“Okay,” she says after the third bite, shrugging. “All done.”
“What did you think?” I ask.
“The beans were okay, but I don’t like the squishy stuff.”
“That’s fair,” I say. “But you tried it like a big girl. I’m proud of you.”
Pop clears his throat. “That was always the rule for your daddy too,” he says, voice gruff. “Three bites. No fussing.”
I glance over at him. Our eyes meet, and for a brief second, the years fall away. I’m eight again, stubborn and hungry and convinced the cabbage is punishment.
“Yeah,” I say quietly, “I remember.”
Dinner moves on in a way that feels almost normal. Ruby chatters about the horses we saw earlier this afternoon; the one with the white spot on its nose was her favorite. Momma listens like it’s the most important thing in the world, nodding and asking questions. Pop eats methodically, occasionally offering a comment or correction about the horses. Facts that go over a four-year-old’s head, but that Ruby accepts as gospel.
I eat my beef and potatoes, barely tasting them, and my shoulders don’t relax until Ruby asks for a second biscuit and Momma passes her another.
Dessert is served after plates are cleared. Momma brings out the apple pie, the crust golden and flaky, the filling bubbling just slightly over the woven crown. She places a slice on Ruby’s plate and tops it with a big scoop of vanilla ice cream, and Ruby’s eyes go wide.
“This is the best supper ever,” Ruby declares.
I smile, but the knot in my chest tightens when I catch my mother’s expression—soft, tearful, already attached.
Halfway through the pie, I clear my throat. “Caison wants to meet up for a beer tonight.”
Pop’s gaze snaps to mine. “Tonight?”
“Yeah,” I say. “He wants to go down to Ten Points Tavern.”
He narrows his eyes. “You think it’s wise to go out tonight?”
“We aren’t gonna be closing the place down, Pop. He just wants to grab one or two. Catch up.”
Momma doesn’t miss a beat. “Your father and I would be more than happy to keep Ruby.”
Ruby looks between them. “I’m gonna stay here with Nana and Papa?”
“If that’s okay with you,” I say.
She’s only known them for half a day. Giving them titles doesn’t make them any less strangers.
Ruby grins. “Can we watch cartoons in our pajamas?”
Momma beams. “I’d love that.”
Then her big blue eyes look back to me. “You’re coming back?”
It’s the same question she asked every single time I left her to go to work. Every time I left her sight the past two months. Like she’s afraid I’ll walk out the door and she’ll never see me again, just like her momma did.
Shit.Maybe I shouldn’t go.
“I’ll always come back, kiddo. Besides, we’re going riding in the morning, remember?”
She saw the horses in the pasture as soon as we made the turn into the Ironhorse gate. Horses are all she’s been able to talk about for days, ever since I started packing our things. I explained to her that we were moving to a ranch—a place wherecows, horses, and real cowboys lived. And she made me promise I’d teach her how to ride one.
When dinner is done, Momma and Ruby head to the kitchen together. Ruby drags one of the island stools across the floor so she can reach the sink. Their voices drift to the table—Momma instructing, Ruby repeating every word.
Pop and I settle into the living room, the air shifting the moment we’re alone. He sits in his armchair, hands braced on his knees, and I drop onto the couch, elbows on my thighs. And wait.
