“Easier than it should’ve been,” Marnie said, then changed the subject.
“I gave Jax Michael’s name. Jax Michael,” Simone said. “Tommy insisted. I was hesitant at first, but he convinced me it was the right thing to do. We both loved Michael, and I had to remember that Tommy lost a lifelong friend—someone who’d watched his back on the battlefield. They were as close as two men could be.
“Jax very much reminds me of Michael sometimes. Stubborn as a mule and always wanting to be the hero.” Her smile wavered. “I thought we’d lost him in that explosion. But my biggest fear is that we might still lose him. Stubborn as a mule,” she repeated quietly.
Marnie stayed silent. Her visions involving Jax were still hazy, still shrouded in fog. She couldn’t tell Simone that his future was secure, and it was better not to give false hope.
“One of the things I’ve always admired about you is that you never give up,” Marnie said instead. “Jax needs your strength. He needs his family, but he especially needs you. And whoever Lacey is. He needs her too.”
Simone’s eyes widened slightly. “His physical therapist. They fight like cats and dogs. She’s as stubborn as he is, thank goodness.” She straightened her spine. “I’ve taken up too much of your workday already. It’ll be dark soon and I don’t like to drive at night.”
“I’m glad you stopped by,” Marnie said, standing to help Simone with her coat.
She rested her hand on Simone’s shoulder until the older woman met her eyes.
“You said I was like a daughter to you. I want you to know that you and Tommy were always the parents I wished I’d had. When Sloane and I went off to camp those summers, we told everyone my last name was O’Hara and we were sisters. Those were the best weeks of my life.”
“Well, there goes my makeup.” Simone pulled her into a fierce hug, and they stood there for a long moment, both of them crying and then laughing at themselves for it. When they finally pulled apart, there was a lightness in Marnie’s heart that hadn’t been there before.
“Come to dinner tonight when you’re done here,” Simone said, smoothing her coat. “We’ve always got plenty of food.”
“I’ll take a rain check. I think I might have other plans tonight.”
Simone’s face broke into a knowing smile. “Good for you, my girl. Good for you.”
The bells above the door tinkled as Simone left, and Marnie stood alone in her studio, watching the snow fall softly outside the window.
She picked up her phone before she could talk herself out of it and typed a quick message: Fine. One pizza. One movie. Don’t make me regret this.
The response came back almost immediately: You won’t. Pick you up at 7.
She stared at the phone for a long moment, her heart beating faster than it had any right to.
Maybe Simone was right. Maybe she was getting in the way of her own happiness.
Maybe it was time to stop.
Chapter Eleven
Hamilton Ranch was one of the oldest operations in Idaho, and it had always belonged to a Hamilton. Now it belonged to Beckett.
They didn’t have as much land as the O’Haras—not yet anyway. With the purchase of the Caldwell land, it would put them close. The O’Haras had shifted their operation so they ran and bred as many horses as they did cattle, so they had need for the extra acreage. The Hamiltons would always be cattlemen.
There was something about the land—owning it and working it—that soothed his soul like nothing else could. Just standing on the hill that overlooked the family home—his home now—and the vast pastureland and fences filled him with such pride he almost burst with it.
The weatherman had called for clear skies through the weekend, but Beckett had lived and breathed these mountains since birth, and he knew better than to trust a forecast this time of year. The air had that bite to it, that particular stillness that preceded a big storm. By late afternoon, the first flakes had started falling—fat and lazy at first, then thickening into a steady curtain of white.
So much for clear skies.
The thing about a working ranch was that the animals didn’t care that a storm was coming. The cattle still had to be fed twice a day. Calves were getting ready to drop at any time and they had to make sure the mothers were checked regularly. There were also horses to tend to. And when bad weather came, they all had to be rounded up and penned. It was an exhausting trial every time, because the animals seemed to sense the change in the weather and wanted to do their best not to cooperate.
He’d been right in the middle of pushing obstinate cows into the barn when his cell phone buzzed. He almost ignored it—he and his men had a limited amount of time to finish before the weather worsened. But he pulled it from the holster at his belt and recognized Marnie’s number. His first thought was that something bad had happened. What other reason would she have to call?
But she’d surprised him. She’d always been direct—there was never any guessing with Marnie. It was a refreshing quality. So when she’d asked if they could have dinner, he’d only been stunned speechless for a moment.
“I tell you what,” he’d said, putting his shoulder into the rump of a cow to get it moving. “Lock up now and come out to the ranch. The snow’s coming faster than the weatherman predicted and you’re not used to driving in it. By the time you get here, I’ll be finished with the evening feeding and ready for a shower and a meal.”
She agreed as if they’d made a casual business transaction and disconnected, leaving Beckett smiling at his phone like a fool.
