Chapter 5
CHAPTER FIVE
DELLA
It takes a while to get settled into a routine with a new baby in the family.
For the first month, I spend a lot of time with Delia.
Then, ranch life quiets down a bit, and Jon is home more often.
They’re adjusting to having their own family, so I pull back and let them figure it out.
This is all I ever wanted for any of my kids in the end.
Landis is still single, which is also alright, but I don’t really understand it.
He’s a nice looking, charismatic young man, and I raised him right, but there’s a hint of sadness to him that worries me.
I don’t like seeing him leave the manager’s house and walk across the field alone.
I hope for the day I look over and see his sweetheart sitting out on the porch with him.
It's autumn, the first chill setting in when I find a moment to myself. I honestly thought things would slow down when my children grew up and moved out, but my phone still rings at all hours of the day with somebody needing something. That’s alright—I’d much rather have that than my kids not wanting to be around me.
But it is nice to have an afternoon without responsibilities.
Delia is at home with Toby for Jon’s day off.
Julie-Mae is down at the clerk’s office, working some overtime.
I’m not sure what Landis is doing, but it’s something in the barn involving a large trash can and a lot of swearing.
That leaves me free to take my car down to Knifely.
The cafe on main street belongs to Freya, Deacon’s wife.
I climb the stone steps and push open the door, greeted by the scent of cinnamon.
Freya hovers behind the counter, dark curls braided down her back.
She’s in her usual attire, a big green sweater falling off her shoulder and woolen tights peeking out between her skirt and boots.
The minute she sees me, her face lights up.
“Thought you’d come by,” she says, turning off the espresso wand and setting a teacup down.
“First hint of cool air, and I can’t keep away.” I lay my purse down on the table and lean over the wooden counter. “What’re you up to?”
She picks up the teacup, lifting it. It’s light blue with intricate designs around the rim.
“I’m trying to replace the mugs,” she says, brows creasing. “We just got these in yesterday.”
“I think they’re pretty,” I say. “But blue? Not green?”
“I’m trying to be unpredictable,” she say, smiling. “But I think they’re a bit small.”
“Does size matter?”
“For coffee cups, it does.”
We both laugh, and she pushes the latte across the table to me. I have a sip—caramel, almond milk, two shots of espresso. Perfect.
“I guess you heard the gossip?” she says, grabbing another tea cup and some milk from the fridge.
“About Gage and Julie-Mae?”
She nods. “How do you feel about that?”
“I think they’re cute together,” I say. “He’s a nice boy.”
She gives me a look, shutting off the espresso machine and pouring a swirl of milk into her cup. “He’s got it together when it comes to work, but I’d be lying if I said he doesn’t have a lot of his father in him. Just doesn’t like going with the flow.”
“I think it’s alright if he ends up like Deacon,” I say, glancing around. “Look at you. I’d be happy if Julie-Mae was half as well taken care of as you. You have a ranch, a good family, and your own business.”
“I am pretty comfortable,” she says, circling the counter, cup in hand.
“The kids are alright,” I say.
She smiles, hand on her hip. “Yeah, I think so. Now, are you all coming down for the fall festival?”
“When is it again?”
“October, first weekend.”
“Yeah, I think so.” I nod, walking to the big front window to look out over the street. “Toby should be big enough to come out, if Delia feels comfortable with it.”
“Oh yeah? How’s he doing?”
“Couldn’t be better.”
We chat for a while, about the fall festival, about the kids, about the remodeling I’m still doing upstairs.
Then, a group of farmers come in, and they all want coffee and pastries to go.
I hug Freya and head out, taking the long walk back to city parking so I can stop by and pick up some flowers from the farmer’s market.
They’ve got fall blooms now, gold and red.
I grab a handful for myself and another for the girls before I get on the road.
Back at the house, I walk into the hall to the sound of the percolator bubbling. It’s the same damn one Jensen made me coffee in when I met him. Old as the hills, strong as steel. He won’t drink coffee from anything else, and he’s raised his children to do the same.
Landis sits at the table, a faded envelope in his hand. I set my purse down, handing over a bag of leftover pastries Freya sent home. He dips his head but doesn’t open them.
That’s strange.
“You okay?” I ask lightly, shifting my bundle of flowers from my arms and laying them on the countertop.
He nods, eyelids lowered. “I was cleaning out the loft in the barn and ended up going through the plastic containers we have out there. Found some photographs.”
“Oh.” I sink down, staring at the envelope.
“Sorry, I wasn’t trying to pry,” he says. “I know this isn’t your favorite topic.”
“It’s okay,” I say. “I’ll always discuss it with you, whenever.”
His jaw works. I pick up the envelope, fingers hesitating.
Then, I reach inside and take out a handful of photos.
There’s baby photos of everyone but Landis—we lost his in the fire.
Toddler pictures of him and the girls, photos of their first days at school, their proms, their graduations.
I sort through them until I find the photo I know he saw.
I set it down. “Is this it?”
He turns it right-side up, frowning. “Who is that?”
“It’s complicated,” I say.
His brows knit. “Is that my biological dad? Because why do they look like they’re friends?”
I laugh out loud, unable to bite it back. He glances up, startled, and I compose myself.
“No, that’s your father’s friend,” I say. “Enemy sometimes. They were very close at one point but not anymore.”
“But who is he?” he says.
Jensen isn’t going to like this, but I understand at that moment why there’s a little bit of sadness around my son. He’s from the mountains, even if he didn’t grow up in them, and there’s an ache deep in his bones that calls him back. I lean in, planting my elbows on the table.
“When your dad was young, he didn’t have much,” I say carefully. “He fell in with some people who weren’t good for him. That man was…sort of an organized crime lord, I guess. Not really anyway else to describe it.”
He stares at the photo for a long time. “So Dad’s got a rap sheet?”
“No, never got caught.”
He laughs, shoulders easing up. “That doesn’t surprise me, I guess.”
I reach out and pat his hand, but he doesn’t move.
Landis knows his biological father died in a fire the night I stole him away and ran off with Jensen to Montana, but I never told him it was me who killed Leland first and left the flames to eat up the evidence.
Maybe I owe him the truth, or maybe he needs to figure things out for himself.
I sometimes worry he’ll hate me if he knows. He wouldn’t understand at his age how far a young mother was willing to go to get her baby back into her arms—or that I would do it again if it got down to it.
“You good, Mom?” He leans in, brow furrowed.
I nod, tucking my hair back. “Yeah, I just don’t always like thinking about this. But that doesn’t mean it’s not important to talk about sometimes.”
He looks at me, and I can see the gears turning in his head.
“Penny for your thoughts?” I say, smiling weakly.
He shrugs. “I don’t know. Dad wouldn’t like my thoughts.”
“Well, try me.”
He sighs. “Sometimes…I think I need to go back and just see it.”
My stomach sinks, down to somewhere below the floor. Hell, maybe.
“What do you mean?” I whisper.
He’s staring at the opposite wall, eyes narrowed. “I’ve heard you and Dad talk about the mountains, about the bluegrass. And I’ve done my own looking into it. But it isn’t just that it looks interesting. It’s this…pull.”
I take his hand, holding it tight. “I get that,” I say in my bravest voice.
“Do you?” He meets my eyes, raw emotion spilling out.
“Of course,” I say. “It’s the most beautiful place on Earth. But your father and I had too many bad things happen there. We needed a fresh start.”
“Maybe it could be my fresh start.”
I don’t tell him he’s not looking for a fresh start, he’s just looking for a start.
I’ve watched my son grow up and become a man, and I’ve watched his life stall out.
Maybe he doesn’t know it, but I see him from the upstairs window, standing at the edge of the field, watching the sunset.
Like he’s about to just walk off and keep on walking until he finds a place to call home.
That makes me want to cry, but this isn’t about me.
“I think that’s something to think about carefully,” I say after a while.
He nods. “I know. I’m thinking. Won’t do anything reckless.”
“I know you won’t.”
I’m not sure I handled this right. It kind of seems like he’s shutting down now.
We talk for a while longer, but the conversation is surface level.
Finally, he gets up and says he needs to finish some chores.
I tell him to take the pastries from the cafe with him.
He hugs me, and I watch him leave, standing with my nose pressed into the screen door.
Sometimes, I still feel small, uncertain. But that’s just life. I don’t think we ever grow up all the way.
That night, after dinner, I wash my face and sit down at my vanity in the bathroom.
It’s beautiful, made of wood from the ranch and painted slate blue.
I pull up my hair, tucking the bit of gray behind my ear.
My face looks a little different than it did back then, when Landis was small.
But my eyes will always have the same fire. That comes from the mountains.
It’s the fire burning up Landis too.