No wonder she got so mad when I mentioned her leaving earlier. She probably thought I was being a misogynistic jerk.
I turn around and look back at her. In the light of the full moon, she’s even more beautiful than I remember.
I remember the way she moaned for me. The way she begged me to fuck her harder.
I clear my throat and try to push the images away.
“Caleb has the guest house all decked out with everything you could need, but if you find you don’t have something, just come up to my house,” I tell her as I point to it, then nod to the main house where my parents still live. “Mom still cooks breakfast and lunch for everyone at six and noon. She’ll be thrilled to see you walk in.”
I turn on my heel and walk away then.
If I was so wrong about why she left and stayed away, what else have I been wrong about all this time?
Chapter Seven
Sutton
The morning air is crisp when I step out of the guest house, the kind of chill that bites just enough to wake you up but promises warmth as the sun climbs higher. My breath puffs in front of me, little clouds that fade into the pale dawn. The ranch is quiet, still shrouded in the half-light of early morning. Somewhere in the distance, a rooster crows, breaking the silence.
I swallow hard as I look over at the main house. Mrs. Callahan is probably inside cooking up a storm for the ranch hands. I would give anything to walk in there and get one of her special hugs.
It would be like hugging Mom again.
My eyes flit over to the other house next door, Wade’s house. I can see the light on in an upstairs window, and my brain reminds me of how amazing that man looks naked.
“Stop it, Sutton. Get your mind out of the gutter.”
I stretch my arms overhead, rolling my shoulders to work out the stiffness from yesterday. The familiar ache in my legs andback from trudging through the pastures feels satisfying, like a job well done. But today, I need to clear my head. Too many thoughts swirling around—about the cattle, the disease, Wade, my dad.
Especially my dad.
Our talk yesterday hadn’t been anything more than about the cattle. I think he was surprised that I actually showed up. I think he doubted whether I’d really come back to Hicks Creek to figure this out. I’m not sure what I really expected going in there, but I guess I had hoped for an I’m sorry, an I love you or I missed you, but I got none of that.
More like passive-aggressive to a new extent.
“I don’t know how you put up with that man for almost fifty years, Mama,” I breathe out loud. “You were more of a saint than any of us realized.”
Lacing up my running shoes, I take a deep breath, the scent of dew-soaked grass and earth filling my lungs. The driveway stretches out before me, long and winding, flanked by wooden fences that seem to stretch forever. I start at an easy pace, letting my muscles warm up, my feet finding a steady rhythm against the packed dirt. There was a time when I used to hate running, but it was something that I got into in college and never stopped.
“Woof,” I hear as I see two giant white heads poking their heads up from their spots in the grass before they lazily drop them back down.
The Callahans’ Great Pyrenees aren’t guard dogs in the sense of people, but they’re amazing for keeping the coyotes and whatever other predators away from the livestock. Hence why they barely notice me.
The ranch wakes up around me as I run. Birds chirp from the trees, and the faint lowing of cattle drifts on the breeze. My mind wanders as I pick up speed, my body settling into the familiar cadence of movement. Running has always been my way ofsorting through things, of finding clarity when the world feels too loud.
The driveway gives way to the trails that weave through the property, paths I know like the back of my hand. I veer to the right, following a trail that cuts through a grove of trees. The sunlight filters through the leaves, dappling the ground in shifting patterns. Memories flood back as I run, vivid and unbidden.
This trail used to be our shortcut between the Callahan Ranch and my family’s place. My friends and I spent countless summers tearing through here on four-wheelers, the roar of engines and our laughter echoing through the trees. We’d race each other, pushing the limits, daring each other to go faster. The thrill of freedom, the wind in our hair, the world wide open before us.
Wade taught me how to ride horses when I was around six years old. That’s probably the first time I fell for him, and I just didn’t realize it back then. He’s the one who showed me these trails as he took me through here countless times. He always prided himself on telling me not to be out here too late or too early because of some of the wildlife I might happen upon.
I roll my eyes.
Man, did he always love telling me what to do. Always thought he could boss me around or pretend to be my big brother.
I forgot how many memories I did have with him before things went bad.
I think that’s what hurt the most when our fathers got into the argument. He was someone I adored and loved spending time with, and then it all just stopped. It’s like I had never even existed.
