She gasps. “White picket fences are adorable.”
“They’re decorative bullshit that serve no real purpose. She’ll get a split rail with barbed wire to keep the kids and livestock in.”
“Keep the livestock in. That’s practical,” she mutters.
“Well, yeah, you gotta have horses. You still ride, don’t you?”
“I haven’t in a long time,” she admits. “I mean, I’ve been on the back of one with Cabe. But I haven’t ridden one on my own in years.”
She sets the wineglass to the side and lies back against the pillows and yawns.
“Funny. Sounds like we are on the same life trajectory,” she muses as her eyes flutter closed.
She’s right. From the rodeo circuit to a peaceful life back here in Wyoming.
And that’s a hell of a thing to realize at two o’clock in the morning while lying in a blanket fort in the middle of her cabin floor, watching a documentary about a serial killer.
Two minutes later, she’s softly snoring. I go through my nightly routine of turning off the TV, taking our dishes to the sink, and carrying her to bed.
She curls onto her side, and I tuck a blanket around her.
Then I slip back to my cabin.
And into another cold shower.
Jovie
Saturday mornings are always for coffee and quiet. It’s my lazy time. When I stay in my comfy loungewear and catch up on laundry.
At least, that’s the plan.
Instead, I wake to the rumble of a diesel engine outside my cabin and the unmistakable sound of my brother’s voice.
I grin and practically bounce out of bed.
Two minutes later, I step out onto my porch with a messy ponytail, wearing jeans and a Raintree-Storm Rodeo Academy T-shirt.
Sure enough, my father’s truck is parked in front of my cabin.
Daddy leans against the driver’s door with my brother, Devon, beside him, both holding travel coffee mugs.
The second they see me, they both smile.
“Well, look who’s finally awake,” Devon says.
I roll my eyes. “It’s seven thirty.”
“Exactly.”
Daddy opens his arms, and I walk straight into them. His hug is warm and familiar, smelling faintly of cedar, coffee, and sawdust.
Asbury Timber Company.
The scent of my childhood.
“Good morning, sweetheart,” he says as he kisses the top of my head.
“Morning, Daddy.”
