Chapter One
ELLIS
“Olive, baby, Daddy’s gotta go,” I murmur into my five-year-old gremlin’s thick mess of dark hair.
Her face scrunches as her eyes squeeze shut. I swallow my laugh, clearing my throat.
“Olive Primrose Michaels, I know you’re faking sleep. Up, baby girl,” I groan, lifting her out of bed.
Her whine is deep and long. Olive gives me her dead weight, dramatically allowing her limbs to hang loose. “Goodness, you’re getting as heavy as Ginger,” I fain struggle.
Immediately, her head magically regains support from her neck, and she whips her grumpy, offended glare my way.
I can’t fight my smile as we enter her bathroom across the hall. “Thought that’d do that trick.”
“Nuh-uh. Ginger’s bigger than me,” Olive pouts in my face, surprisingly wide awake all of a sudden.
“You’re right, baby girl. You’re perfect. Don’t let anyone ever make you think otherwise, you hear?” I set her down on herstool, which she insisted on painting again. This time, a bright purple with stars.
“You know the drill. Teeth, face, hair. I'll set your outfit on your bed.” I pat her bottom. “We gotta head out in thirty minutes, kiddo.”
My too-smart-for-her-age daughter narrows her big hazel eyes and, with a flair, swings her arm toward the bathroom window. “Daddy, come on. Sun, the sun is not up.”
“I know, kiddo. But remember, this is only temporary. In two days, someone will be here full-time, and you can sleep in for the rest of the summer. Consider this practice before you start school this fall.” I reach over and turn the sink on. “Ten minutes, baby. Then get dressed so we can have breakfast.”
I leave my daughter to our routine since moving to Eden Ridge last year, while I set out her clothes and let Ginger, our golden retriever, out. I’m grateful to Caleb and Harper Jackson for providing this cabin with the job. I couldn’t have left Wild Peak fast enough. Just wish Olive didn’t have to suffer the consequences of all the sudden change. My girl’s resilient, but I know how this shit can creep up when one gets older. I hate the idea that I’m inflicting more trauma with my choices.
I gotta be at L&F Guest Ranch by six. We drive down the mountain toward town, where Mrs. Harriet has been generous enough to sit for Olive until I get off at six tonight. Wrangler at a busy Guest Ranch means long hours.
That’s why you’re doing this, Ellis. It’s what’s best for Olive.
“Daddy,” Olive kicks her feet in her chair, staring out the window. “When is August four?”
I smile at her pronunciation of August.
“Two weeks, kiddo. Which means, how many days?” I ask, turning the corner toward Main Street. Her face scrunches in thought.
“How many days in one week?” I reframe the question.
She counts the days on her fingers, then puts them up for me to see.
“How many is that?” I grin at her from the rearview.
“Seven.”
“Nice job. So seven days plus another seven days equals?”
She takes a moment, counting her fingers twice to double-check. “Four…fourteen?”
“My genius. That’s right, baby girl. You turn six in fourteen days.”
Near town is an idyllic neighborhood of houses. I pull into the two-story bright yellow farmhouse at ten to six. I park, get Olive out of her seat, and hold her hand as we take the porch steps.
Mrs. Harriet, as every morning, is standing in her open doorway, in her long patterned dress, colorful house slippers, and thick black hair with streaks of gray locs, interwoven with bright colored pieces.
“Morning, Miss Olive,” she smiles. “And to you, Ellis, dear.”
“Morning, Mrs. Harriet. It’s too early,” my daughter states the obvious for my sake.
