“Honey,” she says gently, reaching out to touch Clint’s arm. “Son.” She looks to Crew, and there’s no confusion on her face—the two men both look slightly terrified by the sudden turn of events, but Renata is unfazed. She looks as confident and clearheaded as she always does. Even while laid up in a hospital bed with two limbs cast in plaster, she’s ready to launch into action in a split second. “Why don’t y’all run down to the cafeteria and grab some coffee? And get me a muffin. Blueberry or chocolate chip—none of the bran crap.”
The implication takes a moment to set in for Crew and his father, but once it does, Clint is standing and nodding, making his way to the door. Crew lingers for a moment, looking between Grace and Renata, still holding on to Grace’s shoulders. His mother gives him a reassuring nod, and Crew relents, dropping a kiss to Grace’s forehead before joining his father. The door clicks shut quietly, and the two women are left alone—hot, relentless tears still streaming down Grace’s cheeks.
“Come,” Renata says, scooting herself to one side of the bed—as much as she can with one leg immobile—and then patting the cleared space. “Sit with me for a minute.”
Grace does, lowering herself carefully and slowly onto the bed, being mindful not to jostle anything. The material of her jeans is almost slippery against the sheets; she can feel herself starting to slide down until she digs her bootheels into the tile floor. Wiping her cheeks with the back of her hand, Grace chuckles, ever unsure and awkward in highly emotional moments like this. “I’m sorry,” she says, glancing at Renata, who is even-keeled and patient, leaning into her giant, soft pillows.
Renata’s tone is light when she asks, “What’re you sorry for, Grace?”
The two women hold each other’s eyes for a moment. In Renata’s deep brown irises, Grace can see many things. Among them: an age-ripened, wide-open honesty, a wholehearted generosity, and a pure, soulful kindness. The combination is comforting in ways Grace has rarely experienced; Renata is the kind of person who, just by existing in someone’s orbit, makes the burden of living seem lighter. She is restorative and warm—her very presence a balm to even the most pointed anxiety. And because of that, even with the guilt and fear and overwhelmingsorrow festering in her gut, Grace feels a sense of ease sitting next to her. She knows what Renata’s really asking, and she also knows that Renata deserves her truest answer. There is, perhaps, no one in the world who deserves it more.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t honest with you when I should’ve been,” Grace says, as evenly as she can manage. She maintains eye contact as she speaks, though it pains her not to let her eyes drift to the floor. Her instinct is deference, but she knows Renata wants her to face this with her chin high, not bowing in submission. “I’m sorry I didn’t speak up. I was afraid of so many things. I’ve spent so much of my life afraid.” The fingers of Grace’s good hand begin to tremble, and she curls them into a stubborn fist. “Even after you offered me the job, I still had this voice in my head telling me it was all temporary. A very specific voice,” Grace muses, nostrils flaring. “It was stupid, impulsive,cowardly—I thought telling you the truth would mean I’d have to leave Halcyon. So, I didn’t, because I didn’t want to leave. After everything that happened, I couldn’t imagine anything worse. And I didn’t think he’d actually…” She trails off, finally letting her eyes drop. Tears are welling in them once more, but this time, they aren’t tears of sadness or guilt—they’re tears of anger.
“It’s ridiculous, isn’t it?” Grace throws her hands up, edging closer to full-on hysteria. “I kept quiet because I didn’t want to leave, and because I didn’t think you or anyone would be in any real danger, and both of those things ended up happening anyway. I shouldn’t have called his bluff. I should’ve known he would do whatever he could to get back at me for telling you about the scams.” A sob wracks her body, and she hunches forward, resting her face in her palm. “Halcyon was like a dream to me. More than a ranch, more than a paycheck and place tostay.” She shakes her head against her hand, voice watery and thick. “Crew, the hands, you and Clint and Cooper.” She sits up, and she can feel the swelling beneath her eyes growing worse. She can barely see Renata through the haze of her tears, but she recognizes that look of patience, of acceptance. It makes her want to cry harder. “Halcyon—you all—felt like home. You felt likemine. I’ve never known that feeling before.”
It’s quiet between them for a beat, save for Grace’s sniffles, and then she feels a hand cover hers and squeeze. She blinks away a few more tears, her vision clearing enough to see Renata opening her mouth to speak. “Grace, have I ever told you about the conversation I had with Maryann? I know when we first met, I told you she’d mentioned a horse trainer in need of a job. But have I ever actually told you what she said?”
Grace shakes her head.
Renata leans farther into her pillows, pulling Grace’s hand into her lap, which brings her slightly farther down the bed, and brings them closer. At this distance, Grace can smell the subtle hints of cherry, rose, and sandalwood in Renata’s perfume, masked slightly by the hundreds of flowers surrounding them, but still there. Familiar and warm and perfectlyher.“You know, I hadn’t talked to her in years. We had a little spat when she left Halcyon—I couldn’t understand why she wanted to leave after almost a decade with us, but she was adamant. There wassomethingshe needed to tend to out in Everlake County, wherever the hell that was. Ronnie was distraught to lose her—she’d learned everything she knew from Maryann. Anyway, I learned a few years later that she’d taken a job at Braxton, and I was beside myself.Thatplace? Over Halcyon? I couldn’t believe it. I called her up that same day and gave her a piece of my mind—I was a bit hot under the collar back then—and she just took it. Didn’t argue with me, didn’t deny anything. Once I was all red-faced and done with my rant, she very calmly and patiently told me the reason she left. And wouldn’t you know it—it was for aman.”
At this, Grace smiles. She tries to picture Renata and Maryann in their thirties, bickering in the Halcyon kitchen. It’s difficult to turn back the clock and imagine them younger, softer, more impulsive; she’s only ever known them as two formidable women who seem to have the answer to every question.
“Except it wasn’t that simple. Nothing ever is,” Renata continues, and then she leans forward slightly, squeezing Grace’s hand again. “The man’s name was Hal, and he was some kinda horse-training magician. I don’t know the specifics, but they’d apparently had an ongoing thing, hot and heavy here and there, but nothing serious ever came of it. Cowboys and all that,” Renata says, only slightly derisively. “But then, out of the blue, he called up Maryann and asked her to come to Braxton. When she told me that, I gave her a whole rash of shit for it. I couldn’tbelieveshe’d just uproot her entire life and go to live on that backwater ranch for someguywho was never going to commit to her. And that’s when she said—after calling me an impatient, interrupting bitch—that Hal had told her about a teenage girl who’d started living at Braxton.” The smile on Grace’s face drops off in an instant, and her heart seizes in her chest. Renata lets the statement rest for a moment and then continues. “A spindly little thing that life had chewed up and spit outwere his exact words, if I recall correctly. The niece of the proprietor, but that kind of family tie didn’t mean much. Hal told Maryann he’d gotten Whitlock’s permission to take the girl under his wing, but he didn’t know his ass from his elbow when it came to teenagegirls, and she was practically mute for the first two months. So, he asked if Maryann would come to Braxton. To be with him, for them to be together in the same place, and to help with the girl.Grace.”
The knot that’s formed in Grace’s stomach while listening to the story tightens at the sound of her name. Shock, disbelief, awe—all of it courses through her like a tidal wave. That someone had been looking out for her back then, had been concerned enough to call on an old friend for help—Grace is helpless but to give in to the new batch of tears that fall down her cheeks. Hal, grumpy, intelligent, forgiving, cigar-stenched Hal. Her teacher, her savior.
“I didn’t know,” Grace says, though it’s more of a blubber than a statement. “She—they never told me.”
“I know they didn’t. And the only reason I’m telling you now is because you need to understand something. You deserved to have people in your corner, Grace—back then, and right now. You deserve love, safety, and care. You deserve a place to call home, just as much as anyone else.More, really.”
It still doesn’t quite make sense, doesn’t quite penetrate, even if Grace wants it to. Even ifallshe wants is to accept Renata’s words as law, to go back to Halcyon and call it her own. It isn’t as simple as flipping a switch and rewriting an entire lifetime of unease. She wishes it were—wishes she could close the book on that darkness once and for all.
Renata’s hand leaves hers and reaches upward, landing gently on Grace’s cheek. She leans in, and she must sense Grace’s stubborn hesitation, because she waits for Grace to look her in the eye before she continues. Her tone at once firm and warm, inarguable and soft. “You’ve become so much lighter since I metyou, and that kind of thing is infectious. You brought my son back to life with that light, and I’m thankful to you for that.”
Grace notices a shine in Renata’s eyes and leans her cheek lightly into her palm.
“Maybe this will be hard for you to hear, and even harder for you to accept, but I’m going to say it to you anyway: If it’s forgiveness that you need to come home, you have it. A million times over. You’ve always had it. But more importantly, I need you to understand something,” Renata says, and Grace simply listens, caught up in a whirlwind of unfathomable emotion.
“Halcyonisyour home, Grace. Maybe you don’t believe that right now, and you don’t have to. But know that it’s the truth. Halcyon is your home, and we are your family.”
Without another word, Renata pulls Grace forward and wraps her tightly in her arms. Grace goes willingly, carefully, and lets Renata cradle her. She starts to cry once again—if she ever even stopped—and tries harder than she’s ever tried in her life to let the words be true. To let her heart take them in, to let her brain believe them. It doesn’t happen instantly, but there’s an unexpected little give—a flicker of flexibility in those carefully crafted, steel-reinforced walls.
And while in this exact moment she can’t fully accept the fact that she’s found a place where she belongs, a person to share her life with, and a family that loves her,wantsher, and will protect her—she knows now that one day, sooner rather than later, she finally will.
Chapter 32
Time is a fickle, funny thing. Minutes can stretch into eternities; days can pass in the blink of an eye. Time follows no rulebook. Its moods are arbitrary and unpredictable. For instance, the first time Grace sat in the passenger seat of this truck, the drive to Halcyon seemed to take days and not the four hours she knew it to be. The empty fields surrounding the two-lane highway had been like endless oceans of grass and wheat and dirt, and it seemed to matter little that the wheels were spinning and the engine was propelling them forward—she’d felt suspended in time, fated to never arrive at her destination. Now, as she sits in that very same spot, beside that very same man, the truck seems to devour the miles instead of nipping at them crumb by crumb.
And it’s funny and fickle that Crew—who’d given her so little in their first encounter, who’d hardly smiled and spent more time picking sunflower seeds out of his teeth than he did talking to her—is now the furthest thing from a stranger. It doesn’t make sense, and maybe it never will, but it feels like she’s known Crew her entire life. Like even before they were physically in the same place, seeing each other for the very first time, some part of her always knew him. The way he made her body, her mind, her heart come alive—there was no other explanation for thatkind of thing. Maybe they didn’t know each other back then, but they were never truly strangers.
They pull in through the north entrance right after five, and though it’s probably just her brain playing tricks on her, Grace swears everything looks brighter as they roll down the gravel road. The grassy fields are more vibrant, the wildflowers are oversaturated and taller than when she left. Crew’s hand on her thigh squeezes gently, and she looks over to find him with a contented little half smile on his lips. Grace grins, covering his hand with her own. “What?”
“Your eyes are lighting up,” he says, glancing at her. “The same way they did when I first drove you down this road.”
She stares at him, and as soon as he’s pulled the truck over to the right of the house to join the line of identical F-350s and put it in park, Grace unbuckles her seat belt and stretches over the center console to press a kiss to his cheek. Crew turns and catches her mouth, chuckling into her lips. “I love it here,” Grace says in answer, stroking his coarse facial hair with her fingertips. “I always have.”
They share a long, intense look, and then the sound of a door swinging open pulls their attention away from each other. Crew looks up into the rearview mirror and hums—the sound landing somewhere between annoyed and unsurprised—as he shuts off the engine. He looks back to Grace, then to the passenger window. “Incoming.”
