She wore her favorite apron—faded green with tiny embroidered daisies. Her long brown hair was twisted up in a messy bun.
My dad looked up from his tablet at the dining room table, his reading glasses sliding down his nose.
“Hi, Mrs. Cassidy,” Logan replied with a polite wave. Then, nodding toward my dad, he added, “Sir.”
“The pleasantries,” my mom muttered with a playful shake of her head. “I’ve bathed you, Logan. You can just call me Jill.”
Logan chuckled. “It’s a habit.”
“And a sign of respect,” Dad chimed in with a smile.
“That too,” Logan agreed.
I rolled my eyes and walked over to my dad, pressing a kiss to his cheek before collapsing into the chair across from him. “Been trying to break in the new horse,” I said, reaching for a cube of cheese from the snack board on the table.
Dad locked his tablet and removed his glasses, giving me his full attention. “And?”
“She’s a tough one.” I sighed, chewing thoughtfully. “Hard to read. Stubborn.”
He nodded. “Boone said you’d be able to handle her.”
“I will.” I forced confidence into my tone—even if I didn’t fully believe it. I wasn’t connecting the way I should. Horses could sense that, could smell the doubt on you like smoke in the wind. Maybe I’d have better luck tomorrow, but I wasn’t too hopeful.
In the kitchen, Logan had somehow convinced my mom to let him help. I watched him carry a stack of plates to the table like it was second nature—because for Logan, itwas. He belonged here. Belonged with the family.
“Did she tell you the names she’s considering?” he asked, placing that stack on the table.
My mom raised an eyebrow. “Oh boy. I can only imagine what’s been rattling around in that head of hers.”
I grabbed the plates from Logan and laid them down at each spot around the table.
Logan and my dad sat, and my mom and I dished out the food—filling plates with buttery steak, mashed potatoes, roasted carrots, and a tangy cucumber salad. The energy was warm and familiar, comforting in a way only my mom’s cooking could be.
I chose to sit next to Logan.
“Really, I’m leaning toward naming her Dottie,” I said, eating my first forkful of steak.
“That’s cute!” Mom beamed.
“Tell them the other two,” Logan added with a nudge in my direction.
“Sassafras and… Whinny Houston.” It came out as a low whisper.
My dad cupped a hand to his ear. “A little louder, Bellie. What was that second one?”
“Whinny Houston,” I repeated with exaggerated clarity, grinning as I stabbed my mashed potatoes. “Yes,I saidWhinny Houston.”
The laughter was instant. Mom’s head tipped back, and Dad shook his, chuckling. Even Logan let out a full, hearty laugh that warmed the room more than the oven ever could.
We settled into a rhythm after that. The kind that only happens when the people you love are within arm’s reach. Logan and Dad drifted into a deep conversation about ranch repairs and fencing schedules, while Mom told me all about the new flower bed she was planting out front.
Another reason I loved Faircloud.
Family.
Familiarity.
As much as I adored moments like these, I couldn’t exist in a bubble like this forever. I still felt so unsure of where I belonged, so off balance that the world was spinning on a different axis.
