“Y’all hungry?” Tillie asks. She’s already in her apron.
Thankfully, Tillie planned to stay the night since I was headed to Mav’s party. Otherwise, I’d have had to find someone to be in the house with Evie while I dealt with Ranger.
“Starvin’,” Dodge answers first. “Now, Tillie, if you could be bothered to make one of those scrambled eggs with sausages you do, I’d be forever your servant.”
Tillie scoffs. “Well, then, get to the kitchen. I’ll feed you.”
Sarah goes stiff. I pat her hand. “Drink your coffee, I’ll be right back.”
Inside, I ask Tillie, “Can we eat on the porch?”
She frowns. “Why?”
I take a breath. “She isn’t ready to come in…you know. Landon. It was here. In what used to be my room.”
Realization strikes her hard. “Oh, that poor girl.”
I told Tillie everything, so she knows to keep Landon out of the house and away from Evie.
She serves us breakfast on the porch, and we scarf it down like we haven’t eaten in days. The way we work, food is fuel. Ranching doesn’t stop for grief. Rain or shine, bad day or not, you eat to keep your strength.
Dodge leaves for a shower—something I need, too.
Sarah looks too exhausted to move.
“I should go,” she says, but sits listlessly on the wicker chair.
I’d offer her a shower and bed here, but….
“Why don’t I drive you home?” I suggest.
“I need my truck, and if you drive mine, you’ll need a ride back.” She glances at her watch. “In any case, the lab people will be here in an hour to take…Ranger.”
Before I can say anything, the front door bangs open and out shoots Bandit, barking excitedly when he sees Sarah. He’s all over her, and she picks him up, laughing as he tries to lick her face.
Evie follows, hair mussed and eyes bright.
My kid wakes up full of energy.
She jumps into my lap. “Morning, Daddy.”
I hold her tight because I need to, even though Tillie will be all up in arms about Evie needing a bath before kindergarten, since I’m dirty as hell.
I rest my cheek on Evie’s curls and just soak her in—the joy, the comfort, and the unconditional love.
When I raise my eyes, Sarah’s watching us with unconcealed hunger.
I know what she’s thinking. If we’d stayed together, Evie would be ours. This would be our life, our mornings.
I scoop Evie into my arms, her innocence and joy bubbling against me, and then I hold out my free hand to Sarah. She hesitates—for a breath—but then her fingers slip into mine, warm and trembling. I pull her up so she’s standing with us.
“We need a group hug, Evie,” I murmur.
Evie squeals and throws her little arms wide, and Sarah leans in.
The three of us tangle together—my daughter’s curls tickling my chin, Sarah’s braid brushing my shoulder, our hands clasped tight between us.
For a moment, the grief and anger, the poison and loss, all of it fades. It’s just her, me, and our girl ensconced in a knot of comfort.
