"Why not?"
"Because what if I’m like them? What if I can't do it? What if I—" I looked down at my hands. "What if I hurt her?"
"You will," Pops said bluntly. "You probably already have. That’s part of it. You hurt each other, you forgive each other, you grow. Love isn't about being perfect, Beau. It’s about showing up. It’s about staying when it’s hard." He looked at me pointedly. "You’ve been here three weeks, and you’re already different. Stronger. More yourself. That’s what love does. It makes you want to be the man she thinks you are."
"I don't know if the real me is good enough for her."
"For Winnie?" Pops snorted. "Son, that girl has been carryin’ this ranch on her back since she was eighteen. She’s tough as nails. You think she doesn't know what she wants? If she’s lookin’ at you—and trust me, she is—it’s because she sees something worth keepin’. The question is: do you see it in yourself?"
Did I?
I thought about the way I felt when I was with her. Not the rich kid, not the disappointment. Just Beau.
"Yeah," I said, the realization quiet and sure. "Yeah, I do."
"Then stop overthinkin’ it. Love ain't a business deal you logic your way through. You just... jump. And you hope to God she catches you." He stood up, wincing as his knee popped, and brushed the grass off his jeans. "Come on. Let's get home. Winnie’s probably pacing a hole in the floor wonderin’ where we went."
I stood too, touching the headstone one last time. "Thanks, Nana. For the advice. Even if Pops did all the talking."
"She heard you," Pops said. "She always hears."
The drive back was quiet, but the silence wasn't empty anymore. It was full of resolve.
I had spent my whole life terrified of turning into my father—cold, transactional, distant. But Pops was right. I didn't have to be him. I could be the man who bought cotton candy he hated just to talk to a girl. I could be the man who stayed.
When we pulled up to the ranch, the porch light was on, a beacon in the dark. Winnie was standing there, arms crossed, looking out toward the road. When she saw the truck, her shoulders dropped, relief washing over her face.
Pops parked and looked at me. "Go on. Talk to her. And Beau? Don't spin it. Just be honest."
"What if honest scares her off?"
"Then she wasn't the right one. But I don't think that’s gonna happen."
I climbed out of the truck. The gravel crunched under my boots as I walked toward the porch. Winnie stood at the top of the steps, watching me come. She looked beautiful, even in her worn t-shirt and jeans, backlit by the warm glow of the house.
"Where'd you go?" she asked as I stopped at the bottom step. Her voice was tight.
"Cemetery. With Pops. We visited Nana."
Her expression softened instantly, the defensiveness melting away. "Oh. That’s... that’s really sweet, actually."
"Yeah. We talked. About a lot of things." I looked up at her, heart hammering against my ribs. "About risk. About jumping."
She bit her lip, and God, I wanted to do that for her. "Oh?"
"Can we talk?" I asked. "Just you and me?"
She searched my face, looking for something—hesitation, maybe? Deceit? But I held her gaze, open and raw.
She nodded slowly. "Yeah. Let's talk."
I walked up the steps, and for the first time since I arrived in Oklahoma, I didn't feel like I was running away.
I felt like I was arriving.
BEAU
Dallas in the dust
