Sierra’s phone buzzed with a text message. She pulled it out and read the screen, then frowned.
“What is it?”
“Mal’s mom. Says her husband and she are running late to pick up the boys from roping practice. Wants to know if I can get them.”
“Go. We can finish this conversation later.”
Sierra gathered her things and headed for the door, then paused. “Bailey?”
“Yeah?”
“If you were in my position, what would you do?”
Bailey considered her. “I’d probably be terrified. And angry. But I’d also remember that God has a plan for everything—don’t look at me that way. Even this, Sierra. He can take the impossible and our broken hearts and…well, I guess I’d trust Him. And eventually, I’d tell the truth. Because lies have a way of exploding at the worst possible moment, and you and Huck deserve better than that.”
Sierra gave Bailey a hug before she left.
The drive to the rodeo arena took fifteen minutes through South Eagle and past the high school where she and Rowan had spent countless hours together. Sierra tried not to think about homecoming dances and football games and promises made. Tried not to remember the way he’d looked at her when he’d said he’d come back for her after boot camp.
Yeah. Renegade. Or more simply…
A liar.
The arena sat on the outskirts of the city, a collection of metal buildings and practice pens where local kids learned to rope and ride before graduating to bigger competitions. Sierra parked near the entrance and walked toward the sound of whooping and cheering.
She found the boys in the main practice pen, taking turns roping a mechanical calf that jerked and spun unpredictably. Huck was up, rope coiled in his left hand, concentration written across his features as he tracked the machine’s movement.
The throw was perfect—smooth release, tight loop, clean capture. The kind of natural ability that couldn’t be taught, only refined through practice.
“Nice one, Huck!” Mal called from the fence rail. “Bet you could place at state with throws like that.”
“Maybe.” Huck reset his rope, grinning with satisfaction. “My great-grandpa always said good roping was about patience and timing.”
“What about your dad?” Jake asked. “Bet he was good at roping too.”
Sierra’s breath caught. It was an innocent question, the kind kids asked each other without thinking about the complexity of family situations.
“My dad died before I was born,” Huck said matter-of-factly. “Military hero. Mom has his flag.”
“That’s cool. I mean, not cool that he died, but cool that he was a hero.”
“Yeah. Mom says he would have been proud of me.”
Sierra gripped the fence rail, her knuckles white. Would Rowan be proud? Would he see his son’s talent and feel something other than obligation or resentment?
“Hey, Mom!” Huck spotted her and waved. “Did you see that throw?”
“I saw. It was beautiful, baby.”
“Can we stay a little longer?”
“Actually, we need to head home. Mal’s mom is running late, so I’m taking you boys home.”
“Aw, come on. Just ten more minutes?”
“Huck.”
“Fine.” He coiled his rope with the exaggerated disappointment of a ten-year-old whose fun was being cut short. “But I’m practicing again tomorrow.”
