Instead, I type:That'd be great. Thanks.
Her reply comes fast.Perfect. I'll leave the key under the mat. Move in whenever.
Pearl's smiling when I look up.
"What?"
"Nothing," she says. "Absolutely nothing. Just nice to have you home, is all." She’s smiling behind the rim of her coffee, and I know that smile. She’s up to something.
After breakfast and after David comes over to pick Pearl up for lunch, I decide that there is no time like the present. I pack my duffel and a few small things and drive out to the Anderson place. The drive only takes twelve minutes. I know because the Anderson place butts right up against the back of the Williams ranch. Tyler and I used to help Mrs. Anderson before we enlisted, and everything changed.
I stand in the guest house doorway with my duffel bag and a box of books, trying to figure out how I ended up here. What part of this was in the promise I made to Tyler?
On the other hand, the place has good bones. I’m actually impressed. Two bedrooms, refinished floors, windows that let the afternoon light come through. It’s a little unfinished around the edges, but solid.
Falon was already inside, opening windows to let the April air through. She's already been in the barn, based onthe dirt on her work jeans, and her flannel has the sleeves pushed up and hay on her shoulder. Hazards of ranch life. It’s not if, but when you’ll start wearing the ranch. Her hair was pulled back in her signature ponytail and already coming loose on one side.
“So, quick tour?” She’s pointing out where the bedrooms and bathrooms are, completely at ease.
"So, here’s the thing.” She looks a little unsure before she shakes it off. “I told Mom and Pearl already, but there’s no stove yet," she says, tapping the empty space where one should be. "Mini fridge barely keeps things cold. Sinks not hooked up right, so you can't really use it."
"Got it."
"Laundry's at the main house. Mudroom off the kitchen." She moves to the loft stairs, gripping the railing. "Loft gets a little warm, so leave a window open, but it’s my favorite spot in the house. The windows,” she said wistfully, “need I say more?" She shrugs and then heads back into the kitchen.
I nod, taking it all in. The space is bigger than my room at Pearl's. More importantly, it's quiet and only a few feet away from Falon, give or take.
Falon turns to face me, tucks that loose strand of hair behind her ear. "It's not much right now, but it's yours for as long as you want."
She says it so easily.For as long as you want.There's no condition attached, and she means it.
My heart flips.
"I appreciate it. Really."
She waves it off. "Don’t worry about it. Just get settled in, and since there's no stove, I’ll see you for dinner at the main house later." She heads for the door. "I've got to check on the chickens before it gets dark."
"Falon."
She stops, hand on the doorframe.
"Thanks," I say. "For this."
She looks at me, and something passes between us. There’s been eighteen months of silence, and there is still something underneath it that was there long before that.
"You would have done it for me," she says quietly. "That's what family does."
I'm still unpacking when I hear it.
A sound that can only be described as utter chaos. Squawking, a sharp bark, and what I'm fairly certain was a braying donkey. Does Falon have a donkey?
I set down the stack of books in my hand and step out onto the porch.
The scene in the yard takes a second to fully process.
Falon is in the middle of the chicken run, arms out, attempting to redirect approximately 15 chickens who have decided they want to be somewhere else besides where they should be. A young blue heeler is sitting three feet away, looking deeply ashamed. The goat has found a length of rope near the fence post and is working his way through it. There are two feathers in Falon's hair, and she’s looking way too cute to be in such a mess.
She squares her shoulders and stares down an uncooperative hen.
