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Byron mounted easily enough, and Lachlan led the way past the barn down a trail that went around the base of the mountain.
It was beautiful. The pine trees that rose up on either side of the closed-in trail were deep green majestic sentries, standing guard over them. The wedge of blue sky between looked nearly artificially bright. The way the sun filtered down across the pines made them glimmer, a gold and shadow patchwork all around them.
“So,” Lachlan said. “Byron. What do you think so far?”
“It’s been a very nice trip,” Byron called over the top of Charity and Fia. He was bringing up the rear. Lachlan, Fia, Charity, Byron. All in a single file line on this narrow trail.
“Glad to hear it,” Lachlan said. “Of course, I wouldn’t want you to miss any of the majesty of my home state. It’s beautiful. And you can get any kind of scenery you might want without ever leaving the state. Go east and you get high desert. Go up north and it gets even greener, rainier. Down south you can get more sun, heat. Head west and you get the ocean. It’s amazing.”
“Very impressive,” Byron said as if he was being polite. “I’m fond of the rolling hills in Virginia. The way that the leaves change. Though Evergreen is certainly its own kind of beauty.”
“Its own kind of beauty,” Lachlan said, snorting. “I don’t think there’s anything prettier. And these mountains. I love a mountain.”
“Do you?” Charity asked, unable to help herself.
“It’s a noted fact, Charity. I am a longtime lover of a mountain range.”
“Indeed.”
“I’ve probably written a sonnet or two about them.” He shot her a wicked look. “I’m also a great lover of poetry.”
Fia laughed. “I would like to hear your mountain sonnet, Lachlan. I didn’t take you for a composer of verses.”
“I have hidden depths. But you have to go on at least four dates with me before you get a sonnet.”
Fia laughed again, and Charity was irritated, because they were flirting, and it was going well. Very well. Fia was clearly charmed.
“When we get to the top of this trail, there’s a great view. You’ll all be writing sonnets of your own. You won’t need mine.”
“You might be writing sonnets about my food,” Fia said, and Charity knew that it was for Lachlan alone.
“Oh, I’m sure. I’ve already enjoyed your cooking many times at the town halls. You have to come to a town hall sometime, Byron. It’s the way that we manage business on the ranch.”
“Oh. I... Perhaps.”
Byron couldn’t have sounded less interested if he tried. And that actually kind of annoyed Charity. She knew that Lachlan was goading him, but Byron didn’t know that. So she felt that Byron should be more polite. She didn’t know quite why Lachlan was goading him. But she did know it.
He wanted Byron to like Oregon, but there was this additional thing that he was doing that Charity couldn’t quite understand.
And still, she was being a little bit harder on Byron, which she didn’t think was all that fair, and she couldn’t quite understand.
She chose not to think too deeply about it as they pressed the horses on up the trail.
“So Charity,” Fia called back. “How are things going now that you’ve taken over the veterinary practice?”
“Oh, great,” she said, feeling the need to sound relentlessly cheerful. “Everything is just fine. The people here are so...wonderful. And it is a very rewarding thing to feel like I’m continuing on in my father’s work.”
“Of course,” Fia said. “There’s nothing quite like a family business. There’s nothing quite like how important it feels. I completely understand. Sullivan’s Point is the most important thing to me. Keeping everybody together. I’m afraid I was a little hard on Alaina about leaving. I didn’t mean to be, but I just... With the way my family splintered... I’m not carrying on the legacy for my parents. Not after the way they abandoned us. But... It’s for...my sisters. It’s what keeps me connected to them. To everything. So I completely get the reward there. The legacy.”
Something stirred in her chest.The legacy. And if she left with Byron she would be leaving the legacy behind. Except... Her being a veterinarian was actually a huge part of her father’s legacy. That in so many ways she had chosen to be like him. She realized right then that she was sort of his female counterpart. Conservative dress, a quiet manner, a love of animals.
She hadn’t really intended to be her father’s mirror, but she was.
She was wholly and completely dedicated to being someone who made him proud. She always had been. Because she had always felt like he had done so much when it came to dedicating his life to her. And it felt so utterly important.
Now she just felt...turmoil. Because leaving had seemed so possible, and now she wondered if that was really the tribute that she wanted to give her dad.
Should your whole life be a tribute?
