Dallas’s forehead rests against mine.
“Happy Valentine’s Day,” he murmurs.
I exhale, laughing under my breath because, of course, I’m going to get emotional over a holiday I used to pretend not to care about.
“Happy Valentine’s Day, Dallas McCoy.”
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
Dallas
April 24th
Today isa Spring Branding BBQ day, which means smoke in the air, brisket on the grill, and at least three different families arguing over whether coleslaw is a side dish or a personal attack.
Also… I have a ring in my pocket.
And my daughter is acting as my event coordinator.
“Dad,” Lila whispers, grabbing the hem of my shirt as I pass the mudroom for the third time. “Stop doing that.”
“Doing what?” I ask, even though I already know.
She tilts her head, looking at me as if I’ve asked a stupid question on purpose. “Walking in circles. You’re gonna wear a path into the floor.”
“I’m just checking on things.”
“You checked on things,” she says, counting on her fingers, “fourteen times.”
“That’s not true.”
She squints. “It’s at least fourteen. I stopped counting because it stressed me.”
The truth is, my hands won’t stop moving. I’ve adjusted my hat six times. I’ve patted my pocket so many times, I’ve lost count. I’ve “checked” the cooler twice, which is a weird thing to do considering it’s full of drinks and my problem is not hydration. My problem is… feelings.
And I have a long, complicated history with feelings.
The ranch yard is full in that specific way it only gets twice a year, branding and Christmas, when the whole county remembers we exist and decides to show up hungry. Trucks line the fence. Kids are everywhere, running wildly. There’s a dog under every table hoping somebody drops a hot dog.
Boone stands at the grill because it’s his sacred altar. Rose is nearby with Wyatt on her hip and Ellie orbiting her. Nash is “helping,” which is another way of saying he’s poking the fire with a stick and offering commentary on Boone’s spice rub as if he has any business having opinions.
Clay’s setting up horseshoes with the same focus he uses when he’s in the rodeo ring, which makes everyone else nervous to play because Clay does not do anything halfway.
Mom is in the middle of it all, apron on, hair pinned back, calling people “honey” and “darlin’” while simultaneously running the entire operation with the ruthless efficiency of a military commander. She’s got three dishes in motion, a baby monitor in her pocket even though Wyatt is literally with Rose, and a list of who brought what taped to the back door.
This is what the Spring Branding BBQ is. The exhale after weeks of work. The moment you look around and realize you survived another season.
And I’m about to make it everybody’s business.
“Where’s Faith?” I ask.
Lila’s face goes bright. “She’s by the tables with Jet and your mom. I told her not to leave.”
I stop short. “You told her?—”
“I just said, ‘Don’t go anywhere,’” Lila says. “So she won’t.”
“Lila—”
