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I laugh. “You got it.”

“It’s good to see you, man,” Boone says.

“It’s good to be seen.”

“Come inside. Momma made us promise to get her when you showed up.” Quent opens the door, and I take off my hat—old habits—and quickly tune in to the conversation happening in the next room.

“You should’ve told me, Momma.” I know right away it’s Hattie. “You know I’m on a tight schedule, and I can’t afford to have any distractions.”

“But Noble Kane is the best kind of distraction,” another voice says. “That man knows how to fill a pair of Levi’s.”

“Oh, lord,” Quent mutters under his breath as he takes his boots off.

“Rowena!” That’s Melinda, their mom. Her voice still sounds the same, as if it belongs to a woman who could fix a dinner and protect a herd of sheep from a pack of wolves at the same time. “That’s enough. He called and said he was coming to town early. What did you want me to do?”

“Not offer him a room in my lodge for starters,” Hattie says. I can see the look on her face just from her tone. “You know how the people of this town feel about him. After what he did . . .?”

“The people of this town need to learn how to forgive,” Melinda says. “And so do you.”

“Hey guys!” Quent calls out. “Noble’s here.”

Boone looks at me. “Sorry. Hattie’s her same old opinionated self. It’s not personal—she’s just stressed.”

“Eh. Pretty sure it’s personal,” I shoot back. “She’s not one to forgive easily, if I remember.”

“We call that ‘stubborn,’” Boone says.

After everything I did, I can’t even blame her. Hattie was the friend who believed in me more than I believed in myself. I suppose when I proved her wrong, she took it personally.

The rest of her family has let it go over the years, but once you fall out of Hattie’s good graces, there’s really no coming back. That’s not going to stop me from trying though. Her name’s on my list for a reason.

“It’s okay, I’ve got a thick skin,” I say as I take off my own boots. But I’m silently scrambling to come up with ideas on how to fix what I broke. I expected her cold shoulder, but sometimes it sucks to be right.

I look around the big, open room at the center of the house. Memories roll through my mind, leaving behind a combination of warmth and nostalgia tinged with a hint of sadness and regret. Melinda isn’t much for seasonal decorations, except for Christmas, but the mantle above the big, stone fireplace, has a few fall-themed knickknacks along with a framed family photo that looks a few years old.

A plush leather sofa and two leather armchairs face the fireplace. Everything about the room whispers home.

We stroll into the kitchen, and Melinda opens her arms wide. “Noble! My goodness, in my house! Get over here, you!”

I brace myself for a hug. Melinda’s small, but strong, and there isn’t a person in the world who squeezes as hard as she does. I wrap my arms around her and catch Hattie’s eyes for a split second before she turns away.

Her cheeks are bright red. Caught. As forward as she is, she’s not mean, and I’m pretty sure she never would’ve said any of what she just said to my face.

“Look at you,” Melinda says. “You’re all grown up.” She pats my cheek. “I like the—” she frowns— “are we calling this a beard?”

“That’s not a beard, that’s a cry for help,” Boone cracks, slapping my shoulders.

Rowena walks over and pushes her mom aside. “Hey, Noble.”

“Hey, Rowe.” At five years younger than me, Rowena always felt like the tagalong little sister, but it’s pretty clear she’s come into her own. She’s got the same brown hair and freckles as Hattie, but she’s a few inches taller. “Saw your farm stand out by the road.”

“I’m a cottage baker,” she says.

“Where’s the cottage?” Boone asks, frowning.

“It’s a term,” she says. “You wouldn’t get it.”

“I would not,” he agrees.