She lifts her beer and gestures toward the yard.
The place is packed.
Half of Wildhaven showed up tonight. Ranch hands, neighbors, old schoolmates, random people who probably heard the wordsbonfireandfree beer.
Daddy is sitting on the porch with Imma Jean and Uncle Boone.
Charli’s at the drink table, mixing something in a cocktail shaker.
Grandma is perched in a lawn chair, wrapped in a blanket despite the warm night, watching everything with those sharp blue eyes.
And Matty is seated on a cushioned patio chair near the fire.
She’s smiling as she chats with a few of the new ranch hands, but she also looks tired.
Very, very tired.
And very emotional.
Her husband, Caison Galloway—who she married on a cool afternoon two months ago in this very spot—hovers beside herlike a six-foot-three golden retriever who’s convinced someone might steal his favorite chew toy.
He keeps adjusting her blanket.
Refilling her tea glass.
And fluffing the pillow behind her back.
“Case,” Waylon calls from the cooler, tossing him a beer. “Buddy, you’re gonna wear a trench in the dirt, pacing like that.”
Caison catches it, but doesn’t open it.
Waylon Ludlow is Shelby’s beau. His parents own the neighboring Ironhorse Ranch. We all grew up together, but Waylon left after graduating high school and returned to Wildhaven last year with a four-year-old daughter, Ruby. After working through a few old hurdles, he managed to win Shelby’s trust again, and soon, she fell hard for both him and Ruby.
We all did.
“What if Matty goes into labor tonight?” he asks.
Shelby snorts. “We’ve been asking that question for three weeks.”
“Yeah,” Waylon says, “and every night, she doesn’t.”
Caison frowns at Matty’s belly like it personally insulted him.
I wander over and lean down beside her chair.
“How are you feeling?” I ask.
She smiles up at me, but it doesn’t reach her eyes.
“I’m good,” she says quickly.
“You sure?”
“Of course.” She grabs my hand and squeezes it. “This night is about you. Not me.”
My heart twists.
Matty is wiped.
