Prologue - Maggie
I was only seven years old the first time I remember meeting Clay Cameron.?
My dad was the town of Lonestar Junction’s fire chief and like most Saturday’s, I was spending the day with him at the firehouse, playing amongst the large vehicles and attempting to climb up the metal poles they rarely used while distracting myself.
As an only child with a deceased mother, I spent most summer weekdays with a nanny. But today was special. My nanny was sick, which meant I got to spend the day with my father instead. The excitement of the large, looming firehouse, and the faint scent of tobacco mixed in smoke on their turnout gear, brought me a sense of peace—it felt like home.
A call came in from a neighboring ranch that Jovie Cameron was going into early labor with her twin baby boys. In our small town, everyone knew everybody, so even at the ripe age of seven, I knew that the birth of the Cameron twins wasbig news. They were the talk of the town, born to Nash Cameron, a local cowboy and rancher through and through, and his out-of-town wife from Houston, Jovie.
I went along on the ride, and by the time we arrived at Ashwood ranch, twin A, also known as Cody Cameron, had already been born. A wild head full of dark brown hair and green eyes so jade they matched his mom and dad’s.
I then waited in the other room as Jovie pushed out twin B, Wilder Cameron, with the support of the EMTs, breech, five minutes later. I didn’t understand what was happening at the time, or the place these boys would have in my life and introducing me to their young uncle, Clay Cameron, but it was an exciting thing to be a part of.
I remember looking around the crowded house, seeing a room full of tall, happy adults, their eyes brimming with tears and excitement. Then, my gaze landed on a younger man with light chestnut hair, green eyes that matched the twins’, and a wide smile. My heart did a strange stutter as if it were restarting in his beautiful presence. I didn’t realize it then, but that was the first time I laid eyes on Clay Cameron.
Four years later, I started babysitting the Cameron twins and their cousin, Georgia, during the summers and on the occasional weekend, a gig that lasted until I hit my teenage years. Despite their differences, they all shared the same strong, confident personalities. Managing three four-year-olds was a challenge, and I was often out of my league, but it was fun and kept me occupied during the otherwise boring hot months while school was out.
During those years, I only crossed paths with Clay a few times. Each occurrence, his youthful joy and easygoing nature was evident.
Among the three Cameron brothers, Clay was known as the laid-back one—unlike Nash, with his grumpy demeanor, or Wylie, with his quick wit, sharp tongue, and temper. Clay was carefree, happy-go-lucky, and a bit goofy, with a youthful spirit that drew me closer to him. It was this playful charm that earned him the nickname of “Funcle”—the Fun Uncle, from his niece and nephews.
Through my babysitting gig with the Camerons, I learned that Clay had a long-term girlfriend named Savannah, who was as beautiful as her name suggested. Everyone in town said she was as sweet as the pies she helped make at the co-op, where she worked part-time as a chef. After attending culinary school, she now offered in-person and virtual classes on how to turn local produce into hearty meals and sweet treats and anytime me and my dad stopped in the co-op, she’d give me first taste of whatever new she’d cooked up.
I liked her a lot, so it was hard to be jealous of the fact that she was dating my secret, absolutely forbidden, crush—who, at 28-years-old, was 15 years older than me.
Having a girly childhood crush on an older man was a strange feeling. I knew nothing could ever come of it, which made it even harder, especially since I was in that awkward tween phase—still pre-puberty but dealing with the first pimples, noticing leg hair, wanting to wear a bra despite having no boobs, and starting to get body odor.
To make matters much worse, his nieces and nephews were seven years younger than me and absolute menaces, which only reinforced the babyish image he had of me when I was attempting to wrangle them. I’m sure I looked young, completely clueless, and awkward juggling them—because, well, I was.
The Thanksgiving after I turned thirteen, my dad and I volunteered at the Nourish Co-op, a nonprofit organization founded by Jovie and Stevie Cameron. The co-op focused on rescuing produce and other goods typically discarded by neighboring ranches and farms and then repurposing them into a free delivery service for underserved families.
After finishing bagging up sweet potatoes and corn for the next day’s deliveries, I was hanging out with the Cameron kids, keeping an eye on them while their parents wrapped things up in the front. Suddenly, I heard a loud cry that sounded a lot like Jovie.
“Wait right here,” I remembered telling the littles who were too aware for their own good at just six years old.
I quietly crept from the office area into the lobby and saw my dad standing there in full turnout gear, speaking to the Camerons, who were clutching each other tightly. Clay was bent over, hands on his knees, while Nash and Wylie stood on either side of him, each with a firm hand placed on his lower back, as if trying to pass their calm strength through to him.
I didn’t know what was going on, but the look on my dad’s face was the look he usually had when he needed to deliver bad news to someone he was trying to help. I’d seen it before and been on the receiving end of it the night my mom died unexpectedly.
Suddenly, Clay dropped to the ground, his head in his hands, while his older brothers immediately stooped down, wrapping him in a protective embrace. My dad spotted me from across the room and started making his way toward me.
“Maggie, I need you to stay with the kids in the back for a bit. I’m going to be chatting with the Cameron’s for a while longer.”
“What happened?” I whispered.
“Savannah Young and another individual were in a car accident tonight. She’s in critical condition in the ICU right now.”
No, no, no!
The deep, anguished groan of a man in despair grew louder, a sound so painful I had to cover my ears to block it out. It was a sound I knew all too well, transporting me back to the day my mom died when I was just four years old. I had heard the same heart-wrenching cry laced with despair from my own father after discovering her unconscious on the kitchen floor. She’d been taken by a stroke at just twenty-five years old.
“Go, distract the Cameron kids,” My dad commanded sternly as I nodded and rushed away.
The next few weeks were a whirlwind as my dad supported the families impacted by the accident while Savannah remained in the hospital.
I watched from a distance as the kind, gentle and silly Clay Cameron I’d come to adore from afar crumbled and transformed into someone entirely different.
I continued babysitting the Cameron children as often as I could between school on weekday nights and weekends. This meant occasionally crossing paths with Clay, coming, and going as he visited or worked with his brothers at either Cameron or Ashwood Ranch but now, each time I passed him there was darkness surrounding him.
