Page 106 of Sunrise & Serenity

It’s quieter than I’m used to. I half expect to find Harrison puttering around in the kitchen, but he must be out somewhere on the ranch. I find a clean mug and fill it with coffee, then head back toward the front door. Halfway there, I pause.

Warm sunlight spills through the front windows onto the worn wood floors, reflecting off the framed photographs on the walls and sideboards. I’ve seen them before, but I’ve never really had a chance to study them.

Taking a sip of my coffee, I move farther into the room. The photographs aren’t arranged carefully or displayed like a family gallery. They’re scattered all over the room.

A black-and-white photo sits crookedly on top of the fireplace, a much younger Harrison in the frame, grinning beside a line of cattle. Another rests on a table near the hallway, Sterling at maybe eighteen, holding some kind of trophy, while a dark-haired woman who must be his mother smiles beside him. One near the staircase is of all six kids sitting in the bed of a truck covered in mud. Taryn can’t be more than three, with dark shoulder-length curls and adorably chubby cheeks.

I scan the faces, finding one I don’t recognize. That must be River. Then there’s Holden, down on the end, mid-teens, sunburned, laughing openly with his arm hooked around Sterling’s shoulders. The corners of my mouth tug up.

The next one of Holden includes his mom. He’s maybe a little older in this one, and they’re sitting on horseback in front of the ranch house. Holden is grinning at the camera, and his mom is looking at him with such pride on her face that it pierces my heart.

I let out a breath. There are more, but I can’t bring myself to look at them right now. So, with my coffee, I step back outside and sit on the swing again.

For a while, I lose myself in my work, touching up some of the images. In fact, I get so caught up that when my phone vibrates, it startles me.

Mom.

Calls from her are few and far between, and they usually come with an ulterior motive beneath the awkward small talk. Bracing myself, I shift my laptop off my lap and onto the swing, then draw my knees up to my chest and answer. “Hi, Mom.”

“There you are,” she says. “I was starting to think you’d gotten lost in the mountains.”

I smile faintly, despite myself. “I’ve been busy.”

“Too busy to remember your phone, apparently.”

I let out a silent sigh. “You have proof of life now. Is that why you called?”

“Actually,” she says, “your father and I ran into Graham last night. We had a lovely conversation.”

Eyes closed, I pinch the bridge of my nose. Of course they did.

“He asked how you were doing.”

The irritation hits me first, followed by exhaustion. “Mom⁠—”

“What? He still cares about you.”

I stare out at the ranch, wishing I were out there riding with Holden instead of on the phone with Mom, talking about my ex. “I told you. He cheated on me. He was manipulating me.”

When she’s silent, I wonder if I’ve finally gotten through to her. Could she actually care that Graham hurt me?

“We know things were complicated.”

I press my forehead to my knees. Complicated. Like his betrayal was nothing more than an inconvenience.

“He made a mistake,” she rushes on, as if my silence means I’m willing to hear her out. “People do that. It doesn’t mean you throw away everything you built together. And your career.” She sighs, her voice gentling. “You were doing so well. Now you’re out in the middle of nowhere, taking photos of horses and cows.”

An ache grows behind my ribs. Not because she’s defending Graham, but because, as always, being seen as successful matters more than my happiness. “Mom, stop, please.”

“I don’t understand why you’re being so difficult about this. Do you even have plans for when this job is finished, or are you just intending to go from farm to farm?”

The edges of my phone press into my palm and I force my fingers to relax. “First of all, Wild Ember is a ranch. Secondly, it’s cattle, not cows. And thirdly…” I shake my head. What’s the point? “Thirdly, I have to get back to work.”

“Let’s talk when you get back. Your father and I will take you to dinner. I’m sure you’ll be dying for a civilized meal by then.”

I close my eyes for a beat. “Bye, Mom.”

I disconnect, then drop my head back, staring up at the porch ceiling as I take slow, even breaths.