Page 5 of Josephine and Clay

“Drinks?” Dallas suggests, glancing between us. “This is a celebration after all.”

Boone looks back toward the hospital, then nods. “Yeah. One.”

“One,” Dallas repeats, already knowing that probably won’t hold.

The bar in town is quieter than the one I left behind, but it carries its own kind of noise. Low conversation, the clink of glasses, the hum of people who’ve known each other their whole lives.

We grab a table near the back.

“Guess we’re all uncles again,” Dallas says, lifting his beer.

“Yeah,” Boone replies, clinking his bottle against his.

I raise mine with them. “To Hailey.”

“To Hailey.”

We drink.

For a while, it’s easy.

They talk about the hospital, about Nash nearly passing out, about Mom already planning a schedule for who’s helping with what. I listen, half in, half out, letting the rhythm of it wash over me.

Then the conversation shifts.

“Ellie’s got that school dance thing next week,” Boone says. “She’s been practicing nonstop. She’s so damn cute in that tutu, even if she hates it.”

Dallas snorts. “Lila’s the same. Won’t let me hear the end of it.”

Boone grins. “Wyatt tried to ‘help’ her rehearse yesterday. Nearly took out the coffee table. You just wait, Dallas. Once Brooklyn is walking… phew, you’re in trouble.”

I huff a quiet laugh, shaking my head.

They keep going, talking about bedtimes, early mornings, feeding schedules, balancing ranch work with everything else. The kind of details that build a life piece by piece.

A life that keeps moving whether you’re there for it or not.

I take another drink, letting it sit heavy on my tongue.

“Faith’s been killing it with that social media thing,” Dallas adds. “Got me working for her half the time now.”

Boone smirks. “Never thought I’d see the day. Nor did I think we’d all end up helping Nash out with his dude ranch, but here we are.”

“Hey,” Dallas laughs. “If it works, it works.”

It does, that’s the thing. They’ve figured it out. Each of them found a place, a solid life to stand on right here in Buckhorn where it all began.

I roll the bottle between my hands, watching the condensation slide down the glass. “Sounds busy.”

Boone glances at me, something knowing in his expression. “It is.”

“And you?” Dallas asks. “Circuit still treating you alright?”

I nod, leaning back in my chair. “Yeah. Can’t complain.”

Conversation moves on again, back to things that don’t include me, and I let it, because I’ve never enjoyed the family spotlight shining my way.

After a couple more drinks, more than they said they’d have, Boone glances at his watch, then pushes his chair back. “I should head back. Rose and the kids will be up early.”