Pops climbed out first, his boots scraping the asphalt as he rounded the truck. He'd driven us here himself—insisting on it, claiming Cassie and I would spend the whole ride bickering about radio stations if he didn't take the wheel. Now he clapped a heavy hand on my shoulder, squeezing once with that grip born from years of wrangling cattle. The calluses on his palm rasped against my shirt, grounding me.
"You'll be alright, son," he said gruffly, his voice rough from a lifetime of shouting over machinery. "Your daddy's a tough old bird. Stubborn as they come. He'll pull through, and so will you."
"Thanks, Pops." My throat tightened, the words sticking. "For... everything. For letting me crash your life these past months. For not kicking my ass when I showed up like a lost puppy."
He chuckled, a low rumble that eased the knot in my chest just a fraction. "You ain't crashed nothin'. You've been good for the place. Good forher." He jerked his chin toward Winnie, still leaning against the truck bed, and his eyes softened in that rare way they did when he looked at her. "Family comes back, Beau. You remember that. And you're family now. Don't make me regret sayin' it."
I nodded, swallowing hard.Family.It hit different coming from him—solid, earned, not the conditional kind I'd grown up with in Dallas. "I won't. I'll be back soon. Keep an eye on things for me?"
"Always." He clapped my shoulder again, harder this time, then stepped back. "Safe travels."
Cassie was next, hopping out of the back seat with her usual energy, even at 4 AM. She pulled me into a quick, bone-crushing hug, her hoodie smelling like cinnamon rolls from the batch she'd baked before we left to "send me off properly."
"Don't let Dallas suck the cowboy out of you," she muttered against my shoulder, her voice fierce despite the mock-glare she shot me when she pulled back. "And if your dad starts with the billionaire bullshit, just remember Pickles. That rooster would take him down in seconds."
I barked a laugh, the tension easing a notch. "I'll keep that image in mind. Thanks, Cass. For putting up with me."
She punched my arm lightly. "Anytime, city slicker. Now go. And text us when you land. If you don't, I'll send Pickles after you."
"Noted." I watched her climb back into the truck, waving dramatically.
Which left Winnie.
She was still leaning against the tailgate, arms crossed over her chest like armor, her wild curls pulled back into a messy ponytail that did nothing to tame them. She was wearing one of my old t-shirts—the fadedgray one she'd claimed weeks ago because it was "comfy"—tucked into her worn jeans, her boots scuffed with arena dirt.
She looked small in the dim light. Vulnerable in a way that twisted something deep in my gut. Her eyes were a little red-rimmed, like she'd spent the night tossing and turning same as me, but she wasn't crying. Not now. Winnie didn't do emotional waterfalls. She did jokes. Deflections. Ways to keep the real stuff buried until it was safe to let it out.
I dropped my bag and crossed to her, pulling her into my arms without a word.
She stiffened for a split second—her default when things got too heavy—then melted against me, her hands fisting in the back of my shirt, face buried in my chest. I could feel her heartbeat, fast and erratic, matching mine.
"I'll come back," I murmured into her hair, breathing in the faint lavender from her shampoo, the underlying earthiness of the ranch that clung to her skin. "Two days, maybe three. Just long enough to see him, make sure he's stable, talk to Mom. Then I'm on the first flight back. I promise."
She pulled back just enough to look up at me, her brown eyes sharp and teasing, even as they shimmered. "Yeah, yeah. You'll probably get there and decide Dallas needs you too much. Fancy cars, tall buildings, women in heels who don't smell like horse shit."
I laughed, the sound surprising even me, and cupped her face, thumbs brushing her cheeks. "Shut up. I know you'll miss me even for two days. Admit it."
She snorted, rolling her eyes dramatically, but her lips twitched. "Miss you? Please. I'll be too busy training. Bandit and I will have the place to ourselves. No more city boy stealing all the hot water or hogging the bed."
"Liar."
I leaned in, kissing her—soft at first, a brush of lips that deepened when she sighed into it, her hands sliding up to tangle in my hair. She tasted like the bitter coffee she'd chugged on the drive here, and Ipoured everything into that kiss—the things I hadn't said yet, the fear gnawing at me, the pull of her that made Oklahoma feel like home.
When I pulled back, she was flushed, her joke armor cracking just a little.
"Fine," she muttered, her voice softer now, vulnerability peeking through. "Maybe I'll miss you. A little. But don't let it go to your head."
"Too late." I kissed her forehead, lingering there, memorizing the feel of her against me. "Tell Pickles I'll be back. I still owe him for saving us from those reporters. And don't let Cassie talk you into any more of those midnight baking sessions. Last time, the house smelled like burnt sugar for days."
She laughed, shoving at my chest half-heartedly. "Get out of here before I change my mind and tie you to the fence post."
"Tempting." I grabbed my bag, forcing a grin even as my chest ached. "See you soon, Winnie."
"See you soon, Beau."
I turned then, walking toward the sliding doors before I could second-guess it. But I glanced back once—just once—and she was still there, arms crossed, chin lifted, watching me go. Strong. Stubborn. Mine.
***
