We pull up to the big house at Ironhorse as the sun finally breaks free of the horizon, spilling golden streaks across the yard. The place looks the same as it always has—solid, welcoming, like it’s been waiting for me to return all these years.
“Thanks again,” I say, reaching for the door as Cabe brings the truck to a stop by the front porch.
“Anytime,” he says, jerking his chin at me. “Just come to the front door instead of sneaking into the barn next time.”
“I’ll do my best.”
I climb out, my legs stiff, and shut the door. Cabe waits until I’m on the porch before he pulls away, the truck disappearing down the drive.
I take the steps slow, careful not to make them creak. I’m halfway to the door when it opens anyway.
My mother stands there in her robe and slippers, hair loose around her shoulders. Her eyes sweep over me from head to toe, and I see it all reflected back—disheveled, soaked through, my face drawn and pale.
“Momma,” I start, my voice heavy with regret, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to stay out all night. I was just planning to have a couple of beers, but Caison and I—we started talking about the past, and—”
My voice catches hard on her name. It always does.
Crissy.
My baby sister.
Seventeen years, and the weight still feels too heavy to lift.
“I ended up at the bottom of a whiskey bottle,” I go on, words tumbling over each other. “And when Caison stopped at Wildhaven Storm on the way home, I guess I got confused. I don’t know. I must’ve wandered into the barn and—”
She steps forward and cups my cheek, her palm warm, steady. “It’s okay,” she says softly. “Caison called last night when he couldn’t find you. Told me all about it. Just be quiet. Your father’s still sleeping. He doesn’t know you were out all night.”
Guilt twists in my gut. “You were up, waiting?”
She nods. “I was worried. Caison didn’t know where you’d disappeared to.”
“You didn’t have to stay up all night,” I say. “I’m a big boy.”
She smiles a knowing smile. “Oh, you just wait, son. One day, that little girl upstairs is gonna miss curfew, and you’re gonna pace the floor all night until you hear her walk through the door, safe and sound.”
“I’m twenty-five, Momma.”
“I know. But you’ll always be my baby, and when you say you’ll be home and you don’t show up, I’m gonna worry all the same.”
“I’m sorry,” I whisper.
“I know.” She squeezes my cheek once, then drops her hand. “Go on. Get upstairs and into the shower. Four-year-old little girls who were promised a riding lesson by their daddy don’t care about hangovers. Ruby will be up at any minute.”
A smile tugs at my mouth despite everything. “Yes, ma’am.”
I lean down and kiss her cheek. “Thank you.”
She turns to walk toward the staircase with me, her arm brushing mine. We move quietly through the house, the familiar creaks of the floorboards sounding louder than they ever have.
As we reach the bottom of the stairs, I glance over at her. “He called Ruby Peanut last night.”
She stops.
I see it hit her the same way it hit me—sharp, sudden. That word. That name. The one he used to murmur into Crissy’s hair when he tucked her in at night. The one that still echoes in my head if I let it.
“I noticed,” she says after a moment.
“She reminds me of her sometimes,” I admit. “The way she laughs. The way she tilts her head when she’s thinking.”
