"Last-minute decision." Bo shifts his weight, and I notice the tension in his shoulders, the way his jaw tightens. "Pearlneeded some supplies, and being home alone was... I thought I'd help out."
There's something careful in the way he says it, but I don't push.
"That's nice of you. Pearl must be happy you're home."
"She made biscuits." His expression softens. "Three kinds."
"Of course she did." I hitch my purse higher on my shoulder, trying to look normal and not like my entire nervous system just short-circuited. "How long are you staying?"
"Not sure yet." He glances past me into the store, then back, like he's looking for an escape route or maybe working up to something. "How are your parents? Tyler mentioned your dad had an accident?"
"Fell off a ladder trying to fix the barn roof. Broke his leg in two places." I roll my eyes. "He's fine, just stubborn and grumpy about being stuck inside. You know how he is."
"Yeah." Something in his expression softens further. "I do."
Another beat of silence. This one feels heavier, like it's carrying the weight of eighteen months and all the things we're not saying.
"What about you?" Bo asks, and there's genuine curiosity in his voice. "What are you up to these days?"
"Same old stuff, mostly. Helping Mom and Dad with the ranch, picking up extra shifts at the co-op when they need me." I shrug, suddenly self-conscious about how small my life probably sounds. "I bought the old Anderson place a few months ago. It needs a lot of work, but it's mine."
"The Anderson farmhouse?" His eyebrows go up. "That's a big project."
"Yeah, well." I try for casual and land somewhere near defensive. "I'm good with my hands."
The corner of his mouth twitches. "I remember."
Heat crawls up my neck, and I'm suddenly very interested in the contents of my bags. "Anyway, it keeps me busy. What about you? What have you been doing since—" I stop myself before I say 'since Uncle Anthony's funeral,' because that feels like stepping on a landmine. "Since you left?"
"Reserves mostly. Some traveling." His jaw tightens again, and I watch him choose his next words carefully. "Trying to figure out what's next."
"That sounds... nice?"
"It's something." He almost smiles, and it's such a Bo expression, wry and a little sad, that it hits me square in the chest.
"Falon! Grain's ready!" Jerry's voice booms from somewhere around back, shattering whatever moment we were building.
"Coming!" I call back, stepping fully out of the doorway to let Bo through. "I should, I need to pick up the grain."
"Right. Yeah." Bo nods but doesn't move past me. "It's good to see you, Falon."
The way he says my name, low and careful, like it means something, makes my throat tight.
"You too, Bo."
I slip past him and head around the side of the building toward the loading area out back. I can feel his eyes on me the entire way, and when I risk a glance over my shoulder, he's still standing there in the doorway, watching me go.
Jerry's already got two bags of grain loaded on a hand truck when I pull my truck around back. Cooper, my Mom’s heeler, is in the back of my truck and wags his tail when he sees Jerry. Cooper doesn’t have his tail cropped asthe Blues do. He generally prefers to stay home and keep the chickens in order, but I managed to coax him to come with me today. Jerry pats Cooper, scratches his neck, then pulls out a bone from his front pocket. Everwood is like the unannounced ranching community of the world. There’s a dog in every truck and a few more at home. Jerry’s learned a thing or two to get on the K9 good side. When he’s done, he helps me load the bags into the bed with practiced efficiency, then brushes his hands on his jeans.
"That Bo Gates?" Jerry asks, keeping his voice low but not low enough.
"Yep."
"Thought he moved away."
"He did. He's back. Temporarily." I secure the tailgate and avoid Jerry's eyes. "For Pearl."
"Mm-hmm." Jerry's tone is loaded with about forty years of small-town knowing. "Give your folks my best."
