Sawyer’s hand lands on my thigh and Pops coughs, barely masking his chuckle.
I snatch the folder off the table. “Mom, I have something to say.” I hesitate, thoughts scrambling for the right words.
Mom watches me with pursed lips, brows raised expectantly. I drop my gaze to the place setting, my fingers toying with the cloth napkin resting on the plate. The weight of Sawyer’s hand on my knee grounds me, giving me the courage to speak.
“Pops isn’t selling.”
Her brows knit together. “What do you mean, he’s not selling?”
“I mean, I’m taking over Dawson Ranch. I’m staying here in Cottonwood Creek. For good.”
My statement is greeted with tense silence. I don't dare look up, certain I'll find disappointment etched across my parents' faces.
“It’s about damn time,” Dad mutters gruffly.
I pull my gaze from my plate to find him grinning at me in relief.
“What?” I ask.
“You’ve been miserable working for me at the firm. I had half a mind to fire you so you would find something you actually enjoyed instead of rotting away at a desk the rest of your life doing something you hated.”
“I wouldn’t say I hated it,” I argue, even though we both know it's a lie.
Dad snorts. “You hated it." He leans back in his chair, shaking his head. "It’s alright, Wes. I know how much you love the ranch. Part of me always thought you’d find your way back to keep the place alive for another generation.”
“You did?” I blink at him, stunned.
Dad never told me any of this before—never hinted that he knew I wouldn’t be taking over the accounting firm when he retired. Never suggested he expected me to do anything different.
“Of course," he says simply. "But that was a choice I wanted you to make for yourself. Ranching is a tough job. You have towantit.” His eyes are soft and for the first time, I think I see a bit of pride shining through.
I chance a quick look at Mom. Her lips are a thin line, and while Dad isn’t surprised in the least, she still seems to be processing this sudden turn of events.
“Mom?”
Dad wraps an arm around the back of her chair, jolting her back to reality. Her eyes dart between Sawyer and me—our chairs pushed together and hands clasped under the table. Whatever she sees in that moment makes her expression shift, her features softening.
“I’m happy if you’re happy, honey," she finally says. "If the ranch makes you happy, then I’d never try to talk you out of being here.” Her smile looks a little forced, but I imagine that’s because she’s thinking of how she’ll have to come out to the ranch more often now that I’m staying.
But she'strying.
Quinn is quietly gnawing on her lip, but she tosses me a wink when she sees me searching for some reassurance. “Looks like we might start having some more holidays out here now that you’ll be busy working on the ranch, huh?”
“Looks like it,” I say, shooting Pops a glance as I take a drink of my wine. Now that my big news is out of the way, I can finally breathe.
Sawyer joins Mom and Quinn in the kitchen to finish preparing the meal while football plays in the background. By the time the turkey is ready, Dad carves it with Grams’ old carving knife, and we all settle in at the table, the scent of roasted herbs and warm cider filling the house.
“Sawyer, honey, this meal is incredible,” Mom says between bites. “Ineedto know how you made the stuffing.”
Sawyer smiles. “Thank you, Mrs. Dawson. I’ll get you the recipe.”
“Don’t you ‘Mrs. Dawson’ me, honey. You can call me Janine.” She tosses me a wink.
As the evening winds down, Dad leans back in his chair, his eyes distant. By the time I finish helping Sawyer and Quinn clean up the kitchen, he’s on the couch with Pops, watching the game and talking about the upcoming season—just like old times.
When Mom hints at Sawyer redesigning the living room, Dad decides it’s time to get her back to the city. Pops says a quick goodbye before heading back to Dawson Ranch, no doubt for a long, turkey-induced nap.
I follow my family out the screen door, catching it before it slams on Dixie’s tail. I hug my mom and sister goodbye, and my dad pulls me aside on the porch.
