“I always knew you two would end up together. You just needed time to get out of your own ways. I like to think love always wins.”
I peel off my gloves and drop them to the ground. “Look at you, you old softie. I don’t think it’s a lack of love that’s the sticking point, just so you know. We’ve been best friends for so long, I just don’t know if we’re meant for anything more when it comes down to it.”
“Well, just soyouknow, my son has known you were it for years. I reckon he’s been waitin’ for you to catch up.”
“Are we talking about the same son? Dallas Beaufort Gamble? The guy who drained the local dating pool and had to move on to the next county before he was twenty-five?”
Pops shakes his head and stands again. “I ain’t saying he was never a ladies’ man. Inherited that the good old-fashioned way.” He rocks on his boot heels and grins just like his boys.
“You lie where you stand, old man,” I drawl. “You’re thedefinitionof a one-woman man. And Tessa was lucky to have you.”
“I was the lucky one.” His grin turns wistful. “Just like Dallas is lucky to have you.”
“I’m afraid you may be reading too much into things, Pops. I’d never ask Dallas to be anybody but the man he is.”
“And he’s the man who’s been carrying a ratty old napkin in his wallet for going on twenty years. That’s who he is, and don’t you forget it.”
My chin jerks back, and I eye him carefully. “What are you talking about?”
A crow caws in the open sky above us like an omen as he replies, “Don’t play coy with me, darlin’. I know all about it. Always have.”
My eyes narrow. “Ranchin’ not keeping you busy enough? You had to take up spying as a side gig?”
“No need. Don’t you know all parents have eyes in the backs of their heads?”
The calf struggles to his hooves again as his mom licks his head. This time, he doesn’t falter. Pops and I share a huge smile when he wobbles around in a full circle without falling.
“’Atta boy,” I coo. “Time to start your new life.”
“I could say the same to you,” Pops says, always having to get the last word in.
Needing some headspace, I take Tango back to Dallas’s house, letting the warm breeze rush over my face and whip my hair as I ride. Pops must be smoking some of Meemaw’s weed, going on about the pact napkin like that. No way has Dallas been carrying it around all this time. Why would he?
When I get to the house, I tie the horse up and take the porch steps to the door. I need a good scrub-down after working with the animals, and then I’ll ride back to the big house and get someone to bring me home later.
Nelly greets me at the door, tail and tongue wagging in tandem.
“Hey, buddy.” He vigorously sniffs my clothes. “I’ll bet you’re smelling that calf, aren’t you? You leave him alone, though, you hear me? He’s not for supper.”
Nelly ignores my instructions, snuffling away at my pant legs as I walk toward the hall. I pause, hearing what sounds like running water. When I get to the bedroom, sure enough, Dallas’s jeans and shirt from earlier lie strewn on the bed, along with his boxer briefs and socks. He’s home. And he’s in the shower.
Nerves immediately grip my belly in a stranglehold. Why am I so nervous? I clamp my teeth over my bottom lip and glance back at the bed. “Pops, you’re nuts,” I mutter as I reluctantly yank Dallas’s discarded jeans to the edge of the mattress and pull his wallet from the back pocket. “Old man just loves stirring shit, that’s all,” I continue to talk to myself as I unfold the leather and search the various sleeves.
It doesn’t take long to find it. Tucked in the innermost pocket is the faded Knockin’ Boots napkin with our handwriting on it. I pull it carefully from the wallet and unfold it. The creases are deep and worn, the edges of the napkin looking almost grungy from wear. It dawns on me then that a napkin sitting in a forgotten drawer all this time wouldn’t look anything like this. It might be stiff and possibly faded, but certainly not shredded at the edges with time-worn creases like a favorite old road map.
My eyes go to the bathroom door. The shower just shut off, and I can hear Dallas muttering to himself on the other side.
With the utmost care, I refold the napkin and return it to its rightful place in the wallet—where I now know it’s been living since the night my best friend and I made a silly pact while drinking and thinking about all of life’s what-ifs.
Except, now it sounds like the furthest thing from silly. Now it sounds a lot like…love.
Chapter
Twenty-Four
HER FAMILY TREE IS A WREATH
Dallas
