“Your father’s been awake since five,” she replies fondly. “You know how much he loves Christmas.”
There’s a rustle, then Dad says, “You boys fight over the best cinnamon roll yet?”
“Give it time,” Lawson says, and I smile even wider.
There’s a pause, then Mom’s voice shifts. “So,” she says. “Anything you boys care to tell me?”
Lawson shifts uncomfortably. “I’m assuming you talked to Josephine?”
Mom giggles mischievously. “She called last night to tell us Merry Christmas, and she may or may not have mentioned that a certain someone is still living at the ranch.”
Lawson’s eyes meet mine across the counter, something unspoken passing between us. I shrug, and he lets out a sigh as he rubs the back of his neck. “Her name’s Abigail,” he says.
“I know what her name is, Lawson,” Mom replies.
“Of course you do,” I murmur.
“And… what’s she like?” she urges. There’s something about her voice. Like it’s filled with as much hope as it is curiosity.
“She’s… strong,” I respond. “She’s so strong. In a way, you almost don’t notice right away. Like she’s been carrying more than any person should ever have to.”
My brother’s eyes soften. “And she’s beautiful. She’s got this red hair, Mom. You’d think it was stunning. She has no idea how beautiful she is.”
Silence stretches for a moment. Then another before Mom finally speaks again. “Well, that… You boys sound…settled,”she answers gently.
Lawson exhales heavily. “Yeah.”
Neither of us says anything else, clearly not wanting to admit what’s happening to our mother. But she hears the unspoken words anyway. Just like she always has. “So… is this like… Josephine?”
My breath catches before I can stop it, and Law closes his eyes for half a second as he pinches the bridge of his nose. But then he opens them, and a small smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “Yeah, Mom. Like Joe.”
The quiet that follows that admission feels long enough to be dangerous. “As long as you boys are happy,” Mom says, voice steady and sure. “And as long as you’re treating her right, then I’m happy for you.”
Both of us relax and Dad clears his throat. “From what you’ve told us, and from what Joe has told us, the four of you could use a strong woman like her.”
Lawson chuckles softly. “That’s probably true.”
The four of us talk a few more minutes about easy things. The weather. The cattle. The horses. Then Mom says, “We’ll be home the last week of January.”
Lawson arches a brow. “Actually, home? Or ‘home’ like the last two times?”
Dad laughs. “We’ll be home. Have to meet this new woman of yours if she’s gonna be stickin’ around.”
“She will be,” I say before I can stop myself.
There’s a pause, before Dad simply says, “Then we’ll be home.”
The call ends withI love yousandMerry Christmases,and Mom reminds us to tell Beau and Jas she loves them too.
When she hangs up, Lawson slides the cinnamon rolls into the oven, and the two of us stand there for a moment, steam curling from our mugs, the house humming quietly around us. “Did you ever think this would be our life?” I ask.
“No,” he answers matter-of-factly. But then his face softens. “But part of me isn’t surprised this is where the four of us ended up.”
I nod. “Me either.”
Footsteps sound overhead. Then laughter before low voices begin to drift down the stairs. A few minutes later, they appear. Beau first, his hair a disaster. Jas is behind him, looking still half asleep. But tucked in between them is Abigail, wrapped in one of my hoodies, wool socks covering her feet, cheeks flushed, and eyes bright.
She looks… happy.
