Grace turns just as Caia appears, mouth gaping in excitement. When Caia tries to yank open the passenger door and finds it locked, her expression tempers, and her eyes dart to her brother. “Unlock it,” she says, voice muffled by the thick glass window. For the next twenty seconds, Crew decides to be a littleshit and unlocks the door, only to quickly relock it as soon as Caia pulls on the handle. She pulls and sighs, pulls and sighs, and eventually smacks the truck with her hand. “You’re such a dick,” she huffs, then turns and walks away.
Grace looks over to Crew to find him with a shit-eating boyish grin, and she rolls her eyes before opening the door herself and climbing out of the cab.
Cooper sits on one of the rocking chairs that line the wraparound porch, and he waves excitedly when Grace comes into view. “You’re home,” he calls out, and Grace’s heart clenches in her chest. How easy those two words seemed to be coming out of his mouth—she wonders if he has any idea, any inkling at all, that they mean everything to her.
The smell of garlic and tomato and basil hits Grace’s nose as she approaches the house, Crew following close behind with their bags slung over his shoulders. She inhales deeply, already transfixed by whatever beautiful creation is being cooked up in the kitchen, and Cooper chuckles when he notices. “You’re just in time for Ronnie’s lasagna,” he says, wiggling his eyebrows.
“It smells incredible,” Grace says.
“Itisincredible,” Caia says, hoisting herself up onto the porch railing. Her legs swing back and forth as she surveys Grace, then gives an approving nod. With a wink to Grace, she says, “Glad to see you didn’t mess up our masterpiece too much.”
“Your mom might have helped me clean up some of the mascara that came off while I was crying,” Grace says a little sheepishly.
Caia nods. “Of course she did.”
Crew sets their bags down near the top of the stairs and stretches his arms out and up, then leans over to do the same forhis back. He grunts as various joints in his body click when he moves, sounding very much like a man far older than thirty. When he’s sufficiently stretched, he looks around, then at his sister, his eyes narrowing. “Where is—”
Like something out of a sitcom, the door swings open, and Crew looks over and nods in aThere you arekind of gesture. A man Grace somewhat recognizes but has never met walks out of the house, hitting the wood slats of the porch like he’s punching each one of them with his heavy bootheels. Grace’s eyes trail downward to find black ostrich Luccheses, shiny enough to see her own reflection, and she knows that pair must’ve cost him a good ten grand, if not more, and that’s just what’s on his feet. The rest of him is equally sharply dressed—and by the looks of his sparkly clean nails, his effortlessly coiffed hair, and his precisely trimmed beard, he hasn’t worked a day on this ranch or any other in years. Maybe ever.
The man walks right up to Grace and smiles, and it’s undeniably a movie star kind of smile—blindingly white, perfectly straight teeth. Behind her, she hears Caia groan. He doesn’t spare her a glance and instead keeps his eyes locked on Grace as he holds out a hand.
“You must be Grace,” he says, and his shake is firm when Grace gives him her good hand in return. “Easton Beckett. It’s a pleasure. I’ve heard a lot about you. It’s not every day our little Crew-bear falls in love,” he says with a wink.
Grace’s lips part, and she can’t help it—she turns to look at Crew over her shoulder, eyebrows hiking toward her hairline. “Crew-bear?”
The look Crew gives Easton in response is nothing less than scathing.
“You know,” Easton continues. “Like Pooh Bear. His mom used to call him that because he’d run around the house without any pants on.”
“All right, East,” Crew warns, and while his intimidating foreman voice may work on most, it seems to be completely lost on Easton, whose smile remains wide and relentless, like he’s just getting started.
“It’s really great to meet you, Easton,” Grace says, turning back to him. “I’ve heard a lot about you, too.”
“Oh?” He straightens a little, putting a hand to his heart. “I hope only lovely, kind,truethings.”
Caia deadpans, “Well, that would be rather difficult, wouldn’t it?” Then she hops off the rail and walks over to Grace. With Caia shoulder to shoulder with Easton, it occurs to Grace that they make a really, kind of ridiculously attractive couple. But from the face Caia’s making, and the way said face seems to turn evenmoreunpleasant the closer she gets to him, perhaps they’re not…like that. If anything, they look like two equal forces that are activelyrepellingeach other. Caia folds her arms firmly over her chest and looks at Grace, and only Grace, as she says, “You don’t need to butter him up. His ego is already the biggest thing about him.”
Easton barks out a laugh, then throws an arm around Caia’s neck.“Spitfire,”he drawls, the word sounding well-worn and familiar on his tongue. He folds himself over slightly to catch her eye and says, “Don’t talk about me like that when I’m standing right here. You’re gonna make me blush.”
Caia rolls her eyes and pushes him off, taking a large step to her left and leaving a wide gap between them. “Please,” she hisses. The pure, unadulterated disgust on her face shifts intosomething much kinder and softer when she looks at Grace and says, “Grace, let’s get away from all this testosterone and go wash up.”
“Actually,” Crew cuts in, and he’s suddenly at Grace’s side, and his strong, comforting hand finds the small of her back. “I want to show Grace something before dinner. Can y’all let Ronnie know we’ll be a few minutes?”
Caia looks up at her brother, stares for a moment, and then a realization seems to kick in, because a smile folds into her lips and she starts nodding, more enthusiastic than Grace has ever seen her. “Right! Yes,” she says, shooing them away with two hands. “Go. We’ll keep Ronnie at bay.”
Crew slips his hand into Grace’s, their fingers interlocking. He looks down at her and smiles, nodding in the direction of the stables. “Come on.”
Hand in hand, they walk under a sky that is cloudless and the most perfect shade of evening blue, stretching out over the ranch like a giant azure tent. The smell of freshly mowed grass mixes with the familiar scents of horses, and Grace feels tears welling in her eyes as they approach the stables. It doesn’t seem real yet, that she’s here, she’s back. She’s holding hands with Crew, and she’s about to see the horses—andherhorse—for the first time in what feels like years. She wonders if Waylon’s missed her, if he’s even noticed she’s been gone, or if he’s been spending all his time following Duke around like a lost puppy.
It seems the answer is a little bit of both, if the whicker Waylon lets out upon setting eyes on her is any indication. All the way at the opposite side of the ring, he stands—unsurprisingly—next to Duke, but as soon as he spots Grace, he’s trotting over,vocalizing more and louder with each step. He seems to have alotto say about her absence, and Grace laughs as he comes to stand right in front of her, a tear slipping down her cheek.
“I missed you, too,” she says, petting his nose. “There must’ve been someone else around to give you carrots, though.”
Waylon disagrees, or, at least, he must not think he’s been givenenoughcarrots, because he snorts and shakes his head.
“Dramatic,” she says, then presses her forehead against his muzzle and closes her eyes. “I promise to make it up to you. A million carrots are in your future. Maybe some apples and bananas, too, if you’re not difficult.”
Another snuffle, a tentative agreement.
