Page 210 of Josephine and Clay

“I don’t know how to do any of this,” I admit quietly. “But I know I want to.”

Boone’s hand lands hard against the back of my neck for one rough second before he lets go. “That’s enough to start with.”

The drive back to Buckhorn starts an hour later.

Josie sits beside me in the backseat while the Idaho highway stretches endlessly ahead beneath fading afternoon light.

The miles slide by without much conversation.

Rose dozes against the passenger window. Boone drives one-handed, paying the highway the same level of attention he gives everything else. And beside me, Josie’s fingers stay tangled with mine.

I keep tracing my thumb across her knuckles, reminding myself she's actually here beside me.

Pregnant with my babies. Twins. The idea still feels impossible.

Josie shifts closer carefully and rests her head against my shoulder. “You’re thinking too hard again.”

“You can tell?”

“You get this crease between your eyebrows.” She taps my forehead lightly. “Very tortured cowboy.”

“I am tortured.”

“You’re mostly dramatic.”

“That too.”

Her laugh settles somewhere deep inside me.

For once, I don’t feel the itch to keep moving.

I stare down at our joined hands resting over her stomach.

Somewhere between Twin Falls and Buckhorn, fear stops feeling like a warning and starts feeling like a responsibility.

Maybe that's what building a life is.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

Josephine

AUGUST 13TH

By the time the McCoy ranch comes into view, the ranch lies beneath a clear night sky, every fence post, barn roof, and pasture line softened by darkness.

The truck rolls slowly up the gravel drive, tires crunching beneath us while the main house glows with warm yellow light. After hours of highway, gas station coffee, quiet conversation, and Clay’s hand wrapped around mine in the backseat, the ranch feels almost unreal, as if Buckhorn kept existing while the rest of my life split wide open somewhere outside Twin Falls.

Boone parks near the porch and kills the engine.

Nobody moves right away.

Rose shifts in the passenger seat and looks back at us with tired eyes and a gentle smile. “Well, nobody vomited, nobody bled, and Boone only threatened two drivers between Idaho and Oregon, so I’m calling this trip a success.”

Boone opens his door with a low grunt. “One of those drivers deserved more than a threat.”

“He cut you off once.”

“He cut me off with disrespect.”