Chapter Thirty-Eight
We pull up to the curb in front of the church day care right on time.
The old white-washed brick fellowship building looks the same as it always has. I spent many a summer attending lock-ins in that building as a kid. It warms my heart that my little girl will grow up, having those same experiences.
I spot Ruby through the big front windows, sitting crisscross applesauce on the floor with a handful of crayons, her teacher kneeling beside her.
“Is that her?” Cheyenne asks softly.
“That’s her,” I say.
The front door opens, and Ruby walks out, holding her teacher’s hand. The second she spots my truck, she lets go and comes flying down the steps like she’s been shot out of a cannon.
“Daddy!”
I laugh and step out of the truck. She slams into me, arms going around my legs.
“Hey, kiddo,” I say, crouching to hug her back. “I’ve got someone I want you to meet.”
She pulls back as Cheyenne exits the truck and walks around to join us, eyes curious, cheeks a little pink from the cold.
“Ruby,” I say gently, “this is Cheyenne. She’s your mommy’s sister.”
Ruby’s eyes go wide. “Aunt Cheyenne,” she whispers.
I explained to her what that title meant, and she was overjoyed to know that she had someone who connected her to her mother, even if she didn’t quite grasp the concept.
Cheyenne kneels down, smiling through tears she’s barely holding back. “Hi, sweetie.”
Ruby doesn’t hesitate. She launches herself at Cheyenne, wrapping her little arms around her neck. Cheyenne lets out a shaky sob and hugs her tight, burying her face in Ruby’s hair, like she’s been waiting her whole life for this moment.
It hits me right in the gut.
“You’re pretty,” Ruby says as she beams at Cheyenne.
She brings her hand up and lightly touches Cheyenne’s long blonde hair. It’s the same shade as Candy’s, and I can see the flicker of recognition in Ruby’s eyes.
Cheyenne taps the tip of Ruby’s nose. “Not as pretty as you.”
The three of us load up, and Ruby talks Cheyenne into riding in the back seat with her.
Our first stop is the cabin. Ruby chatters the entire way, telling Cheyenne everything about her day care, the ranch, her bedroom, her pony and barrel racing, all without taking a single breath.
When we get there, Cheyenne drops her bag in Ruby’s room, and Ruby immediately starts the grand tour.
“This is my bed,” she announces proudly, pointing to the white-framed bed with a draping pink canopy Nana helped her pick out. “And these are my dolls. This one’s Princess Bethany. And this one’s Princess Stephanie. She’s a barrel racer. This is my stuffed pony, Larry.”
Cheyenne giggles, and her questioning eyes come to me as she mouths, Larry?
I grin and shrug.
“And this is my favorite book. Daddy reads to me at night,” Ruby continues.
Cheyenne listens like every word is sacred.
“Well, thank you for letting me sleep in your room.”
“You’re welcome,” Ruby says. Then she leans over and whispers, “I like sleeping with Daddy some of the times.”
Once Cheyenne is settled and has a chance to freshen up, we head out to Ironhorse so she can see where Ruby spends her days. Momma and Pop greet us, and introductions are made with hugs and a lot of emotion, courtesy of Priscilla Ludlow.
“We’re so happy to meet you,” Momma says as she embraces her tightly.
“I’m happy to meet you guys too.”
Momma and Ruby take Cheyenne down to the stables to show her the horses, leaving Pop and me in the living room.
I sit across from him, rubbing my hands together. “Thanks for flying Cheyenne in.”
He nods. “Ruby needs her family right now.”
The words hang heavy between us.
“Yeah, it’ll be nice to have us all here for her first Thanksgiving. She’s been learning all about the holiday in school, and she’s excited. I don’t think she and her mother ever had a place to celebrate it.”
He nods.
Then he clears his throat. “Evelyn Storm invited us to Thanksgiving at Wildhaven Storm.”
“She did?”
“Yes. At church this past Sunday.”
“All of us?” I ask.
“Yeah, of course. They’ve got that fancy new dining hall that Bryce built now. Caison and Marcia will be there this year.” He studies my face. “It’ll be easier on your mother. She can share the cooking with Evelyn, Irene, Imma Jean, and Marcia.”
“I’m not sure I’ll be welcome,” I say quietly.
His brows lift. “Why’s that?”
“Because I’m probably the Storm sisters’ least favorite person at the moment.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
He chuckles. “We kinda thought you were becoming a little more than Shelby’s favorite person.”
I shake my head. “Nah. Pretty sure Shelby hates me.”
“Hates you?”
“Yeah. She’s hated me for years, apparently. I’ve been trying to mend those fences, but I wrecked it,” I say.
Pop’s expression softens. “Son, the thinnest line that exists is the one between love and hate.”
“Is that right?”
“Yep. Hate isn’t the opposite of love. Indifference is.
If you walk into a room and her eyes skim right over you, or if you get a nod and a polite but vacant smile, the deck’s stacked against you.
But if you walk in and the hair stands up on the back of her neck, if her glare shoots daggers straight through you and her skin flushes with anger? Then you’ve still got a chance.”
“A chance for what?”
“To figure it out,” he says.
“Figure what out?”
He leans forward, eyes sharp. “A woman doesn’t hold on to that kind of rage for no reason. As long as she’s holding on to it, you’ve got an opportunity. An opportunity to figure out what’s got her so tied up. And if you loosen that knot so she can let it go … ooh-wee.”
I snort. “You giving me women advice now, old man?”
“I’m giving you life advice, son.” He claps my shoulder.
“Life can be hard. Cruel. It’ll take everything that means anything to you.
But if you’re lucky enough to have a good woman by your side—one who won’t quit on you and, more importantly, one who won’t let you quit on yourself—you’ll be the wealthiest man alive, no matter what hand you’re dealt. ”
He smiles. “And you’ll always land back on your feet. Because she won’t let you end up anywhere else.”
“Not everyone can find their own Priscilla Ludlow,” I say.
“Nah, the good Lord broke the mold when he made that woman,” he says, and then his eyes come to mine. “But those Storm girls? I’d say he did a mighty fine job, fashioning those young ladies too. And a man would be damn lucky to end up with one of them by his side.”
“Caison did,” I say.
He nods. “He did. And I’d like to think I had something to do with that.”
I shake my head. “The way I heard it told, you were the villain in that story.”
“That’s the thing about villains, son. Sometimes, the villain is just the hero in disguise.”
That makes me laugh out loud.
“So, Thanksgiving at Wildhaven Storm, yes?” he asks as he stands.
“Count us in,” I say. “Surely, they won’t try and poison me with Ruby by my side.”
He clasps my shoulder. “Probably not.”