48. Dallas
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
Dallas
Today is a Spring Branding BBQ day, which means smoke in the air, brisket on the grill, and at least three different families arguing over whether coleslaw is a side dish or a personal attack.
Also… I have a ring in my pocket.
And my daughter is acting as my event coordinator.
“Dad,” Lila whispers, grabbing the hem of my shirt as I pass the mudroom for the third time. “Stop doing that.”
“Doing what?” I ask, even though I already know.
She tilts her head, looking at me as if I’ve asked a stupid question on purpose. “Walking in circles. You’re gonna wear a path into the floor.”
“I’m just checking on things.”
“You checked on things,” she says, counting on her fingers, “fourteen times.”
“That’s not true.”
She squints. “It’s at least fourteen. I stopped counting because it stressed me.”
The truth is, my hands won’t stop moving. I’ve adjusted my hat six times. I’ve patted my pocket so many times, I’ve lost count. I’ve “checked” the cooler twice, which is a weird thing to do considering it’s full of drinks and my problem is not hydration. My problem is… feelings.
And I have a long, complicated history with feelings.
The ranch yard is full in that specific way it only gets twice a year, branding and Christmas, when the whole county remembers we exist and decides to show up hungry. Trucks line the fence. Kids are everywhere, running wildly. There’s a dog under every table hoping somebody drops a hot dog.
Boone stands at the grill because it’s his sacred altar. Rose is nearby with Wyatt on her hip and Ellie orbiting her. Nash is “helping,” which is another way of saying he’s poking the fire with a stick and offering commentary on Boone’s spice rub as if he has any business having opinions.
Clay’s setting up horseshoes with the same focus he uses when he’s in the rodeo ring, which makes everyone else nervous to play because Clay does not do anything halfway.
Mom is in the middle of it all, apron on, hair pinned back, calling people “honey” and “darlin’” while simultaneously running the entire operation with the ruthless efficiency of a military commander.
She’s got three dishes in motion, a baby monitor in her pocket even though Wyatt is literally with Rose, and a list of who brought what taped to the back door.
This is what the Spring Branding BBQ is. The exhale after weeks of work. The moment you look around and realize you survived another season.
And I’m about to make it everybody’s business.
“Where’s Faith?” I ask.
Lila’s face goes bright. “She’s by the tables with Jet and your mom. I told her not to leave.”
I stop short. “You told her—”
“I just said, ‘Don’t go anywhere,’” Lila says. “So she won’t.”
“Lila—”
“I’m helping,” she insists, eyes fierce. “This is important.”
Damn help me, it is.
I follow her gaze.
Faith is standing near the picnic tables, sleeves rolled up, hair pulled into a loose ponytail that keeps slipping, because Faith has never been a woman who stays pinned together for long.
She’s holding her phone up, taking pictures of Ellie doing something ridiculous with a napkin and a pair of sunglasses.
Jet is laughing so hard she has to brace herself on the table, and Faith’s smile is wide enough to make my chest ache.
I still have moments where that hits me out of nowhere. Faith Ross on my porch, in my kitchen, in my daughter’s life. The universe finally decided to quit being a bastard for five minutes and hand me something good.
Faith glances up, catches me watching, and her eyebrows lift in a silent question.
You okay?
I give her a nod.
Lie.
Her expression softens anyway. She’s already decided the answer doesn’t matter because she can see me, and that’s enough.
I swallow hard.
“Okay,” Nash says suddenly, strolling up beside me with a soda in his hand and a grin on his face. “You ready?”
“No,” I say.
“Perfect,” he replies. “That means you’re not dead inside.”
“Can you not?” I mutter.
He claps me on the shoulder. “I’m proud of you, though.”
I look at him. “Don’t get soft on me.”
“Oh, don’t worry,” Nash says. “I’m still going to roast you forever. But I’m proud too.”
Clay walks by carrying a bag of charcoal and pauses just long enough to glance at my face. “You’re pale.”
“Thanks,” I say flatly.
Clay shrugs. “Just… breathe. Don’t do something dumb.”
“That is not encouraging.”
“It’s the best I’ve got,” he says, and keeps walking.
Boone calls from the grill, “If you interrupt brisket service, I will personally bury you in the back pasture.”
“Noted,” I call back.
Mom appears at my elbow, materialized out of sheer willpower. “Dallas McCoy.”
I turn.
She studies my face for a long beat, and her expression shifts in a way that makes my throat tighten. Not amused. Not bossy. Just… soft. She’s seeing something she’s been waiting to see.
“You sure?” she asks quietly.
I don’t pretend not to know what she means.
“Yeah,” I say. My voice comes out rough. “I’m sure.”
Mom nods once. Then she reaches up and smooths the collar of my shirt as if I’m fifteen and headed to a dance. “Alright. Then go do it before you lose your nerve.”
“I’m not losing my nerve.”
Mom gives me a look. “You’re already losing it.”
Fair.
Lila slips her hand into mine, small fingers warm and determined.
“Come on,” she whispers. “Before Uncle Boone ruins it by accident.”
We walk toward the tables, and the closer we get to Faith, the more my heart starts doing that stupid thing where it tries to climb out of my ribs. It’s tired of being inside me and wants to go stand next to her, too.
Faith turns fully when she sees us coming, her smile widening.
“Hey,” she says, eyes flicking to Lila. “What’s up, partner?”
Lila beams. “Nothing. Just… come here.”
Faith laughs, confused. “Okay?”
She steps toward us, and the whole yard leans in. Because small towns are that way. They smell a moment before it happens. They live for it. They pretend they don’t, but they do.
Nash, the traitor, clears his throat loudly and says, “Attention!”
Boone whips his head around. “I swear—”
Nash holds up both hands. “It’s not about brisket.”
Boone narrows his eyes. “It better not be.”
People start turning, conversations fading into curious quiet. Someone actually shushes a kid. Which is how you know it’s serious.
Faith looks around, confused, and then back to me.
“Dallas,” she says slowly. “Why is everyone…”
Lila squeezes my hand.
And I take a breath.
Then another.
And then I do the thing I never thought I’d do again after Belinda.
I drop to one knee in the dirt.
The collective gasp is loud enough to scare a bird out of the cottonwood.
Faith freezes completely.
Her hand flies to her mouth. Her eyes go wide.
“Oh,” she breathes.
“Yeah,” I say, because I’m eloquent.
I pull the ring box from my pocket, and my fingers are still, which surprises me. Everything inside me is shaking, but my hands know what they’re doing.
Faith’s breath stutters.
I open the box.
The ring catches the sunlight, small and bright and real.
Nobody makes a sound.
It’s just us. Dirt under my knee. Smoke in the air. Faith’s face the only thing that matters.
“Faith,” I start. “I had a speech.”
Nash makes a choking sound, trying not to laugh.
I ignore him.
“But you know me,” I continue. “I don’t do speeches. I do… showing up. I do fixing fences and paying bills and making sure the coffee’s hot. I do staying.”
Faith’s eyes fill. A tear slips out and tracks down her cheek, and she doesn’t even wipe it away.
“I didn’t think I’d get this again,” I admit. “I didn’t think my house would ever feel… full. Not like this.”
I swallow hard.
“Then you showed up,” I say. “And you didn’t just fit. You made space. You made Lila laugh like she wasn’t bracing for something bad to happen. You made my mom stop worrying every time she looks at me. You made this ranch feel warmer.”
Faith’s lips part, trembling.
“You made me remember what it feels like to want a future,” I say, and that truth hits me right in the sternum as I say it. “Not because I have to. Not because it’s expected. Because I want it. With you.”
Lila sniffles loudly beside me.
Faith makes a soft sound, trying to hold herself together and failing.
I lift the ring box slightly, letting her see it again, as if she could forget.
“So,” I continue. “Will you marry me? Right in Buckhorn one day. In front of everyone. With brisket breath and smoke in your hair and my daughter looking like she’s about to explode.”
Faith laughs, wet and shaky. “Dallas…”
“Say yes,” Lila whispers fiercely.
Faith drops to her knees in the dirt, too, because she’s never cared about being pristine when something matters. Her hands cup my face, warm and trembling, and her forehead presses to mine.
“Yes,” she whispers.
I exhale so hard it feels like I’ve been holding my breath for months.
“Yes,” she says again. “Yes. I’ll marry you.”
The yard erupts.
Cheers. Whistles. Someone yells, “About time,” and I’m pretty sure it’s Jet.
Mom bursts into tears. Rose is crying. Ellie starts bouncing. Boone shakes his head with a grin. Clay actually smiles, which is basically a miracle.
Nash whoops as if he just won the rodeo.
Faith’s hands are still on my face, her eyes shining. She can’t believe she said it, and also because she’s never said anything more true.
I slide the ring onto her finger.
It fits.
It’s such a stupid thing to feel emotional about. The fit. The simple fact that it belongs there.
Faith stares at it. It’s proof of something bigger than either of us.
Then she looks up at me and smiles.
I stand, pulling her up with me, and she launches into my arms, kissing me hard. No hesitation, no audience awareness, no restraint.
The crowd loses its mind all over again.
When we finally break apart, her cheeks are flushed, her eyes bright, her hair a little messy from the wind and my hands, and she’s standing fully inside her own life.
“I love you,” she whispers.
My throat tightens.
“I love you too,” I say, and it’s not scary. It’s not complicated. It’s just true.
Behind us, Boone clears his throat loudly.
“Alright,” he announces. “Congratulations. Now, everybody, get out of my way. Brisket’s getting cold.”
Nash calls, “Boone’s love language is meat!”
Boone points the tongs as a weapon. “Keep talking, Nash.”
Faith laughs into my chest, and I hold her tighter.
Lila throws her arms around both of us, squeezing, trying to fuse us together with sheer willpower.
“This means you’re gonna live here forever,” Lila declares.
Faith goes soft. “That’s the plan, sweetheart.”
Lila nods, satisfied.
Mom comes in close, wiping at her cheeks, and cups Faith’s face with both hands the way she does when she’s blessing something without saying the word.
“Welcome,” Mom whispers.
Faith’s eyes fill again. “Thank you.”
Rose hugs her. Jet hugs her. Ellie hugs her legs. Nash offers a dramatic bow. Clay claps me on the shoulder hard enough to make my teeth click and mutters, “Good,” because that’s the highest praise he can manage.
And then life rolls back in. Plates being passed, kids yelling, dogs begging, smoke drifting up into the spring sky.
But everything has shifted.
Faith keeps lifting her left hand—she can’t help it—catching the light on her ring, smiling to herself, she’s still trying to believe it’s real.
With her hand in mine.
With my kid tugging my sleeve.
With the whole loud, messy ranch behind us, pretending they’re not emotional while they absolutely are.
And if that isn’t tradition, I don’t know what is.