Calvin.
Well, fuck me good.
John had gotten sick, and with no family around to care for him, decided to sell and retire into the assisted livin' facility just outside town.
No family around to care for him.
My mama died right there.
Well, fuck me twice.
I hadn't known that part of the story.
"You're John Calvin's granddaughter," I breathed.
She finally looked at me then. Not defensive. Not smug. Just… tired.
"Yeah." She turned and kept her eyes forward, like she was bracin' for impact. "Before Rhett's dad bought it, this was ours."
Hell, this wasn't just some ranch she'd wandered onto for a paycheck.
She'd come home.
I tightened my grip on her hand, not possessive—just steady.
"Why didn't you say anythin'?"
She shrugged one shoulder. "Didn't seem relevant."
The hell it didn't.
But I could see it now—the way she'd stared the corral down, jaw set. The way her voice had gone quiet. The way she hadn't snapped back when I teased her.
She wasn't just standin' at a fence.
She was standin' in the middle of a memory.
And she'd let me see it.
"You ever think about ridin' again?" I asked, softer now.
Her jaw ticked.
"Not until tonight."
The moment Rhettshowed up at the barn, Calvin jumped at the chance to get back to work and far, far away from those pesky things we mere mortals callfeelings. And when she was gone, set off on an errand for the ranch's fearless leader, there was only one place I wanted to be.
My truck bounced—a bit dramatically, if you ask me—over the uneven dirt drive that led to the mosthomehome I'd ever had. The one where my dad taught me to throw a baseball. Where he two-stepped my mama, night after night, around the living room. The one where I witnessed what true love looked like.
The house had seen better days, IMHO.
The red-painted shutters were dull. A few shingles were missin', probably from the wild windstorm we'd had a few weeks back. The front garden beds were more than a little overgrown with weeds. A few bushes had straight up died?—
As soon as the thought crossed my mind, I felt like a shit. Mom had been doin' her best. For the better part of a year, her priority had been takin' care of dad. And he'd always been the one to take care of the house.
Now, it was up to me and Luke. But I'd been so distracted by my own bullshit, I hadn't even taken a minute to see what she needed.
The burn behind my eyes grew to somethin' fierce when I threw the truck in park in front of the house, climbed out, and bounded up the front steps.
