Page 6 of Where She Belongs

Jason took that. Then he glanced at the flyer on the table and swiped it. In seconds it was crumpled and tossed in the garbage. “Do you think Brent will want to take on some clients of his own?” Jason asked as they exited the house.

Tate glanced at him. “I don’t know. I suppose he might. He’s always been good with the younger group.”

“Yeah, I thought so too. It’d be good for him, right?”

“Sure, and I suppose we could fill the gaps with older clients. Jacob said that even seasoned rodeo competitors would benefit from working with us. We have all the equipment.”

Jason went quiet. It wasn’t unusual for him to mull an idea over before he spoke about it, but for some reason this felt different. When Tate looked over at him again, he got the distinct feeling that Jason wasn’t saying something that needed to be voiced.

Tate stopped and faced Jason fully, hands on his hips. “Something you want to say?”

Jason shook his head. “No. I’m good.”

“Really? Or are you just saying that so you can get me off your back?”

His twin scratched the back of his neck. “No. I’m good. Promise.”

Tate searched his face. Getting Jason to say a thing before he was ready had never once worked, and Tate had a lifetime of attempts on the record. “You know you can talk to me, right? Same as I know I can talk to you.”

Jason nodded. “Yeah.”

He meant it, too. That was the trouble with his brother. Jason would answer any question you put to him, honestly, all day long, and never once tell you what you hadn’t thought to ask.

CHAPTER THREE

The house looked exactly how she remembered it. Astonishingly, it looked to be in good condition, at least from the outside. The siding was brick and that hadn’t deteriorated with time. The shutters looked freshly painted and the deck was in good shape. It might need a coat of stain. All in all, her home was untouched.

Roxy had insisted on buying her a car and had it waiting at the airport, a crossover with all-wheel drive she’d have no use for since she’d only be here for the summer.

That was as long as she was allowing herself to wallow. This was her house, her last connection to her father.

Roots.

That was what this place was. She’d stepped out of the car onto her own dirt and her whole body had said so before she got the door shut.

The yard had been maintained to a degree. The grass wasn’t overgrown, but there were weeds popping up in places they shouldn’t be. There was a pasture off to the side where her father used to let the horses, cows, and goats roam free. It hadn’t been mowed and the grasses had grown wild. She didn’t see any sign of the chicken coop her father had built. Either it was sold or someone had taken it since the property had been left vacant for so long.

That was fine. It wasn’t like she was going to start farming again.

She could claim she hadn’t the first idea how to run a farm, and it would be a lie. It was all coming back. The chore list her father used to hand her. How to feed and water and doctor. Even the nitty-gritty business side of a farm.

The day she’d turned eight, her father had pulled her aside and told her that one day this farm would be hers and she’d have to care for it like he did. At the time, she’d been exhilarated. She’d wanted to be just like her father when she grew up.

Perhaps that was one of the reasons she’d been such a tomboy.

She stared down at her feet, clad in simple ballet flats. Then she grinned as she kicked them off, swiped them from the ground, and walked toward the house across the plush grass. There was something about the connection to the earth that she’d missed in the city. Connecting with asphalt and cement was not the same as feeling the grass beneath her feet.

Rylee managed to get the door open without much trouble. She tossed her shoes and abandoned her suitcase by the door, then moved through the quiet house. It had been a little too large for a family of two, but it had been perfect all the same.

The interior was dated. The furniture was mostly deep blues and light brown wood. Thankfully, the carpet was a neutral color as were the walls. The kitchen could use an update. New cabinets and appliances would be necessary. The lights flickered when she turned them on then seemed to hiss at her for a moment before the sound went away.

That couldn’t be good.

Still, as Rylee wandered from room to room, she couldn’t suppress a smile. She took in a deep breath, letting the fresh citrus scent into her lungs. Aunt Roxy had insisted on sending a cleaning crew so Rylee didn’t have to lift a finger to make the place livable. The cleaners had done an excellent job and Rylee was thankful she hadn’t pushed back on having them come in before she got here.

She ran a finger up the stair rail and shut her eyes. Her father laughing, chasing her up these stairs to get her into bed. Her father afterward with the stories, his parents and their parents, and of course crazy Aunt Roxy.

She recalled nights in the kitchen eating leftover pie and early mornings that smelled like coffee and bacon.