If my heart were made of glass, it would’ve shattered in my chest. “Dad…”
“I’m sorry I’ve hurt you, bug. Believe me, that’s never my intention, but it’s all I’ve got right now. The ability to work, to throw myself into my job and take my mind off all this shit, has been taken away from me. I don’t have anything…” His words trailed off, and I squeezed his hand to let him know it was okay. He wiped at his eyes and chuckled. “Especially since none of y’all have given me any grandbabies yet.”
I rolled my eyes playfully. Neither of our parents meant anything by their pestering. They didn’t care if we had a school bus full of kids, had none at all, or chose to be animal parents instead. They just wanted us to live the lives we wanted, the ones we built brick-by-brick until we had shelter from the storm.
“Well, the way your middle child is going…” I said, letting the implication land.
Dad shook his head. “They’re crazy kids. If they keep going at it like bunnies, they’ll end up with a bunch of babies. Think Lincoln knows that?”
We both broke out into a fit of giggles until the tears we’d shared in grief turned into ones from laughter instead. As we came down and settled into a comfortable silence, Dad reached out and gave my hand three pats.
“We’re all scared, bug, but just because we’re scared doesn’t mean we should stop living. We shouldn’t let that fear consume us. Shouldn’t stop laughing over stupid shit, or going after what you want, or dancing in the kitchen at”—he looked toward the clock—“5:57 in the morning with your dear old dad.”
“What?” I asked, laughing.
Dad pushed to his feet, fishing his phone out of his pocket. He smiled as he found the song he was looking for. “We can’t blast it like we used to when you were little, but I think we could make this work, don’t you?”
I Loved Her First by Heartland began playing through the speakers, and I fought the urge to cry for what seemed like the hundredth time this morning. It was our song. The song he taught me to dance to, the one we always said we’d play at my wedding if I ever found someone I thought was worth marrying. I hadn’t listened to it since he got sick because I focused on thenegative, letting the ‘what ifs’ control the narrative and steal my joy.
Dad was right, and not just about his illness, but about being scared in general. I wasn’t one who often feared the unknown—I was anask for forgiveness rather than permissionkinda gal—but that had shifted in the past year. Instead, I found myself avoiding the hard conversations and holding myself back from what I really wanted because I didn’t want to rock the boat.
But no more.
“Come on, bug. Indulge an old man,” he said, and this time, he held out his hand.
I took it, letting him pull me to his feet. He held me in his arms, and I laid my head on his chest, comforted by the steady beat of the heart beneath my cheek. We swayed in the kitchen far longer than either of us intended, letting song after song play until the playlist ended. Silent tears slowly slipped down our cheeks as we clung to one another. It was cathartic in a way I never imagined.
For a moment in time, I wasn’t a twenty-seven-year-old woman walking an unknown path who was terrified of losing her father. Instead, I was just a girl dancing with her first love as we watched the sun rise over the peak of the barn.
bishop
. . .
“Knock, knock!”I looked up and saw Josie standing in my doorway. She had a stack of paperwork in her arms, looking at me with an apologetic smile. “I need you to look through the supply order. I think I have everything we’ll need, but I need to submit the feed orders tonight before we leave for the day.”
“Alright,” I said, letting my shoulders drop. That wasn’t too bad. “I can do that.”
“And I need you to prep your expense report, too,” she added quickly, cringing when I groaned. “I know, I know! There’s still like a week left before the end of the month, but if I don’t start asking for it now…”
“I fuckin’ hate paperwork,” I muttered. “I’ve got too much shit on my plate as it is.”
We’d already decided to move the branding from this weekend to two weeks from now. It was later than we had liked, but Lincoln was out of town with a clinic. We couldn’t afford not to have him, even though I knew Lennox could easily step in to help.
Doug and I sat down with Josie after he came home to talk about the finances. We could afford to hire some temporary helpand had already sent out the call. There were a few cowboys coming out today, so I could see their skills. The last thing I needed was some idiot who didn’t know their ass from their elbow.
“Like I said, I know you hate it, and it’s a pain. Believe me, I don’t like having to hound grown men to do their job, yet here I am,” she deadpanned.
“You’ve never had to hound me?—”
Josie rolled her eyes. “We have this same conversation every week, Bishop.”
I leaned back in my chair. “You’re grumpy when your little boy toy is away. Were you always like this?”
“Nope, but when you’re used to having sex every day?—”
I plugged my ears. “Never mind! Forget I asked.”
She smiled, backing slowly out of the door. “That’s what I thought. So, make sure that report is on my desk by month’s end, or else I’ll plop my ass right there,” she said, pointing at the sad-looking folding chair in front of my desk, “and tell you all about the time he put his fingers in my?—”
