of his phone cut through his thoughts, a jarring intrusion from the outside world. He glanced at the caller ID—Sully, his best friend from his unit. Frowning, he pushed off the doorframe. “Excuse me a second.”
He stepped into the hallway, the murmur of his family’s voices fading behind him. “Sully. What’s up?”
"Hey, I was hoping I'd catch you."
Kade smiled despite his exhaustion. Dan “Sully” Sullivan had been in his unit three deployments ago, a solid soldier and an even better friend. “What’s all that racket? Where the heck are you?”
"Vegas. That's, uh, actually why I'm calling." Sully's laugh sounded forced. "I'm getting married. Tomorrow night. I know it's short notice, but I need a best man, and you're the only guy I trust not to let me do something completely stupid."
"Tomorrow night? Sully, what the hell—"
"I know how it sounds. But Kade, she's the one. I met her six months ago when I was passing through on leave, and I haven't been able to get her out of my head since. She's got orders for Germany next month. It's now or we wait two years, and I can't wait two years."
Kade closed his eyes, already knowing what his answer would be. Sully had saved his ass more times than he could count. If his friend needed him, he'd be there.
"What time do you need me?"
"Are you serious?" The relief in Sully’s voice was palpable. "Man, I owe you big time. Ceremony's at eight. Nothing fancy, just a quick thing at one of the chapels, then we'll hit the town to celebrate."
"Text me the details. And Sullivan—you sure about this?"
"Never been more sure of anything in my life."
A moment later, he walked back into the study, the phone now silent in his hand. Every eye in the room on him.
He ran a hand over his face, a slow grin spreading across his lips. “Well, change of plans. I’m hopping a flight in the morning.”
“What’s going on?” Jillian’s brow furrowed with concern.
Kade shook his head, the absurdity of it all hitting him. “Sully’s getting married. In Vegas. And apparently, I’m the best man.”
* * * * *
From Cassidy Barker’s side of the blackjack table, the casino floor was a symphony of calculated loss and manufactured joy. The incessant, cheerful chime of a nearby slot machine paying out a minor jackpot was just a percussive accent to the low, steady hum of a hundred simultaneous conversations. Her hands, however, were silent. They moved with a liquid economy of motion that belied the complex mathematics spinning behind her eyes. Shuffle, cut, deal. The rhythm was second nature, a muscle memory so deep it left her mind free to wander. And it always wandered.
Two of hearts to the honeymooners on seat one. A seven to the desperate salesman on three. Face card to the wannabe pro on five, who thinks his sunglasses make him look mysterious instead of like a man who forgot to take out the trash.
Her internal ledger kept a running tally, a silent game she played to stave off the soul-crushing boredom. The count was hot. Not just warm, but sizzling—a high-card-heavy shoe that any decent card counter would be drooling over. The salesman on three should be doubling down, but he was too busy sweating through his shirt to notice. The honeymooners were too caught up in each other to care.
It was this—this constant, whirring calculus—that her most recent ex had never understood. “You’re always in your head,” he’d said last week, the final words in a relationship that had fizzled out with less drama than a losing hand. “It’s like you’re a million miles away.”
He wasn’t wrong. Most of the time, she was a million miles away, calculating what to do with the rest of her life. Something other than this. The problem was, she had no idea what that something else was. A degree? In what? A new city? Which one? For a woman who could track the probability of a ten-point card appearing with ninety-eight percent accuracy, her own future was a complete statistical anomaly.
A bride, judging by the ridiculously new-looking ring on her finger—hesitated, her hand hovering over her two cards. A soft nineteen. The dealer’s up-card was a six. Cassidy’s mind supplied the odds in a flash.
She caught the young woman’s eye for a fraction of a second, giving the slightest, almost imperceptible shake of her head. “Insurance is a sucker’s bet, folks,” her voice in a low, even monotone, expressed the standard casino line that was, for once, the absolute truth.
The husband nodded, pulling his wife’s hand back. “She’s right, honey. We stand.”
Cassidy played out the hand, flipping her down card to reveal a four. She hit, pulled a nine, and busted. She paid out the table’s winnings with a practiced, neutral expression. It was a small act of rebellion, a tiny nudge of the odds in someone else’s favor. It was all the control she had here.
Her gaze drifted past the players, over the sea of heads. The casino floor buzzed with its usual Friday night chaos—slot machines continuously chiming, dice clattering, voices rising and falling in waves of excitement and disappointment. After three years, it all blurred into background noise. Just another shift. Just another night of watching people gamble away rent money while she calculated her own odds of getting out of this life. She’d grown up in the foster system, passed between houses like a well-worn deck of cards, learning early that the only person you could ever truly count on was yourself. She had no family photos in her small apartment, no sentimental heirlooms. Just a growing savings account and a vague, persistent ache for roots she’d never had. She wanted more than this transient life, more than the fleeting connections of the casino floor. She just didn’t know how to get it.
The pit boss appeared at the edge of her vision, tapping his watch. Shift change. Relief washed over her, cool and immediate. She finished the hand, expertly cleared the table, and pushed a neat stack of chips toward her replacement. “Table’s all yours.”
“Anything exciting?” The woman slid into the seat.
“Never is.” She walked away from the table, the noise of the casino floor already receding. She navigated the endless labyrinth of employee hallways, the scent of industrial cleaner a welcome change from the cloying perfume of the main floor. In the stark, fluorescent light of the locker room, she shed the dealer’s uniform and the professional calm that went with it. In her own clothes—jeans and a soft, worn t-shirt—she felt anonymous again. She felt like herself. Whoever that was.
Her phone buzzed with a text from the leasing office. Reminder: Response needed on lease renewal by Monday.
For a brief while she’d forgotten that the landlord was raising the rent on her tiny one bedroom apartment with leaky pipes and noisy neighbors. Three days to decide if she was staying or going. In the last two weeks since she’d gotten notice of the rent increase, she’d looked at a few other apartments, not much cheaper, not much better. She was definitely going to have to make up her mind. Stay or leave. Though she knew what she’d do. What she always did. Stay with the familiar. She’d done enough moving from place to place the first eighteen years of her life, she was tired of packing.
Heading out into the artificial dusk of the casino’s shopping promenade, she felt the familiar pull of restlessness. Another night done. Another small deposit made into the escape fund. Maybe tomorrow she'd look at those college brochures again. Maybe she'd finally fill one out. Or maybe she'd just keep doing what she'd always done—surviving one day at a time, waiting for something to change while knowing it probably never would.
The familiar scent of old leather, paper, and their father’s cologne should have felt like coming home. Instead, leaning against the doorframe of the study, to Kade Sweet it felt like visiting a museum of a life that was no longer his. The chaotic, sprawling family of his youth had now settled into smaller, tighter pairings of two. Carson’s hand rested on Jess’s knee, an easy, possessive gesture. Across the room, Preston murmured something to Sarah Sue, and the private smile they shared was a conversation all its own. Garret and Jackie sat on the floor, their easy affection a comfortable fixture in the room now. Even Rachel and Jim, his free-spirited sister and her childhood-friend-turned-husband, seemed to share a quiet, solid understanding. And then there was Jillian, his youngest sister, radiating a new, confident happiness as she leaned against the rock star who had somehow become her husband.
Kade felt relegated to little more than an observer. A low, contented sigh from his side was his only anchor. Kade looked down at Brady, the big German Shepherd’s head resting on his boot. The dog, at least, was a constant.
“All right,” Preston’s voice cut through the low chatter, pulling Kade’s attention from his thoughts to the laptop open on their father’s desk. “Time for the state of the union.”
A collective settling fell over the room. This was the new normal—the family pow-wow, the mission briefing for the ongoing campaign to save the Sweet Ranch.
“Good news first,” Preston continued, a rare, unforced smile touching his lips. “Thanks to the initial payments and everyone’s hard work, we’re holding the line. The operating budget is stable, if not exactly comfortable. We’re meeting the monthly payments.”
A collective, quiet sigh of relief went through the room. It wasn’t a victory, not yet, but it was a far sight better than the desperate freefall they’d been in when he’d first heard of their not so trusted foreman’s thievery.
“The real light at the end of the tunnel is still the anniversary payouts,” Carson added, his voice steady. “Only a few more months to go and the first anniversary stipend will hit. From there, we can easily pay off the biggest of Dad’s loans. Give us some real breathing room.”
“In other words, by the time they all roll in, we’ll be in the clear?” Garret squeezed his wife’s hand.
The plan was working. The insane, beautiful, ridiculous plan had actually worked. Kade felt a surge of pride for his siblings, for the incredible new spouses who had stepped up to join their fight. For the homes they’d created.
Preston lifted his chin to his older brother. “I’m not making any promises yet, but, if all continues to go well, you, brother Kade, may very well be off the hook. We might be able to hold the fort down until the big payments start rolling in.”
It was Jillian who turned her gaze on him, a mischievous sparkle in her eyes that he remembered all too well from their childhood. “Of course,” she said, her voice laced with theatrical innocence, “now that Blake and I are moving into our own place, the master bedroom will be free again so… if you happened to fall in love in the next few months, it certainly wouldn’t hurt the budget.”
The room erupted in easy laughter. Kade felt the corner of his own mouth twitch. “Noted.” He held back a chuckle, shaking his head. Though lord knows why he was laughing. Perhaps because, for everyone, the guillotine of foreclosure was no longer hanging over their necks.
As the conversation shifted to a brief, if uneventful update on the still-missing Ray and the two ranch hands caught in Wyoming, Kade’s mind drifted again. He looked at his brothers, men who were now husbands and fathers, their lives intricately woven into the fabric of this land. He had always defined himself by his service, his duty to his country. It was a clear, honorable path. But for the first time, watching the life his family was building, a life of shared burdens and quiet joys, he questioned his own future. Was a career spent thousands of miles away truly the best thing for him, or for them? What was his legacy beyond a distinguished service record?
The sharp ring of his phone cut through his thoughts, a jarring intrusion from the outside world. He glanced at the caller ID—Sully, his best friend from his unit. Frowning, he pushed off the doorframe. “Excuse me a second.”
He stepped into the hallway, the murmur of his family’s voices fading behind him. “Sully. What’s up?”
"Hey, I was hoping I'd catch you."
Kade smiled despite his exhaustion. Dan “Sully” Sullivan had been in his unit three deployments ago, a solid soldier and an even better friend. “What’s all that racket? Where the heck are you?”
"Vegas. That's, uh, actually why I'm calling." Sully's laugh sounded forced. "I'm getting married. Tomorrow night. I know it's short notice, but I need a best man, and you're the only guy I trust not to let me do something completely stupid."
"Tomorrow night? Sully, what the hell—"
"I know how it sounds. But Kade, she's the one. I met her six months ago when I was passing through on leave, and I haven't been able to get her out of my head since. She's got orders for Germany next month. It's now or we wait two years, and I can't wait two years."
Kade closed his eyes, already knowing what his answer would be. Sully had saved his ass more times than he could count. If his friend needed him, he'd be there.
"What time do you need me?"
"Are you serious?" The relief in Sully’s voice was palpable. "Man, I owe you big time. Ceremony's at eight. Nothing fancy, just a quick thing at one of the chapels, then we'll hit the town to celebrate."
"Text me the details. And Sullivan—you sure about this?"
"Never been more sure of anything in my life."
A moment later, he walked back into the study, the phone now silent in his hand. Every eye in the room on him.
He ran a hand over his face, a slow grin spreading across his lips. “Well, change of plans. I’m hopping a flight in the morning.”
“What’s going on?” Jillian’s brow furrowed with concern.
Kade shook his head, the absurdity of it all hitting him. “Sully’s getting married. In Vegas. And apparently, I’m the best man.”
* * * * *
From Cassidy Barker’s side of the blackjack table, the casino floor was a symphony of calculated loss and manufactured joy. The incessant, cheerful chime of a nearby slot machine paying out a minor jackpot was just a percussive accent to the low, steady hum of a hundred simultaneous conversations. Her hands, however, were silent. They moved with a liquid economy of motion that belied the complex mathematics spinning behind her eyes. Shuffle, cut, deal. The rhythm was second nature, a muscle memory so deep it left her mind free to wander. And it always wandered.
Two of hearts to the honeymooners on seat one. A seven to the desperate salesman on three. Face card to the wannabe pro on five, who thinks his sunglasses make him look mysterious instead of like a man who forgot to take out the trash.
Her internal ledger kept a running tally, a silent game she played to stave off the soul-crushing boredom. The count was hot. Not just warm, but sizzling—a high-card-heavy shoe that any decent card counter would be drooling over. The salesman on three should be doubling down, but he was too busy sweating through his shirt to notice. The honeymooners were too caught up in each other to care.
It was this—this constant, whirring calculus—that her most recent ex had never understood. “You’re always in your head,” he’d said last week, the final words in a relationship that had fizzled out with less drama than a losing hand. “It’s like you’re a million miles away.”
He wasn’t wrong. Most of the time, she was a million miles away, calculating what to do with the rest of her life. Something other than this. The problem was, she had no idea what that something else was. A degree? In what? A new city? Which one? For a woman who could track the probability of a ten-point card appearing with ninety-eight percent accuracy, her own future was a complete statistical anomaly.
A bride, judging by the ridiculously new-looking ring on her finger—hesitated, her hand hovering over her two cards. A soft nineteen. The dealer’s up-card was a six. Cassidy’s mind supplied the odds in a flash.
She caught the young woman’s eye for a fraction of a second, giving the slightest, almost imperceptible shake of her head. “Insurance is a sucker’s bet, folks,” her voice in a low, even monotone, expressed the standard casino line that was, for once, the absolute truth.
The husband nodded, pulling his wife’s hand back. “She’s right, honey. We stand.”
Cassidy played out the hand, flipping her down card to reveal a four. She hit, pulled a nine, and busted. She paid out the table’s winnings with a practiced, neutral expression. It was a small act of rebellion, a tiny nudge of the odds in someone else’s favor. It was all the control she had here.
Her gaze drifted past the players, over the sea of heads. The casino floor buzzed with its usual Friday night chaos—slot machines continuously chiming, dice clattering, voices rising and falling in waves of excitement and disappointment. After three years, it all blurred into background noise. Just another shift. Just another night of watching people gamble away rent money while she calculated her own odds of getting out of this life. She’d grown up in the foster system, passed between houses like a well-worn deck of cards, learning early that the only person you could ever truly count on was yourself. She had no family photos in her small apartment, no sentimental heirlooms. Just a growing savings account and a vague, persistent ache for roots she’d never had. She wanted more than this transient life, more than the fleeting connections of the casino floor. She just didn’t know how to get it.
The pit boss appeared at the edge of her vision, tapping his watch. Shift change. Relief washed over her, cool and immediate. She finished the hand, expertly cleared the table, and pushed a neat stack of chips toward her replacement. “Table’s all yours.”
“Anything exciting?” The woman slid into the seat.
“Never is.” She walked away from the table, the noise of the casino floor already receding. She navigated the endless labyrinth of employee hallways, the scent of industrial cleaner a welcome change from the cloying perfume of the main floor. In the stark, fluorescent light of the locker room, she shed the dealer’s uniform and the professional calm that went with it. In her own clothes—jeans and a soft, worn t-shirt—she felt anonymous again. She felt like herself. Whoever that was.
Her phone buzzed with a text from the leasing office. Reminder: Response needed on lease renewal by Monday.
For a brief while she’d forgotten that the landlord was raising the rent on her tiny one bedroom apartment with leaky pipes and noisy neighbors. Three days to decide if she was staying or going. In the last two weeks since she’d gotten notice of the rent increase, she’d looked at a few other apartments, not much cheaper, not much better. She was definitely going to have to make up her mind. Stay or leave. Though she knew what she’d do. What she always did. Stay with the familiar. She’d done enough moving from place to place the first eighteen years of her life, she was tired of packing.
Heading out into the artificial dusk of the casino’s shopping promenade, she felt the familiar pull of restlessness. Another night done. Another small deposit made into the escape fund. Maybe tomorrow she'd look at those college brochures again. Maybe she'd finally fill one out. Or maybe she'd just keep doing what she'd always done—surviving one day at a time, waiting for something to change while knowing it probably never would.
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