Page 254 of Josephine and Clay

She runs her hand over the smooth wood again.

I remember sanding that section three separate times because I couldn't stop imagining tiny hands grabbing onto it one day.

At the time, I'd told myself I was being practical.

Now I know better. Somewhere between measuring boards and sanding edges, the project stopped being furniture.

The realization still catches me off guard every now and then.

Josie moves to the second crib.

Her eyes are shining.

The sight makes my chest tighten.

I've spent years chasing things that disappeared the second I caught them. Rodeo wins, prize money, crowds cheering my name one weekend and forgetting it by the next.

None of it lasted long enough to matter, and none of it gave me anything I could build on.

But watching her stand there, looking at those cribs, I understand why Boone never wanted to leave the ranch. I understand why Dallas talks about his kids the way he does. Why Nash can spend an hour showing strangers pictures of Hailey without realizing nobody asked.

At last, I get it.

The future isn't some vague thing waiting down the road. It's standing right in front of me.

Josie turns toward me. There's so much emotion on her face that it almost knocks the breath out of me. "You really made these."

I rub the back of my neck. "With some supervision."

A watery laugh escapes her. "How much supervision?"

"Enough that Boone threatened to revoke my access to power tools."

That earns a proper laugh.

The sound fills the barn and eases some of the tightness in my chest.

Slowly, I move closer. "I know this doesn't fix everything."

Her eyes lift to mine. I take another step forward, close enough to see tears gathering along her lashes. "Clay..."

I rub the back of my neck. "Brandon called again earlier."

The smile fades from her face so fast my chest tightens. "What did he want?"

"He got offered a job running a national rodeo tour."

Her fingers curl around the rail of the crib. "Oh."

"He wanted me to go with him."

She lowers her eyes to the wood between us, tracing one of the rails with her thumb. "When?"

I move closer until only a couple of feet separate us. "I'm not going."

Her head lifts. "What?"

"I already told him no."