Open. Quiet. Endless.
Eventually we reach a large wooden sign that reads:
Hawthorne Ranch & B&B
My jaw drops.
The ranch spreads out in front of us like something out of a movie. A massive stretch of land dotted with white fences, red barns, and wide pastures where dozens of horses roam freely, their breath fogging in the chilly air.
Several cozy guest cabins sit scattered across the land, little wooden houses with porches and rocking chairs, thin curls of smoke rising from a few chimneys.
Farther ahead stands the main house.
Several trucks are parked in front of a huge southern-style ranch home with a wide wraparound porch, white columns, and a roof that seems to stretch forever. Hanging lanterns sway gently in the cold breeze, and two wooden rocking chairs sit near the front door like they’ve seen decades of slow afternoons and sweet tea.
Something shifts inside me as I take it all in.
Warmth.
Life.
A place where people stay.
Where they belong.
I swallow hard and look away before the feeling settles too deep.
Dex parks the truck and turns off the engine.
He comes around and opens my door, offering his hand. When I raise mine, I notice I’m trembling, and so does he.
His eyes soften in an instant.
“Tinker.”
Dex brings both hands up to frame my face, steadying me, making me look at him.
“The only thing my parents, and especially my mama, want is to meet you and find out who’s living in my apartment.”
I nod, a little breathless under his touch. “Okay.”
He studies my eyes like he’s making sure I really mean it, then let's go, his hand sliding to the small of my back, warm and grounding as he guides me up the steps.
“Don’t worry, Tinker,” he adds with a wicked smile. “The only one who bites in this family is the man you’re living with.”
I laugh.
The wide wooden porch creaks softly beneath our boots. Two rocking chairs sway gently in the winter breeze beside a small table holding a lantern and a folded quilt. A wind chime somewhere near the corner of the house sings quietly in the cold air.
Across the pasture, a group of horses lifts their heads. White clouds puff from their nostrils as they breathe in the freezing air.
One of them stomps the ground, snorting softly.
“Your parents own all this?” I ask, still staring.
“Yeah,” Dex says casually, stepping beside me. “This and another thousand acres of land and lakes.”
A breeze cuts across the open land, making the bare cottonwood branches clatter together above us.
