Page 166 of Dusty Spur Ranch Cowboys

Arizona carries her plate to the sink. “I’m sorry.”

I turn on the water beside her. “You didn’t make Tori promise anything.”

“I still hate that Sadie asked me to stay when I can’t give her an answer.”

“She’d rather hear the truth than another false promise.”

Arizona dries the plate after I pass it over, but she keeps her attention on the dish towel in her hands.

“I’ve spent most of my life leaving before people expected me to stay,” she says as she places the plate in the cupboard. “They ask when I’m coming back, but nobody’s ever included me in plans that haven’t happened yet.”

I shut off the water and turn toward her. “You matter to people here.”

Her eyes rise to mine, and I rub the back of my neck when I realize how much the words reveal.

“Sadie won’t be the only one who misses you,” I add.

Arizona studies me, and the distance between us feels smaller than the space should allow, but Red calls her name from the yard before she answers.

She looks toward the door. “I’d better help him.”

“I need to finish loading too.”

Her fingers brush my forearm as she passes. “I’ll see you outside.”

I watch her cross the yard toward Red before I return to the window.

Sadie stands beside Whiskey with a brush in one hand while Willy leans across the stall door, making faces until she smiles. Arizona changes direction when she sees them and walks over, and Sadie lifts her hand before telling her whatever Willy has done wrong.

The scene should ease the anger building inside me, but all I can see is the way Sadie stared at her plate when she said Tori might come.

Tori always uses wording vague enough to excuse her if she changes her mind. I’ve allowed her to do it for years because I keep hoping the next visit will be the one where she finally understands that parenting can’t depend on what fits around the rest of her life.

Keeping the door open has stopped helping Sadie, though.

Tori returns with apologies whenever guilt catches up with her, then disappears once being a mother asks more of her than a pleasant afternoon.

I’ve accepted every excuse because Sadie deserves the chance to know her, but knowing Tori shouldn’t mean waiting beside a window for someone who may never arrive.

I look through the glass as Arizona crouches beside Sadie to examine the brush in her hand. Willy says something that earns him a shove from both of them, and Whiskey nudges Sadie’s shoulder until she laughs.

Sadie needs people who remember her plans without being chased, and she needs adults who keep their word when the promise matters more to her than it does to them.

After the rodeo, I’m calling the lawyer.

Revisiting custody will bring arguments, paperwork, and every accusation Tori can find, but avoiding the fight means Sadie keeps absorbing the damage.

Tori can agree to a schedule and follow it, or the arrangement changes enough that Sadie no longer builds her weeks around visits that vanish without warning.

I won’t keep protecting Tori from consequences while my daughter learns to hide how much she hurts.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

Arizona

I give up on sleep before the alarm goes off because every time I close my eyes, I end up back at the same tangled thoughts.

The knot in my stomach keeps tightening until I throw back the covers, pull on my jeans, a short-sleeved shirt, and my boots, then slip out of the house to walk off this mood as much as I can.