Then I go sit on the edge of my own bed and pull out my phone.
I stare at Shelby’s name for a long time.
Finally, I type.
Me: I’ve been thinking about you all day.
I watch as the three little dots appear and disappear several times. I kick off my boots and peel off my dirty jeans as I wait for her reply.
Stormy: I haven’t thought about you once.
I chuckle to myself.
Me: Liar.
Stormy: Did you have a good day?
Me: Yeah. Long and hard. Just like me.
The dots appear and disappear again. And I can imagine the blush crawling up her neck.
Stormy: You’re awfully full of yourself.
Me: I seem to recall you being the one full of me.
Stormy: Oh. My. God. Good night, egomaniac.
Me: Sweet dreams, cowgirl.
It’s been a good day.
The kind that settles into my bones and makes everything feel steadier, even with all the usual chaos that comes with running a ranch and being a Storm.
The new ranch hands Matty hired are actually good—like, really good—which is nothing short of a miracle. They move with purpose, they listen, and they don’t act like they’re allergic to hard work. With them fully trained, the load has lightened just enough that Charli and I don’t feel like we’re constantly sprinting uphill.
Which is a blessing because Matty is … not okay.
Her morning sickness has decided to be an overachiever. Like her finally telling us allowed it to come to full fruition. Morning,afternoon, evening—she’s been miserable around the clock, pale and queasy and trying to pretend she isn’t. I honestly don’t know how we didn’t figure it out sooner. She was so good at hiding it, always pushing through.
Last night, she had Caison over for supper, and together, they announced the news to Grandma, Grandpa, and Dad. There were tears. Grandpa cried, already placing his request for a great-grandson. Daddy went quiet in that way he does when he’s overwhelmed, then hugged Matty so tight that she squeaked.
And Grandma? Grandma just nodded like she’d already known.
Of course she had.
“She’s been acting pregnant for weeks,” Grandma said. “I’ve just been waiting for her to confirm it.”
She also assures us the sickness is the worst in the first ten weeks, that the second trimester is much easier, which Matty is praying is true.
Harleigh left for campus this afternoon, and even though she’s been doing that for years now, it somehow gets harder every time. I stood on the porch and waved until her car disappeared down the drive, my chest aching.
May and her graduation can’t come soon enough.
Now I’m standing to the side of the arena, leaning against the rail, watching Waylon lead Ruby around the barrels. The late afternoon sun turns the dust golden, and Honey’s coat shines like polished copper as she moves beneath Ruby’s small, careful hands.
“Remember to make a pocket, Ruby,” I call. “Don’t run straight at the barrel. Use your leg like we practiced to drive Honey around it.”
Ruby nods so hard that her helmet almost tips. “Okay!”
