36. Josephine
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Josephine
I wake before the sun has fully risen.
The room sits in that strange space between night and morning, washed in soft blue light filtering through the curtains. I blink against the unfamiliar ceiling before memory catches up.
Then I become aware of the warmth beside me.
Clay.
His arm rests heavily across my waist, his chest pressed against my back, each breath stirring the hair at my neck.
I lie still.
Yesterday comes back in pieces. The drive home, the conversation that changed everything, the way he'd looked at the ultrasound picture as though it was the most important thing he'd ever seen.
The way he'd chosen us.
A knot forms in my throat before I can stop it.
For weeks, I'd prepared myself for every possible outcome. I'd braced for anger, prepared for shock, and even considered the possibility that he'd feel nothing at all.
None of this had made it into those late-night disaster scenarios I'd rehearsed. Clay talking about the babies. Clay looking relieved. Clay acting as though coming home had become the easiest decision in the world.
I feel bad. I know he was in a bad place every time I tried to tell him, but that doesn’t ease the guilt at all.
We still have a lot of work to do.
Carefully, I turn my head.
Clay's still asleep.
The hard lines he usually carries are gone, softened by exhaustion. His dark hair has fallen across his forehead, and one hand is curled loosely against the mattress. The bruise beneath his jaw is fading now, leaving only a faint shadow behind.
He looks younger this way, stripped of the constant tension he wears around everyone else.
My chest tightens unexpectedly.
I should get up.
The clinic will be busy, and if I stay here much longer, somebody in this house is bound to see me sneaking out of Clay's room looking guilty.
That thought alone is enough to send a fresh wave of embarrassment through me.
The challenge, unfortunately, is escaping.
Slowly, I reach for his wrist and begin lifting his arm.
Clay immediately pulls me closer. His grip loosens again a few seconds later, though not by much. I wait until his breathing settles before trying a second time.
This attempt goes better.
Bit by bit, I slide free and ease toward the edge of the mattress.
A floorboard creaks beneath my foot.
I freeze.
Clay shifts onto his back with a low murmur and drags a hand across his face.
My heart pounds so hard I'm certain it should wake him.
Instead, he settles deeper into the pillow.
Relief washes through me.
"You're impossible," I whisper.
He remains blissfully unconscious.
I gather my clothes from around the room and pull them on as quietly as I can. By the time I'm dressed, the first hints of gold have begun creeping through the curtains.
The sight stops me before I reach the door.
Clay is still asleep, one arm stretched across the empty side of the bed.
Last night, that sight would have terrified me.
This morning, it doesn't.
The future is still uncertain. There are still twins to prepare for, difficult conversations ahead, and more fears than I know what to do with.
But this is the first morning I don’t feel buried beneath it all.
Before I can talk myself out of it, I cross the room and lean down.
My lips brush his forehead.
A simple kiss.
The corner of his mouth lifts slightly.
Whether he's awake enough to know I'm there or not, I can't tell.
I only know the sight leaves warmth blooming through my chest.
Then I slip from the room and head downstairs before the rest of the McCoy family wakes up and discovers exactly where I've spent the night.
By the time I'm leaving for work, Buckhorn is only beginning to wake up. The streets are quiet except for a few ranch trucks and Martha Lou sweeping the sidewalk outside Spurs Diner.
She spots me crossing Main Street. "Morning, hon."
"Morning."
"You look tired."
"Thank you."
"That wasn't a compliment."
"I gathered."
Martha Lou nods approvingly. "Good. Means you're still smart."
I shake my head and continue toward the clinic while she cackles behind me.
The morning at the clinic starts busy and somehow gets worse from there. A border collie with a torn paw. A horse with an infected eye. Three vaccination appointments. A goat that escapes an examination room and turns fifteen minutes of the morning into a full-scale manhunt.
By ten thirty, I'm crouched beneath Dr. Harris's desk attempting to retrieve the world's least cooperative goat. "Come on."
The goat fixes me with a look of stubborn conviction. I return the favor.
Neither of us moves.
Dr. Harris sips coffee. "You're losing."
"I am not."
"You've been negotiating with livestock for seven minutes."
The goat sneezes.
Dr. Harris laughs. "That looked like confidence."
I narrow my eyes at the animal.
The goat immediately bolts past me.
"Traitor."
Dr. Harris laughs so hard he nearly spills coffee down his shirt.
Eventually normalcy returns.
At least externally.
Inside my head is another story entirely. Every quiet moment creates room for thoughts I don't particularly want.
Maybe yesterday was fueled by relief and adrenaline.
Maybe next week he'll wake up and realize he's made a mistake. Maybe all of this feels easier because the babies have turned everything into an emergency worth solving. I’ve spent most of my life watching people make promises they meant in the moment.
That didn't stop them from leaving later.
The thought follows me through lunch.
Penny notices immediately.
She's already waiting at the Rusty Mug when I arrive, occupying an entire booth despite being one person. "Well, that's the face of a woman about to overthink herself into a crater."
I slide into the seat opposite her. "That's your greeting?"
"You've got that look again. The one where your brain's chewing on its own tail."
"I do not."
"You absolutely do."
Laura appears beside the table carrying two iced teas. "She does.”
I look between them. "Have you both been discussing my facial expressions?"
Laura sets down the drinks. "We're a small town. Privacy's more of a rumor than a rule."
"That feels invasive."
"It's meant affectionately."
Penny points her straw at me. "See? Stress face."
I sigh. "Fine."
"Thank goodness." Penny throws both hands in the air. "I've been waiting six whole minutes."
"I'll give you two privacy before she starts drawing diagrams," Laura says and walks away laughing.
Penny immediately leans forward. "Okay. Tell me."
I pick at the paper wrapper around my straw. "He came back with us. To Buckhorn, to stay. Everything's fine."
She waits.
Eventually I crack. "I don't know if everything's fine."
"There she is."
I roll my eyes.
Penny softens immediately. "You think he's going to leave again."
The fact she guesses it so quickly makes my stomach sink. "Maybe."
"Maybe isn't the same thing as definitely."
"No."
"But it's where your brain lives."
Unfortunately, she's right.
I stare out the café window toward Main Street. A pickup rolls past. Someone waves at somebody else. Life keeps moving.
Meanwhile, I'm carrying twins and questioning every life choice I've made in the last four months.
"What if this is another impulse?" I ask quietly.
Penny's expression grows thoughtful. For once, she doesn't answer immediately. "I don't know."
The honesty surprises me. "I was hoping for a speech."
"Oh, I can absolutely make one up if you'd like."
"Penny."
She smiles apologetically. "I mean it, Josie. I don't know."
I appreciate that more than false reassurance.
She stirs her drink. "People can surprise you."
"They can also make you wish you'd trusted a raccoon with your bank account."
"Also true."
"You're not helping."
"I'm trying to avoid lying."
I huff out a laugh.
Penny points triumphantly. "See? That's why we're friends."
"You say alarming things and then call it wisdom."
"It's a gift."
She grows serious again. "I do know one thing."
I lift an eyebrow.
"Clay looked miserable before."
My chest tightens. "He did."
"And every time somebody mentioned you, he looked slightly less miserable."
I glance down at my drink. "That's hardly scientific."
"No, but I've watched enough bad reality television to recognize a man in trouble."
"Penny."
"I'm serious." She leans forward. "Maybe this crashes and burns."
Not exactly encouraging. "Thanks."
"Maybe it doesn't."
I fall quiet.
Outside, somebody parks badly enough to require three separate attempts.
Buckhorn entertainment.
Penny reaches across the table and squeezes my wrist. "You don't have to decide today whether he'll still be here in ten years."
The simple truth of it settles somewhere inside me.
No, I don't. I only have today. And today, Clay is home.
When lunch ends, I walk back toward the clinic feeling a little lighter.
By two o'clock, I'm standing in an exam room waiting for test results when my phone buzzes in my pocket.
I pull it out automatically.
A text from Clay.
Clay: How many goats have escaped today?
The corners of my mouth betray me immediately.
Josie: One.
Three dots appear instantly.
Clay: Amateur numbers.
Josie: Says the man who nearly got dragged through a fence by a calf.
Clay: That calf cheated.
Josie: That's not how calves work.
Clay: You weren't there.
I bite back a laugh.
Dr. Harris glances over from his paperwork. "Good news?"
"Possibly."
His grin widens. "Ah."
I ignore him.
Clay: How's work?
Josie: Busy.
Clay: You taking care of yourself?
The question catches me off guard.
Josie: Yes.
A pause.
Clay: That's a lie.
I stare at the screen.
Josie: Excuse me?
Clay: You answer questions the same way I do when I'm avoiding them.
My cheeks warm.
Annoyingly accurate.
Josie: I ate lunch.
Clay: Voluntarily?
Josie: Mostly.
Clay: Proud of you.
I shouldn't enjoy that as much as I do.
The afternoon passes faster after that.
Messages arrive between appointments.
Clay: Nash tried to convince me twins need matching saddles.
Josie: They aren't horses.
Clay: I told him that.
Josie: Did you?
Clay: Eventually.
I laugh in the middle of the treatment room.
The golden retriever I'm examining wags his tail.
At four o'clock, another text arrives.
Clay: What are you wearing?
I stop walking. Then stare at the screen. Then stare some more.
My pulse jumps hard enough to make me reread the message.
Josie: Excuse me?
Clay: Professional question.
Josie: I don't believe that.
Clay: Scrubs?
Josie: Yes.
Clay: That's disappointing.
Heat crawls into my cheeks.
Josie: Why?
The reply comes almost instantly.
Clay: Been thinking about that sweatshirt from yesterday all day.
I nearly walk into a supply cabinet.
Fantastic. Exactly what I needed in the middle of a workday.
Josie: You need hobbies.
Clay: I had hobbies.
Josie: And?
Clay: Turns out I prefer thinking about you.
The butterflies are becoming a genuine problem.
I duck into an empty office before anyone can witness my embarrassment.
Josie: That's dangerously smooth.
Clay: Thank you.
Josie: It wasn't a compliment.
Clay: You're smiling though.
The worst part?
He's right.
Completely right.
I sink into a chair and shake my head.
Josie: Your ego is recovering nicely.
Clay: Wait until you see me limping around town tomorrow.
Josie: That's not reassuring.
Clay: You can supervise me.
Josie: That sounds exhausting.
Clay: You still coming over after work?
My thumb pauses above the screen.
The question knots my stomach harder than it should.
A week ago, I wasn't sure he'd answer a phone call.
Now he's asking if I'll be there after work as though we've already figured out what comes next.
A reluctant smile pulls at my mouth.
I type back before I can overthink it again.
Josie: Yes.
The response appears quickly.
Clay: Good.
I stare at that single word longer than I should.
Then I tuck my phone away and head back to work.
The knot that's been riding beneath my ribs all day finally eases.
Maybe tomorrow will be complicated. Maybe next month will be terrifying. Maybe none of this comes with guarantees.
But when my phone buzzes again a minute later, I already know it's him.
And for now, that's enough.