But now, watching her mom climb out of the passenger seat, her dad slamming his door shut with that familiar impatient thud, she realized how much she’d missed them. How much she’d needed this, even if she hadn’t known how to ask for it.
Her mom spotted her first. She lifted a hand, her face breaking into a smile so bright it hurt. Enya’s throat tightened as she stepped out into the late afternoon sun.
“Hey, baby,” Birdie-June Moore called as she speed-walked toward Enya with her arms open wide.
Enya let herself be pulled into a hug, her mom’s familiar scent, of that one perfume she’d worn since Enya was little, wrapped around her like a blanket. She squeezed her eyes shut and took a shaky breath.
Safe.
She feels safe to me again.
“Hi, Momma.” She didn’t know what had changed. But safety hadn’t been something she’d associated with her momma after Colombia, but today… Today, Momma’s arms worked their magic again.
“Daddy,” she spotted him over her mom’s shoulder.
Camden Moore stood a few feet back, his hands shoved deep in his pockets, his hat pulled low over his eyes. He looked as if the world had knocked the wind out of him, and he was still trying to catch his breath. The sight of it made Enya’s chest ache. “Hey, kiddo,” his voice was rough, like he’d been swallowing gravel or crying for a month.
Momma finally let go, cupping Enya’s face in her hands, her thumbs brushing over Enya’s cheekbones like she was memorizing every freckle, every scar. Her eyes were wet, her smile trembling at the edges. “You look good,” she said. “Thank you for inviting us.”
Enya swallowed hard. “I feel… better.”
Camden grunted, his gaze flicking over her like he was making sure she was telling the truth. “That’s something, I guess.”
A beat of silence stretched between them, heavy with everything they weren’t saying. Then Gael’s voice filled in the blank space. “Mr. and Mrs. Moore. Welcome back to the SHR. If either of you tries to sneak outta here with our brand new foal or our Enya, you may have problems when my brother comes home.”
Enya shot him a look, but the corner of her mouth twitched despite herself. Gael leaned against the doorframe, his arms crossed over his chest, his dark eyes warm in a way she rarelysaw. He jerked his chin at Camden. “Come on. I’ll show you some of our yearlings we’ve got headed down to Florida soon, see if there’s something there you like instead.”
Camden hesitated, but after a glance at his wife, nodded to Gael. “Lead the way.”
Gael pushed off the doorframe and fell into step beside him, already launching into horse talk.
Enya watched them go. “What just happened?”
“He’s a smart one.” Birdie-June laughed and slipped an arm around Enya’s waist. “He saw your daddy fixin’ to bristle up like an old Billy goat when he said Rowan would have a problem with you leaving, and he stepped in to smooth it over before tempers get fried.”
Is that what he did?
Enya turned to watch the two men walking toward the barn. “I might be a little cranky myself, if I wasn’t here when Rowe comes back.”
Her mom squeezed her side, her grip firm. “Then let’s get inside and make dinner. I brought my famous green chili mac and cheese.”
“Momma.” The laugh that accompanied the word felt foreign, like something she’d almost forgotten how to do with her family. “You always bring that when you’re trying to bribe me.”
Birdie June grinned, steering her toward the house. “Damn right,” she said, her voice light, but her eyes were bright with unshed tears. “And it works, but I might not be so mad if it doesn’t this time. Because I can see you are you again here. Asmuch as that kinda makes me sad, it’s not as sad as I’d be if you were still in the dark place you were in a few weeks ago.”
Jump right in with both feet, Momma.
The kitchen at Stronghold Ranch wasn’t built for crowds. The space was tight, the counters worn from years of use, the old farmhouse sink deep enough to bathe a small child or two in. But somehow, with Birdie-June Moore at the helm, it felt like it became a weird mix of homes morphing into the safest place on the planet.The scent of roasted green chiles and sharp cheddar filled the air, rich and comforting, mingling with the earthy aroma of coffee brewing. The radio played some old George Strait song her dad loved, the twang of the guitar familiar and soothing, and for a little while, it was easy to pretend. To imagine this was just another Sunday night, that the last few months hadn’t happened, that she wasn’t still jumping at shadows, still waking up screaming some nights, and seeking Rowan to hide behind until the memories receded and the horrors behind her eyelids faded away.
“You’re getting better with that knife.”
Momma’s voice pulled Enya from her thoughts. She glanced down at the cutting board, at the neat piles of diced onions, their sharp scent stinging her eyes. “Rowan’s been making me do all the prep work,” she said, her fingers stilling. “Says if I’m gonna eat here, I gotta pull my weight.”
Her momma smirked, stirring the pot of cheese sauce with slow, even strokes. “Sounds like him.”
Enya’s fingers tightened around the knife. The way her momma said it was as if Rowan Salieri was already a fixture in their lives,as solid and unshakable as the ranch itself. The thought sent a flush creeping up Enya’s neck, hot and prickly.
Birdie-June didn’t miss it. She turned down the heat on the stove and leaned against the counter, her hip pressing into the worn wood, her gaze sharp and knowing. “You like him.”
