“Sorry,” I say. “I thought I was good. Not sure I am.”
We mount up, turning the horses toward the ranch. “I’ve been where you just were, and that doesn’t always go away. But you’re good.”
We’re both quiet.
“Don’t tell Freya,” I say. “I don’t want her worrying.”
“I won’t,” he says. “I’m gonna have Ed blow the cave in. It ain’t big. Shouldn’t be a problem for that part of the land.”
I jerk my head in a nod. It’s another one of those times when I see exactly why Freya married Deacon, despite his rough outer shell. He’s a good guy, and I appreciate him not airing out my business in front of everyone.
We’re both quiet the rest of the way down the hill. At the barn door, Deacon stops and stacks his fists on his saddle horn. The corner of his mouth jerks up.
“Reckon your girl came back,” he says.
My whole body tingles, in the best way possible. Glancing up, my eyes skim down the employee housing and over the main yard until they come to a halt on two figures sitting on the porch. Freya has Slate in her arms, and on her other side is my girl, looking like a million bucks in the same sundress she wore on our first date.
I slide off Starling, and Deacon takes the reins. Janie’s up and running down the porch, and we meet halfway down the driveway. Her arms go around my neck, and I bury my face in her hair and inhale.
Something about seeing underground again makes me want to hold her tight.
“I missed you,” she whispers.
“Miss you too,” I say.
Goddamn, I do, more than I’ve got any right to, considering we’re not anything yet.
Deacon puts the horses away, and we all go inside. It’s the middle of the afternoon, but nobody says anything about getting back to work. Freya and Janie get to talking while they make coffee. Deacon stands in the doorway, holding his son, swaying lightly. I’ve got a feeling it won’t be that much longer before they have another one. Deacon’s the kind of guy who wants an army of little hellions running around. Hell, to each his own. He’s got the space, the money, and Freya loves kids.
Me, I’ll keep it moderate. A couple would do for me, maybe a boy and a girl to sit on the porch steps while I carve their little toys. That sounds pretty good, real simple.
My eyes drift to Janie, wondering what she wants. It feels too early to be talking about getting married and having kids, but God, I don’t want to hold back.
“What were you two doing, riding down from the pastures in the middle of the day?” Freya asks.
I sink down at the table. Deacon doesn’t say anything.
“We were clearing brush,” I say. “Had to get something from the barn.”
“Do you need to get back out?” Janie asks, sinking down beside me.
“Nah, not in a hurry,” says Deacon.
“What are you doing back?” I ask.
She smiles. “I quit my job.”
I don’t know what to say, but there’s a burning glow in my chest. Slate starts gurgling, and Deacon steps into the hall, bouncing him with light, practiced steps. Janie says something to Freya about being kind of hungry, and they both go down to the cellar to look at what food they have on hand. Deacon and I stay in the kitchen for a while, keeping the baby to give Freya abreak. It’s quiet, most of the wranglers at work. Deacon passes his son to me, and I sink down at the table. Janie comes back up, some cans of preserves under her arms. Freya comes after and ducks into the pantry to look for bread.
It occurs to me as I’m sitting there, hoping Slate doesn’t spit up down my back, that this is what family is. It’s not cowering and walking on eggshells. It’s not being shamed or put down. It’s comfortable silence, no expectations, just giving of our time freely because we get along.
Freya makes coffee, and Deacon helps butter bread. Then, we sit around the table and talk for a while. It gets to be dinner, but nobody moves. Slate falls asleep in my arms, so I sit propped against the wall and let him snooze. Freya and Janie chatter away over more coffee, then some tea when it gets too late. After a while, Deacon stands, cracking his neck.
“Alright,” he says. “I need to at least get the horses in.”
Gently, I pass Slate over to Freya and get up. “Alright, I’ll come help.”
“Nah,” says Deacon, jerking his head. “You go on, take your girl back home.”
