Chapter 47
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
DELLA
A YEAR LATER
The rocking chair creaks gently. Through the window comes a faint breeze that smells like the fields will need to be hayed soon.
A little scuffle comes from the windowsill, then through the open window, a wren pokes its head.
I stop rocking with my bare foot and watch.
Carefully, it looks around. Then, it’s gone, darting away in the sunlight.
There’s a quiet cry from the bundle in my arms. I shift her with my elbow, tucking the front of my dress closed. My daughter is just a few months old, already the perfect addition to our family. I lift her, supporting her head, and lay her against my shoulder.
“Delia Rose,” I whisper. “You are beautiful.”
She blinks, looking up at me with her daddy’s eyes.
We named her after my father’s two grandmothers.
I looked at those graves so many times, all the names are burned into my brain.
Jensen, knowing I never got a hand in naming Landis, told me to pick out what I liked. It’s enough she’s a Childress, he said.
I love that she looks like him, that she’s got his eyes, his surname. They both get the same crease in their forehead when they’re angry. It fills me with overwhelming happiness every time I see it.
We rock until she falls asleep, snoring just like her father. Working carefully, I transfer her to the crib. I close the window, tiptoe over to turn on the fan, and slip out of the room to head for the kitchen.
The kitchen is different than it was when we met.
Now, it’s pale sage green with sanded pine baseboards.
When I moved in, Jensen let me do whatever I wanted.
We sketched out plans to renovate on the back of junk mail because he didn’t have anything else, late one night, spread out on the bedroom floor.
I was on my back, feeling the first kicks from Delia, letting him talk about construction late into the night.
I felt like the richest woman in the world.
Crash.
I jump, freezing. The side door to the left of the kitchen leads out to the attached garage. It’s halfway open, and through it comes a frustrated grunt. I know what that is—that’s what my husband sounds like when he’s trying not to swear in front of Landis.
Biting back a smile, I make a cup of black coffee and carry it to the door.
Through it, I can see into the garage. Chicken is sleeping on his back on the doormat, twitching and snoring.
Parked in the middle is an ancient truck that Brothers Boyd sent to Jensen a few months after he visited Kentucky for the last time.
It’s a rust bucket, more parts broken than fixed.
They couldn’t work on it during the winter, but now that it’s warm out, they’ve been messing with it a few nights a week.
Landis loves it, especially when it means he can stay up late.
“You want some coffee?” I call out.
Jensen rolls out from underneath, on his back on a board on wheels. Right alongside him comes Landis on his child-sized board. He’s wearing goggles far too big for him. He tries to take them off, but they get stuck on his nose.
“Come here,” Jensen says, pulling him over and working the goggles off. He sets them aside and accepts the coffee.
“Can I have coffee?” Landis says.
“Nope,” Jensen says, reaching out to ruffle his hair. “You’ve got all the energy you need as it is.”
All the cracks in my heart mend every time I see them together.
It only took a few months for Landis to start following Jensen around like a lost puppy.
Leland rarely interacted with him except at dinner, so the prospect of a man spending time with him, especially one who knows as many neat things as Jensen does, was a whole new world.
I kept apologizing to Jensen for how Landis was shadowing him, talking a mile a minute.
“I’m sorry. He’s just really taken with you,” I said.
He kissed my forehead. “You want me to be his father or not?”
Sniffing, I nodded. “Yeah, I do.”
“Then don’t apologize.”
That healed me. It made me realize having a son from my first marriage isn’t a negative to him, it’s a bonus. The more I watched them together, the more I realized Landis might be the best thing to ever happen to Jensen after what he went through.
“Can I have some of that cake from the fridge?” Landis says, interrupting me from my thoughts.
“Nope. It’s almost dinner,” I say.
Jensen stands, coffee in hand. “What’s for dinner?”
“Pork belly,” I say. “Greens and rice.”
He gives me a look that says everything without him having to speak a word. Draining the mug, he hands it back.
“We’re just finishing up in here,” he says. “I’ll get Landis cleaned up when we’re done.”
“Yeah, Mom, we’re fixing the carburetor,” says Landis, sitting back down on his board.
I open my mouth, but he snaps his goggles on and lifts a hand.
“Don’t worry. It’s okay if you don’t know what that is,” he says.
My jaw drops. Jensen is biting the inside of his cheek so hard, it hallows. The way my son has soaked up every ounce of Jensen’s sass is incredible. Landis scoots back under the truck and starts whistling tunelessly. Jensen dips his head, but I see that dimple come out. Lord, do I love seeing it.
“I’m going out to get the greens from the garden,” I say. “I’m leaving the door open. Keep an ear on Delia. The monitor is on the counter.”
I turn, but he catches me, pulling me close and kissing my mouth.
Quick as a flash, he grabs my ass before ducking down and sliding under the truck.
My face is flushed when I go back into the kitchen to make more coffee, this time for myself.
The coffee maker hums, sputtering. The rich scent fills the room as I carry it through the front hall out to the porch.
There’s a truck coming up the drive, hauling a trailer. I squint, shading my eyes. It slides to a halt, and the door busts open, Deacon Ryder stepping out.
I met him a few weeks after Jensen came back.
He’s the human equivalent of a right hook.
Big, bold, tattooed from head to foot, and unashamed of anything.
His wife, Freya, is from Eastern Kentucky, the same as me.
She’s the sweetest thing I’ve ever met, and we hit it off right away.
Together, they own Ryder Ranch, one of the biggest suppliers of top-tier barrel racers in Montana.
Deacon touches the brim of his hat. “Mrs. Childress.”
I smile. I never wanted Leland’s last name, but when I get called by Jensen’s, it makes my toes curl, just thinking about how he’s all mine. It helps he’s got a good, strong mountain name, the kind that makes me proud to be where I’m from.
Deacon opens the side door and lifts Freya out. She’s wearing one of his hats and a sundress, boots on her feet. Usually, she has her baby in her arms, but I don’t see him today.
“Where’s Slate?” I call.
“He’s with Bittern and Janie,” she says. “It’s date night for us.”
That’s her brother and his wife, who live out on Ryder Ranch. I climb down the steps, walking up to where Deacon fusses with something in the back of the truck.
“What brings you all up here on date night then?” I ask.
“Deacon’s got that filly Jensen wanted,” Freya says, jerking her head at the silver trailer.
I put my hands on my hips.
“He didn’t tell me about no filly,” I say, frowning. “Who’s the filly for?”
“Fuck if I know,” says Deacon, sauntering around the trailer and unlatching the door. “Don’t shoot the messenger, shoot your damn husband.”
Freya and I follow him, keeping back so he can swing the door open wide. Inside, there’s a chestnut horse with white socks blinking in the sunlight.
“Oh, she’s pretty,” I say.
“Pretty expensive,” says Jensen, appearing out of nowhere with Landis glued to him like usual. My son stares up at the horse but doesn’t reach for it. He knows better now that Jensen has taught him the ropes of staying safe on the ranch.
“Hey now, you got a friends and family discount,” says Deacon, leading the filly down and out of the trailer. She looks around, ears swiveling.
“What’s she for?” I ask.
Jensen’s hand rests on my waist. “She’s for you, baby.”
“For me?”
He nods. “I was up at Ryder Ranch the other week and saw Deacon working with her. Thought she looked like she might be your horse.”
My jaw is on the floor. I set my coffee aside and step up to the filly, holding my palm out flat.
Of course, I rode a little back home, but not enough to warrant having a horse all to myself.
She dips her head and sniffs my hand, nuzzling it with her prickly nose.
The late afternoon sun hits her just right, making her hair glow red.
“She’s beautiful,” I whisper.
“Yeah, she’s one of my best this year,” says Deacon.
Jensen puts his hand on my elbow. My heart melts in my chest, but I don’t want to embarrass myself in front of Deacon and Freya by crying.
“Y’all want to stay for dinner?” I ask, clearing my throat.
“Nah, there’s a new place in town Freya wanted to check out,” says Deacon. “But we’ll be by Sunday night to check on the filly. We can stay then.”
“Deacon, don’t invite yourself,” Freya chides.
Jensen laughs. “You know you can come by anytime.”
I’m distracted by the filly, a little relieved they aren’t staying tonight.
Inside, I’m overwhelmed. Of course, Jensen has gotten me plenty of things over the last year, the rock glittering on my finger chief among them, but there’s something so sweet about this filly.
Knowing he saw her and thought of me has me choked up.
“We better go, speaking of,” says Freya.
They pile into the truck, leaving us with the filly.
On the way out, Deacon hits the gatepost with the edge of the trailer tire, and Jensen has to go over to inspect it.
Landis follows, imitating the way they’re both standing with their hands on their hips.
They talk for another twenty minutes. I run my hand down the filly’s neck.
She’s blinking, looking around the ranch.
Bored with waiting, I take her into the barn.
There are a few open stalls at the back, one with pasture access.
I clip her to the mounting station and fix up one of the stalls so she can be comfortable until we decide where we want her to stay for good.
Then, carefully because she’s young, I lead her into the stall and slip her halter off, standing back to give her space.
She snorts, dipping her head. Sunlight filters in through the window, catching her brilliant coat.
“You like her, baby?”
I look up to find Jensen leaning on the door, hat pulled low. Lord, him doing sweet things for me gets me more fired up than when he talks dirty, trying to get me upstairs. I go to him, tilting my head back so he can kiss me. He tastes a little bit like the gum between his back teeth.
His mustache tickles. I pull back, tapping the brim of his hat.
“I love her,” I say. “I better go check on Delia though.”
“I’ve got the monitor in my pocket,” he says. “She’s been rustling, but she’s not up yet.”
“Where’s Landis?”
“Back in the garage. I told him to check on Chicken and get him dinner,” he says, opening the stall door to let me out. I start to walk past him, but his arm shoots out and wraps around my waist, pulling me against his body.
“I’ve been thinking,” he says.
“Uh oh.”
“It’s nothing bad. I just wanted to get a timeline on your plans for the next few years.”
I stare, trying to figure out what he’s getting at. “Why? You planning on doing some complicated project?”
“Yeah,” he says. “Planning on doing this pussy.”
“It ain’t that complicated, but you’re welcome to it.”
“Not for me, anyway,” he drawls.
I roll my eyes, hands on his chest. “So what are you wanting to get into?”
“I’m just trying to figure out what you want your family to look like,” he says. “When we might want to have another baby.”
“Oh? What’s got you thinking about that?”
“Deacon’s already talking about it.”
“He’s talking about us having another baby?”
“No, he’s talking about knocking Freya up again. And he’s got some pretty valid points.”
I pull back, hands on my hips. “Oh, really? What points?”
He shrugs. “About staggering out ages and taking into account I’m a fair bit older than you.”
“Well, I’m not ready to get knocked up again,” I say. “But I’m open to it. So come and ask me in about six months, and then we can negotiate. Deal?”
I hold out my hand. His face breaks into that smile I love more than anything, and he shakes my hand. Before I can pull back, he tugs me close, picks me up, and slings me over his shoulder. The world spins as I hang upside down, and I’m blushing like crazy.
He carries me up the front walkway and deposits me in the kitchen. I’m flustered, my hair all messed up. He steps back to peer at Landis through the garage door before pushing me against the fridge to go in for another kiss.
I’m falling hard every day, again and again.
A rustle comes from his pocket, and we break apart, knowing naptime is over. “Go on upstairs and get Delia,” I whisper. “I’ll start dinner.”
He kisses me one more time before heading to the nursery. I lay out my pork belly and start cutting it in chunks, the oil heating up in my big pan. He’s back in a few minutes with Delia in his arms, walking carefully, trying not to jostle his girl.
“I think she’s hungry,” he says.
I wipe my fingers on a rag. “You want to get her a bottle? I pumped earlier.”
He’s already opening the fridge to retrieve it. While it warms, he sinks down at the kitchen table and shifts Delia to his hands. She fits perfectly in them, looking up at him with sleepy eyes.
“I don’t know, but I think we got the cutest baby ever made,” he says.
“I reckon so,” I say.
“Reckon that comes from you,” he says, taking the bottle out of hot water and wiping it on his shirt.
“I think you did some contributing.”
“A few minutes of it, yeah.”
I laugh and shake my head. Landis walks in, talking to Jensen. He wants to hold Delia and help feed her. Jensen says that’s alright, but he’s got to wash all the grease off his hands first. Their conversation dulls to a comforting background sound as I make dinner.
Sometimes, I have moments like this, when I’m fully aware, out of nowhere, that I got everything I want. I don’t have words to describe it, so I just smile and try to soak it all in.
After dinner, I nurse Delia to sleep. Then, I slip downstairs to find Jensen on the porch again, watching the sun make its way down behind the great shadow of Sovereign Mountain.
He holds out his arm, and I sit, leaning into his side.
His fingers stroke through my hair, playing absently with it.
We don’t speak. Jensen and I can go at it like cats and dogs, bantering until the cows come home, but at the end of the day, when my heart is full, we don’t have to say anything at all to be understood.
We’ve always been two halves of each other.
That was all I really wanted in the end.
To be loved, to be known.