Wyatt eased the truck off onto a small turnout near a stand of willows I remembered from fishing trips with Ray. The river ran quietly behind them, water glinting through the leaves.
“I don’t know how to walk in there,” I admitted, staring straight ahead. “I keep thinking if I don’t see it, it won’t be real.”
“That isn’t how it works,” he said. “But I won’t rush you.”
I risked a look at him. His hands rested on the steering wheel. Big hands. Calloused. Relaxed but ready. His profile was all hard lines and sun, and a day’s worth ofstubble.
“Thank you,” I whispered, “for going to check.” My voice wobbled on the last word. “For coming to get me. For all of it.”
“That’s what you do for people like Ray,” he said simply. “Drive each other to town. Pull each other out of ditches. Make phone calls when it’s time.”
I bit my lip.
He shifted slightly, the leather creaking. “You want to see the place from here first?”
My heart lurched. “Can you see it?”
He nodded toward the windshield. “Look past that stand of poplars on the right.”
I followed where he pointed, and at first, all I saw were trees and the curve of the valley. But then I found the house peeked over the hills, low and familiar, grey shingles darkened by time. I could see the weathered red of the old barn with the tin roof, and the windmill tower that had been broken my entire life, still stubbornly jutting into the sky.
My breath hitched. The image blurred. Tears slipped free before I could stop them. I swiped them away with the heel of my palm.
“I should’ve come sooner,” I choked out. “I should’ve been here before this.”
“He wouldn’t have wanted that for you.” He said it like he knew. It made something hot and sharp flare in my chest.
“What if I wanted it?” I snapped, anger lashing outward before I could catch it. “What if I wanted to be there instead of getting a visit from some stranger who knew him better than I did at the end?”
Silence slammed down.
I squeezed my eyes shut. “I’m sorry. That wasn’t fair.”
“Tessa, you’re grieving,” he said. “You get to be mad.”
I gave a half-hearted laugh. “What’s the acceptable behavior toward the man who drove hours to come collectyour sorry ass? Because I don’t think I’ve been all that pleasant.”
“One or two swings,” he said. “After that, I’ll start swinging back.”
I glanced at him. The corner of his mouth turned up slightly as he stared out the windshield. And somehow that helped.
“I’m still sorry,” I muttered.
“Accepted.”
We sat there a little longer. “Okay,” I finally whispered. “I’m ready. Or as close as I’m going to get.”
“You sure?” he asked.
“No,” I admitted. “But if we sit here any longer, I’m going to run.”
He nodded once. “Then we go.”
He eased the truck back onto the road. Gravel crunched under the tires. Every metre closer made my skin crawl, not because I didn’t want to be there, but because I did. Desperately. And it was too late.
When we turned into the lane, my breath stalled. The ranch came full into view. The front fence sagged more than I remembered. The green gate into the coral leaned crooked, one hinge rusted and half pulled from the post. And burdock and dandelions crowded the corners of the paddock.
“This looks,” I let my voice trail off because I couldn’t find the right word.
