“Shit… It’s too early to be this maudlin.” But more and more lately, it’s been difficult to stop my thoughts from straying toward a pathetic future barreling at me.
Buttoning a flannel shirt over a white tee after my shower, I head downstairs where the smell of breakfast hangs in the air.
“Morning, Fancy,” I say as I walk straight for the pot of coffee on the counter.
“Good morning! Everything’s laid out in the dining room. Connor and Deacon are already there.” Fancy uses her spatula to point toward the other room then flips another flapjack on the griddle.
Sixty-three and spry as ever, she used to own her namesake, Fancy’s Diner, in downtown High Ridge—otherwise known as Main Street like every other small town in America. Officially,Fancy retired years ago after leaving the diner to her niece, but retirement got boring real fast, apparently.
So, when the Rocking M began searching for a chef to cater meals to ranch staff and guests, she’d offered her services, and I’d happily accepted the help.
“Look who finally decided to grace us with his presence.” Connor grins from his seat at the head of the table.
“Let’s switch places, and we’ll see how fast you move,” I retort, sitting beside Deacon with a plate full of eggs, bacon, and Fancy’s flapjacks.
When Dad died, he left the ranch to both of his sons in an even split. Fifty-percent to my younger brother. Fifty-percent to me. It just so happens that my share encompasses more of the manual labor required to keep things running, while Connor’s focuses on the financial side of the setup.
Not that I begrudge our roles. Connor is a whiz with numbers, and he’s used his business school contacts to grow Rocking M’s reputation as the perfect place for a corporate retreat.
“Sitting behind a desk all day has made him soft.” Connor scoffs at Deacon’s bemused assessment.
Patting his flat stomach, my brother shakes his head in denial. “Lies. Your old age is showing Deac if you’ve already forgotten how I helped you with those barn roof repairs yesterday.”
The two devolve into a duel of playful barbs—similar to almost every other day at meals—and again, my thoughts drift toward a different kind of life.
One where the dining table is fuller.
One where my dream girl is cozied into my side, sharing my amusement at Connor and Deacon’s antics, while our children chirp from the sidelines.
One big, happy family.
And a fucking pipe dream.
3
DAVIE
Linnea and I arrived in High Ridge late in the afternoon, exhausted and a little hangry, after our seven-hour drive extended into ten hours, thanks to Jesse.
The little man protested each hour locked in his car seat with crying tantrums, diaper blowouts, and an episode of projectile vomit onto the passenger headrest. Linnea had taken it in stride, despite needing to spot wash her hair at a grungy truck stop.
By the time we'd checked in at Timber Bed and Breakfast, we'd agreed that our search for the mysterious Mac could wait until the next day, allowing us time to recover from the stress-filled journey.
But as the morning sun beams through the window, I wish I could pull the covers back over my head and ignore the fact that today the search for Jesse’s bio dad officially begins.
Noise from the bathroom alerts me to Linnea’s presence, her double bed next to mine empty and rumpled.
“Guess that means I can’t stall any longer.” I sigh and turn my head, quietly watching Jesse through the mesh netting of his travel crib. Judging by the bright light and Linnea’s activity, I doubt he’ll sleep much longer, but it’s comforting to see him so peaceful.
He has no idea the upheaval potentially coming his way. All he knows is the warm safety of his small crib and favorite stuffed giraffe.
A few rogue tears slip from the corner of my eye. I haven’t felt that safe and secure in a long time, probably not since I was Jesse’s age.
Back when our father was still around—two parents, food on the table, and a roof over our heads. A thread of tension twined around every aspect of our lives, though, and it only got worse after he left. We lived paycheck to paycheck, while a steady stream of Mom’s boyfriends came in and out of our lives.
Linnea exits the bathroom and notices I’m awake. “Ready to find your sister’s baby daddy?” she jokes, trying to lighten the mood.
Covertly swiping at my damp cheek, I sit up and lean against the headboard. “Ready as I’ll ever be. The bar opens at four, so I’m not optimistic about our chances until then, but maybe we’ll get lucky.”
