37. Clay
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
Clay
I wake up reaching for her.
My hand finds cool sheets instead.
I squint at the ceiling, caught between sleep and reality as the room slowly comes into focus. Then I roll onto my side and see the empty space beside me.
The disappointment lands harder than I expect. I knew she wouldn't spend the morning tucked beneath my arm, and she didn't owe me that anyway.
It's barely six o'clock.
Josie's a veterinarian. She's probably already halfway through saving some cow, horse, goat, or other creature determined to make her life difficult.
Even so, my gaze drifts back to the dent her head left in the pillow.
The room carries traces of her everywhere. Her shampoo lingers faintly on the sheets. A coffee mug sits abandoned on the dresser.
One of the decorative pillows has somehow ended up on the floor.
A smile tugs at my mouth before I can stop it.
A little bit of this still feels like a dream.
My mind circles the same impossible facts: twins, a future I hadn't planned for, and Josie somehow deciding I deserved another chance despite every reason not to.
I scrub a hand down my face and let out a long breath.
The fear's still there.
Hell, I think it always will be.
Every time I picture those babies, my stomach attempts a full rodeo routine. Twins. Actual twins. Apparently, I'm the kind of man who wakes up one morning and discovers he's getting two babies instead of one.
The thought is still ridiculous enough to make me laugh.
I push myself upright and glance toward the nightstand.
My phone sits beside my wallet.
A new message waits on the screen.
Josie: Didn't want to wake you. Eat breakfast. That's an order.
I stare at the screen longer than necessary before answering.
Clay: Bossy.
The house is quiet when I limp into the kitchen. Dawn hasn't fully arrived yet. Pale blue light spills through the windows while the coffee pot gurgles away on the counter.
I pour myself a mug and stand there staring out toward the pastures.
I still can’t get over the fact that I’m back here. Willingly. Happily. I used to treat Buckhorn like the end of the road.
Every time I came back, I was already thinking about leaving again. The next rodeo, the next town, the next place where nobody expected anything from me.
The circuit made sense because it kept me moving. If I didn't stay long enough to put roots down, I never had to worry about whether I belonged.
I take a sip of coffee and stare out across the ranch.
Funny thing is, every time I left, I ended up missing the same people.
Boone calling to check in even when he pretended he wasn't. Dallas acting like he didn't care what I was doing while somehow keeping track of all of it.
Nash blowing up my phone with stories nobody asked for.
Mama worrying herself sick every time I disappeared.
And Josie...
My mouth curves before I can stop it.
Maybe that's why leaving never felt as good as I wanted it to. No matter where I went, part of me kept looking back here.
Back to the ranch.
Back to my family.
Back to the woman texting me reminders to eat breakfast like she's already figured out I'm incapable of managing basic survival on my own.
I shake my head and laugh into my coffee.
The whole time I thought Buckhorn was the place keeping me stuck.
Turns out it was the place waiting for me to quit running.
The screen door creaks open behind me. "You're standing there brooding, aren't you?"
I glance over my shoulder.
Boone walks in already dressed for work.
"I was reflecting."
"That's just brooding with better marketing."
I flip him off.
He grins.
The annoying thing about Boone is that he only gets more smug when he's right.
He grabs a coffee mug and leans against the counter.
I clear my throat. "You got time?"
Boone immediately narrows his eyes. "That sounds dangerous."
"I need advice."
His eyebrows nearly disappear into his hairline. "Jeez."
"Don't make it weird."
"You asking me for life advice belongs in one of those tabloids at the grocery store."
I regret this already.
Boone chuckles into his coffee. "What do you need?"
I stare down into my mug. The words still feel strange. "How do you do it?"
"Do what?"
"The dad thing."
Boone scratches his jaw and studies the coffee in his mug as if the answer might be floating in there. "You stop thinking about yourself first."
"That sounds difficult."
"It is."
I sigh. "Helpful."
He bumps my shoulder with his. "You'll screw things up."
"Fantastic."
Boone shrugs. "Everybody does. The trick is fixing it afterward. You apologize. You learn. Then you try again."
"That's your big wisdom?"
"It's worked so far."
The front door opens before I can answer.
Wyatt barrels into the kitchen wearing superhero pajamas and one boot.
Only one.
The second boot appears to have vanished entirely.
"Dad!"
Boone catches him automatically before he crashes into a chair. "Morning, buddy."
"I found a worm."
"Congratulations."
"It's huge."
"That seems unlikely."
Wyatt gasps. "Dad."
Boone glances at me. "See?"
"What?"
"Nobody prepares you for the worm conversations."
I snort into my coffee.
Maybe that's the closest thing Boone has to a parenting speech.
A couple hours later, I find Dallas in the ranch office. Because if Boone's version of fatherhood is practical, Dallas's is terrifyingly organized.
He sits behind a mountain of paperwork.
Three spreadsheets are open.
Three.
Who voluntarily looks at three spreadsheets before lunch?
"Dallas."
He glances up. "Morning."
"Need advice."
His pen freezes. "Are we all getting asked?"
"Apparently."
A faint smile appears.
I sit across from him.
Dallas studies me for a second. "Okay."
I lean back. "What do I need to know?"
"You need to stop treating responsibility as a punishment."
That one lands squarely in the center of my chest.
Dallas notices. "Kids aren't something that happens to your life."
I stare at the desk.
He continues quietly. "They become your life."
My mind jumps to Josie sitting alone at appointments, building budgets and making plans while assuming I'd never stick around long enough to help.
Because she assumed I'd leave.
The guilt still stings.
Dallas closes a folder. "Look."
I glance up.
His expression has softened. "You're already asking questions."
"That's enough?"
"It's more than some people do."
I let out a slow breath.
Maybe it is.
Around lunchtime, I find Nash at the dude ranch.
Finding Nash is easy. Hearing him is easier. His voice carries across approximately three counties.
"That's not how horses work, Kevin!"
A tourist looks alarmed.
Nash sighs dramatically. "Why do people come to ranches without understanding livestock?" He spots me. "Clay!"
The tourist escapes immediately.
Smart man.
Nash slings an arm around my shoulders before remembering my leg. "Right. You're fragile."
"I'm not fragile."
Nash grins. "What do you need?"
Apparently, word travels fast.
I glance around. "Fatherhood advice."
His entire face lights up.
This was a mistake.
A huge mistake.
Nash immediately starts walking. "I've got thoughts.”
"That's what I'm afraid of."
He ignores me. "The trick is acting like you know what's happening."
"You never know what's happening."
"And yet people keep trusting me with responsibilities."
I stare at him.
Nash points triumphantly. "They can't tell."
"Children absolutely can."
"Hailey can't."
"She's four months old."
"See?"
I rub my forehead.
Nash laughs.
Then his expression grows unexpectedly sincere. "Just love them."
I glance over.
He shrugs. "Everything else you figure out."
It should feel too simple to be useful, but somehow it sticks anyway.
Later that afternoon, I find Mom in the garden.
She's pruning roses with enough intensity to make me nervous. "You got a minute?"
She glances up. "Of course."
I lower myself onto the bench beside her.
We sit together while she trims roses and I search for a place to start. The wind moves through the trees. Somewhere in the distance, Rusty barks at absolutely nothing. Probably winning the argument too.
Mom clips another rose stem. "You're thinking hard."
"Everybody keeps saying that."
"Because it's true."
Fair.
I stare out across the yard.
Then finally say it. "Josie's pregnant."
The shears stop.
Mom slowly lowers them. "I know."
I blink. "What?"
She gives me a look. "Clay."
Right.
Small town. Family. Women who communicate at supernatural speeds. Forgot about that.
A smile touches her mouth. "Twins."
I groan. "Everybody knows everything."
Mom lets out a laugh and shakes her head. Then she reaches over and squeezes my hand. The gesture catches me off guard. "I'm happy for you."
I hadn't realized how badly I needed to hear that until she said it. Because for months I've been convinced everybody expected me to fail.
Maybe part of me still believes it.
Mom studies my face. "You're scared."
"Very."
"Good."
I frown. "That's becoming a weirdly common response."
"It means you're taking it seriously." She goes back to trimming roses. "The money wasn't what you thought."
My stomach immediately tightens.
There it is. The conversation I've been avoiding.
I stand before she can continue.
Mom sighs. "Clay."
"Not today."
"Your father—"
"I said not today."
The words hang there. Regret arrives before either of us speaks again.
Mom sets the shears down. "I'm not trying to fight with you."
I rub the back of my neck. "I know."
"Then stop running from it."
The irony almost makes me laugh.
Instead, I kiss her cheek. "I'll talk about it later."
Mom gives me a look that says she knows exactly what I'm doing.
The barn is quiet when I walk in later. Dust hangs in shafts of afternoon sunlight. The familiar smell of hay and wood wraps around me instantly.
The noise that's been rattling around my head all day finally eases.
I know exactly what I want to do.
An hour later, lumber is spread across a workbench. Measurements cover three different scraps of paper. A pencil sits behind my ear. And I am staring at instructions upside down.
"Need help?"
I glance up.
Boone stands in the doorway.
"You built cribs before?"
"Four times."
"Show off."
He walks over.
His eyes drop to the wood.
Then back to me.
A grin spreads across his face. "You started already."
I look down at the boards and the plans scattered across the bench, at a future beginning to take shape beneath my hands. "Yeah, I want to be ready for them."