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I shoot him a somber smile back, because he’s right. They would’ve loved it.

CHAPTER 11

Hattie

Striding toward the main cabin for breakfast, there’s an easy smile on my face and a lightness to my steps. I missed dinner with Hank and Otto last night, so I was relieved when Hank texted me as I was leaving Poppy’s house—and Lincoln’s, apparently—inviting me for breakfast.

I’m dressed for the day in riding pants, a thick, long-sleeved top, and my riding boots, hoping to take Kitty out again today. It’s not as cold as it was yesterday, so I left my Burberry trench behind, opting for my riding vest instead.

My eyes flit to the side of the guest cabin, where there’s a freshly stocked pile of firewood. Thank goodness. I’ve been going through firewood quickly, trying to stay warm at night. I wasn’t sure if I needed to chop some myself…but I’ve never chopped wood in my life. The last thing I wanted to do was attempt wood chopping when Lincoln would inevitably be nearby and see me failing. He’s always around at the worst possible times.

My feet crunch the leaves on the ground as I walk across the property and up the steps toward Hank’s front door. I ring the bell and a few seconds later, he answers.

“Good morning, Hattie. Come on in, and no need to ring,” he says, his cheeks going slightly pink with a nervous laugh. “You’re family, after all.”

Hank is still clearly still wrapping his mind around this whole daughter thing. But so far, he’s doing great. Maybe not movie-dad-level, but pretty damn good considering the circumstances.

“Thanks, Hank,” I say, smiling at him in a way I hope puts him at ease.

Stepping inside, I remove my boots, then follow Hank into the kitchen where Otto is cooking bacon and pancakes. The aroma fills the house and makes the space feel warm and cozy as always.

I never considered myself a cabin girl, but there’s something rustic and earthy about Hank’s home. Especially with the fireplace roaring to life into the living room. I’m going to miss the smell of fireplaces and wood-burning stoves when I arrive back in California where my house has an electric fireplace that’s just for looks.

“Pancakes and bacon, okay?” Otto asks as he flips a pancake from where he stands in front of the stainless-steel oven.

“Sounds great, and smells even better,” I answer, looking around the spacious kitchen and taking it all in. Warm, earthy tones fill the cabin, along with masculine furniture. Even the kitchen cabinets are golden brown, like the logs making up the walls. The faucets and knobs in the kitchen are brushed brass, and the cabinets are painted a hunter green.

Otto continues flipping pancakes, and Hank sits on a bar stool in front of his laptop. He’s running a hand down his face and looking stressed. I walk over and peek over his shoulder to see the screen.

It’s his email inbox—with two-hundred unread emails.

“Wow,” I say with a low whistle.

“Yeah. It’s bad.” He sighs heavily. “Obviously, I prefer working outside to answering emails.”

“Can you hire someone to answer emails and run the website for you?” I ask, pulling out the barstool beside him and taking a seat.

“What’s wrong with the website?” asks Otto, his gray eyebrows furrowing.

I huff a laugh. “Well, it looks like you guys haven’t updated it since 1990.”

Hank snorts. “We probably haven’t.”

“If you added some features to your website, it would organize your emails by the categories you chose. People could request contact for different options; visiting the ranch, breeding, purchasing. Things like that.”

“Really?” Hank smiles. “That would be great.”

“What domain do you use? I’ve tweaked our website before. We use it for our summer youth equestrian camps.”

Otto and Hank glance at each other, then they both burst into laughter. Hank slaps his knee as he laughs, and Otto releases a high-pitched squeal I wouldn’t have thought him capable of. I can’t help but grin and laugh along with them. I also notice how alike they look when they’re smiling, and how similar their laughter is. The sound of it washes over me, better than my favorite song on a perfect evening.

“Oh, Hattie,” Otto says, still trying to contain his laughter. “When you said the website looked like we haven’t updated it since the nineties, you were spot on. That old website hasn’t been touched in twenty years. And I have no clue what a domain is.”

“Seriously?” My voice goes up several octaves, showing my surprise.

Hank chuckles one last time and dabs at the corners of his eyes. His eyes water when he laughs. Just like mine.

“I don’t even remember who Dad hired to do it,” Hank admits.