“Hey,” I say softly, keeping my voice steady even though my insides are shaking apart. “Look at me, Rubes.”
She does. Her eyes are big and blue and full of questions.
“They’re gonna love you,” I say. “I promise.”
Her eyebrows pull together. “How do you know?”
Because you’re mine.
Because anyone with a heartbeat will see her and fall instantly, just like I did the first time I laid eyes on her.
“Because you’re pretty hard not to love,” I say instead, tapping her nose tenderly.
She squeezes my hand harder, like she’s counting on me to protect her from whatever lies behind those doors. Then she nods. It’s small, but the brave determination behind it nearly brings me to my knees.
She looks down at her outfit, smoothing her white sweater with the bowed sleeves, then tugs at the hem of her black-and-brown plaid skirt.
“Do I look like a cowgirl?” she asks.
“Yep,” I tell her, smiling. “The prettiest cowgirl I’ve ever seen.”
She nods, still nervous, still chewing her lip.
I stand and scoop her up before she can second-guess herself into bolting back down the porch steps. She makes asmall surprised sound before her arms wrap around my neck instinctively, her cheek pressing into the side of my jaw.
“You’re gonna love it here,” I murmur into her hair. “Horses. Big yard with a tire swing in the back. Your grandmother’s homemade cookies.”
“Grandmother?” she asks.
I smile. “Yeah. She’s the best. Wait and see.”
I hug her tight—longer than necessary, tighter than I mean to—because I need it as much as she does. Then I set her back on her feet, straighten the bow in her hair, and take a deep breath.
I lift my hand.
Knock once.
Twice.
The sound echoes across the porch, through years of memories I thought I’d buried, but not deep enough.
I hear the footsteps before the door swings open.
My mother fills the doorway as she always has—small but mighty. Priscilla Ludlow. Her silver-blonde hair is pulled back in a loose twist, wisps escaping around her face. She’s wearing a cream sweater and jeans, a light dusting of flour on her thighs, as if we caught her halfway through baking something and she absent-mindedly wiped her hands there.
Her eyes land on me first, and she’s momentarily stunned.
“Waylon!” she cries, her face lighting up like the sun breaking through storm clouds. The smile that stretches across her face is pure, unfiltered joy.
“Hi, Momma,” I say.
She steps forward immediately, arms already lifting to wrap around me. “What on earth are you doing, knocking on this door? This is your home, you know. You don’t have to—” she starts, but she stops mid-sentence.
Her gaze drops.
Tiny arms wrap around my left leg.
Ruby peeks out from behind me, half hidden, her fingers clutching the denim of my pants like it’s a lifeline.
