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Perfect.

I eased onto my side and pulled her with me.

Her breathing slowed against my chest.

After a minute, she said, “The chain.”

I reached for it, worked the clasp open, and held it out. Priya turned her back to me and lifted her hair.

I fastened it at the nape of her neck.

The horseshoe settled between her breasts, open side up.

Keeping the luck in.

She lay back against me and touched it with one finger.

“We still have to discuss logistics,” she said.

“Tomorrow.”

“Work.”

“Tomorrow.”

“Where I’m living.”

“Tomorrow.”

“My insurance appeal.”

“Definitely tomorrow.”

“The binders are in Denver.”

“Priya.”

She went quiet.

Then, softly, “Yes, Daddy?”

“Nobody needs anything until morning.”

Below us, the last song ended.

The lights stayed on. The floorboards held their thin gold lines. Somewhere outside, a truck started, then another. The ranch emptied by degrees, people carrying plates and children and the story of the day home with them.

Priya tucked her face under my chin.

I pulled the flannel over her shoulders and held her while the music stopped, while the lights went dark one string at a time, while the barn settled around us.

Morning could need us.

Morning was allowed.

Tonight, we stayed.

Chapter 20