41. Clay
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
Clay
The second Josie steps into the barn, I start questioning whether this was a good idea.
It isn't because of the cribs. Those are finished.
Boone helped me make sure they're sturdy enough to survive a small tornado, a herd of cattle, or whatever destruction two McCoy kids eventually decide to unleash on the world.
No, the problem is standing beside me.
Josie has spent the last few months trying very hard not to trust me, and I've spent most of the last few years giving people reasons not to. That isn't exactly a combination that inspires confidence.
She follows me deeper into the barn, her boots scuffing softly against the packed dirt floor. Dust drifts through the late afternoon sunlight pouring through the high windows, bathing the barn in gold.
Then she sees them.
Her steps falter before stopping altogether, and I resist the urge to fill the silence.
The urge is there. A nervous joke or a stupid comment to break the tension.
For once, I manage to keep my mouth shut. She deserves space to take this in without me crowding it.
Slowly, she walks toward the cribs.
I watch her fingers trail across the nearest rail, her touch careful enough that you'd think the wood might disappear if she pressed too hard.
The barn settles into silence except for cattle calling from the far pasture.
"You built these?"
Her voice is quiet.
I nod. "Yeah."
She runs her hand over the smooth wood again.
I remember sanding that section three separate times because I couldn't stop imagining tiny hands grabbing onto it one day.
At the time, I'd told myself I was being practical.
Now I know better. Somewhere between measuring boards and sanding edges, the project stopped being furniture.
The realization still catches me off guard every now and then.
Josie moves to the second crib.
Her eyes are shining.
The sight makes my chest tighten.
I've spent years chasing things that disappeared the second I caught them. Rodeo wins, prize money, crowds cheering my name one weekend and forgetting it by the next.
None of it lasted long enough to matter, and none of it gave me anything I could build on.
But watching her stand there, looking at those cribs, I understand why Boone never wanted to leave the ranch. I understand why Dallas talks about his kids the way he does. Why Nash can spend an hour showing strangers pictures of Hailey without realizing nobody asked.
At last, I get it.
The future isn't some vague thing waiting down the road. It's standing right in front of me.
Josie turns toward me. There's so much emotion on her face that it almost knocks the breath out of me. "You really made these."
I rub the back of my neck. "With some supervision."
A watery laugh escapes her. "How much supervision?"
"Enough that Boone threatened to revoke my access to power tools."
That earns a proper laugh.
The sound fills the barn and eases some of the tightness in my chest.
Slowly, I move closer. "I know this doesn't fix everything."
Her eyes lift to mine. I take another step forward, close enough to see tears gathering along her lashes. "Clay..."
I rub the back of my neck. "Brandon called again earlier."
The smile fades from her face so fast my chest tightens. "What did he want?"
"He got offered a job running a national rodeo tour."
Her fingers curl around the rail of the crib. "Oh."
"He wanted me to go with him."
She lowers her eyes to the wood between us, tracing one of the rails with her thumb. "When?"
I move closer until only a couple of feet separate us. "I'm not going."
Her head lifts. "What?"
"I already told him no."
She searches my face, waiting for me to grin and tell her I'm screwing with her.
When I don't, she lets out a breath. "Clay, that's a huge opportunity."
"Yeah."
"You've spent years working toward something like that."
I glance down at the cribs, then back at her. "A few months ago, I would've thrown my bag in the truck before Brandon finished explaining it."
A sad smile tugs at her mouth. "That's what I thought."
"I know."
"You don't have to stay because of me," she says quietly. "Or because of the babies."
A laugh slips out before I can stop it. "Josie, you think Brandon spent twenty minutes pitching that job?"
Her brow furrows.
"He spent forty-five."
That earns me a reluctant smile.
I reach for her hand and thread our fingers together.
"The whole time he was talking, all I could think about was being here.
" Her expression softens. "I kept wondering if you'd eaten lunch.
Whether Boone had talked me into building the cribs wrong.
If the twins were going to inherit your stubborn streak. "
"They absolutely are."
"That's what I'm afraid of."
She laughs, shaking her head.
"I've given you plenty of reasons to doubt me. I spent years thinking freedom meant keeping one foot out the door."
The admission hangs between us.
"I thought staying somewhere meant getting stuck." I glance toward the cribs. "Turns out I had it backwards."
The tears gathering in her eyes nearly undo me.
“Being here doesn't feel confining. Neither do the babies. And loving you certainly doesn't.” I smile. “For the first time in my life, I know exactly where I want to be. I'm falling in love with you, Josie."
The confession leaves me feeling strangely exposed.
As though I've placed my entire future in her hands and waited to see what she'd do with it.
She just looks at me.
Then her entire expression softens. The walls she carries around seem to lower all at once. And I realize she's just as scared as I am.
"Good," she whispers.
I blink.
A laugh escapes me. "Good?"
A smile trembles across her face. "Because I'm falling in love with you too."
Relief crashes through me so suddenly that I have to close my eyes for a second.
I step forward, cup her face, and kiss her.
Dinner at the main house is loud.
Which is normal.
McCoys have never been good at quiet.
Wyatt spends ten minutes explaining a worm he found.
Hailey falls asleep in Nash's arms halfway through dessert.
Brooklyn launches peas off her highchair tray while Faith negotiates peace talks on her behalf.
Rusty steals a dinner roll and disappears under the table before Rose can catch him, while Ellie and Lila belt out a pop song.
It's a circus nobody's trying to control, the kind of chaos that used to make me feel restless, as though I was watching somebody else's life unfold.
Tonight, it doesn't.
Tonight, I laugh when Wyatt insists his worm was three feet long, listen to Nash complain about tourists asking whether horses have feelings, and catch myself watching Josie smile at something Tessa says.
I don't feel like a visitor anymore. For years, every time I came back to Buckhorn, it felt temporary. I was passing through on my way to somewhere else.
Now I'm sitting at the same table I've sat at my entire life, surrounded by the same people, and I don't feel like the brother who left.
I just feel like a McCoy.
The feeling stays with me long after dinner ends.
Eventually everyone drifts home.
The house grows quiet.
I find myself sitting out on the back porch watching darkness settle across the ranch.
The pastures stretch endlessly beneath the moonlight. The barns sit silhouetted against the horizon. Somewhere in the distance, cattle move through the night.
I've looked at this view a thousand times.
Tonight it feels different.
The screen door creaks open behind me.
I don't have to turn around to know it's Mom.
She settles into the chair beside me and hands over a mug of coffee.
That alone makes me suspicious.
Nobody gives you coffee at nine o'clock at night unless they're planning to corner you.
For a while we sit in silence. The crickets fill the darkness. The porch swing rocks gently in the breeze.
Then Mom sighs, and I know exactly what's coming. "You can't keep running from this."
The knot in my stomach appears instantly.
I stare out across the ranch. "Mom—"
"No."
The word is firm enough to stop me.
I glance over.
She's looking at me the same way she used to when I was fifteen and trying to lie my way out of trouble. Patient and completely unimpressed. "The truth doesn't change because you've decided not to listen to it."
I look away again.
Because that's exactly what I've been doing ever since I found that account. Ever since I saw my name written on those papers.
Mom sets her coffee down. Then she says quietly, "Your father left accounts for all four of you."
For a second, I genuinely think I've misheard her.
I turn toward her. "What?"
"He started them while you boys were still kids. He wanted each of you to have something that was yours, separate from the ranch."
Mom looks at me before continuing gently. "Boone received his when he and Rose were starting their family." I blink. "Dallas got his when Lila was younger, and things were difficult. Nash got his when he started expanding the dude ranch."
The porch suddenly feels very still.
I think about all the things I never questioned.
The renovations and land purchases. The opportunities. I just assumed they'd figured it out.
Mom's voice softens. "And yours was waiting until you needed it."
I look down at my hands. "But mine was there for a screw-up, wasn't it?"
Mom's shoulders sag. “You were so young when he died, Clay. Why would he ever think that?”
I push to my feet and pace to the edge of the porch. "He knew Boone would take over the ranch. He knew Dallas would keep everybody organized. Hell, Nash somehow turned talking too much into a successful business model."
Mom snorts despite herself.
I turn back toward her.
"But me?" I spread my hands. "I was the wild one."
Her expression hardens. "You really believe your father looked at that stubborn, reckless streak of yours and thought you were destined to fail?"
I look away toward the pasture. The cattle move through the darkness beyond the fence line.
For years I've had an answer ready for that question.
Tonight it doesn't come nearly as easy.
Mom stands and walks over. "Your father did worry about you."
A bitter laugh slips out. "That's supposed to make me feel better?"
"Yes, actually."
I blink.
She plants a hand on her hip, looking every bit like the woman who raised four stubborn McCoy boys. "Boone stayed close to home. Dallas practically came out of the womb acting forty years old. Nash would've talked his way through any problem you put in front of him."
I rub a hand across my jaw. "And me?"
"You got on a bull and decided that sounded like a career."
I can't help it. A laugh escapes me.
Mom points at me immediately. "Exactly. That look right there. Your father spent half his life terrified you'd break your neck. Not that you’d fail."
She reaches up and squeezes my shoulder.
"The money was there because he believed you'd build a life worth investing in."
For months I've carried this belief around like a stone in my chest. The belief that Dad looked at me differently. That somehow meant he believed in me less.
The realization hits slowly.
He hadn't been preparing for my failure. He'd been preparing for my future.
My throat tightens.
Mom reaches over and squeezes my hand. "Clay."
I close my eyes.
Because suddenly I can see it. Every conversation. Every time Dad tried to push me and got frustrated. Every time he wanted more from me.
Not because he thought I was hopeless.
Because he thought I was capable of more.
I'd spent so many years viewing everything through the lens of my own insecurity that I'd turned love into disappointment.
A painful laugh escapes me. "Jeez."
My voice sounds rough.
After a moment, Mom says quietly, "He was proud of you."
I drag a hand across my face and shake my head.
I finally let myself grieve the years I spent believing I wasn't enough, carrying around a version of my father that wasn't entirely real, and convincing myself I didn't belong here.
Mom squeezes my shoulder. "You've always belonged here."
The words hit harder than the hurt or the doubt ever did. I think I actually believe them.
I look out across the ranch again.
Tomorrow there will still be work to do.
There’ll be babies coming. A house to prepare. A future to build.
There will be mistakes.
There’ll be moments when I have absolutely no idea what I'm doing.
But for once, that doesn't scare me. I spent so long chasing the next thing that I never stopped long enough to notice what I already had.
I already had everything that mattered: a family that never stopped saving me a place at the table, a ranch that welcomed me home no matter how long I'd been gone, a woman who found reasons to believe in me when I wasn't making it easy, and two little kids who'd changed the course of my life before they'd even arrived.