“Cancer’s a terrible thing,” Bessie murmurs, reaching out to pat my hand. “Especially when they’re so young.”
I nod, swallowing the lump in my throat.
“She’s the reason I ended up in Wyoming,” I say, smiling through the ache. “She dreamed of traveling and fell in love withSheridan after seeing it on a destination travel show. After she passed, I found a brochure for the college tucked into her things. Figured maybe if I couldn’t live her dream, I could at least live somewhere she loved.”
Bessie presses her hand to her chest.
“Oh, honey,” she sighs warmly. “That’s beautiful.”
She glances toward the front seat, beaming.
“And that’s how you met Liam,” she says, a dreamy sigh in her voice. “How romantic.”
I have to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from glaring at the back of Liam’s head.
“Yeah,” I say. “Romantic.”
“So, Teddy tells me you two work together. How long has that been?”
“Four years,” I answer, smoothing my palms over my jeans. “But sometimes it feels longer.”
She laughs. “I can relate. These boys wouldn’t know what to do without us.”
Teddy calls back, chuckling, “Amen to that.”
I smile, but then Liam speaks.
“My cousin, Phern, worked as the manager before Olive,” he says casually, like he’s talking about a piece of furniture being replaced. “She did a good job, too, so it must not be too hard of a job.”
The words hit harder than they should.
Ouch.
I force a tight smile.
“Phern’s brilliant,” I say, keeping my voice even. “No doubt about that. Her filing system saved my butt more times than I can count.”
I glance out the window, blinking fast. Does he even hear what he’s saying? We’re here to seal a deal, and he’s not even trying to act like he likes me.
Bessie reaches over, squeezing my leg with surprising strength.
“Spats are always rough,” she says, her voice warm with mischief. “But lordy, the making up is so much fun.”
Teddy lets out a booming laugh. I manage a weak smile. Because there’s nothing fun about this.
We finally pull up to their ranch and even in my fog of grief and exhaustion, I can’t help but be impressed. The operation is massive. Different from ours. I bite down hard on the thought. Not ours. It never was.
Different fromLiam’s.
The main house is sprawling. Wide porches, tall windows, a warmth that speaks of family and years of stories tucked into every corner. Fifteen kids. Thirty grandkids. With room for more. Of course it’s huge.
Bessie leads us inside, chatting the whole way, insisting we should nap before dinner. We pass room after room, each one bigger and more inviting than the last. Until finally, she stops in front of a wide oak door and swings it open.
The room is bathed in soft golden light. There’s a massive four-poster bed with thick quilts in shades of cream and dusty rose. Sheer curtains flutter in the breeze from the open window. A braided rug sprawls across the floor, worn in the way only beloved things can be. Framed photographs line the dresser—weddings, new babies, grinning faces full of history and love.
It’s beautiful. Heart achingly so.
Bessie says, beaming, “This is the baby-making room.”
