Chapter 41
Turkey day
Wes
Sawyer bustles around her kitchen, basting the turkey and mixing the green bean casserole while I finish peeling the potatoes. Pops sits at the table with his cup of coffee, arranging the relish tray in the shape of a turkey—the way Grams always used to do.
We’ve put up a long folding table in her living room, and it’s set with the tablecloth and dishes we always used for holiday dinners when Grams was still alive.
Despite the mouthwatering aroma of turkey and homemade stuffing, my stomach is turning in on itself with nerves.
The thought of breaking the news to Mom and Dad that I'll be taking over the ranch weighs heavy on me. This wasn’t part of their plan, and I have no idea how they'll react.
“Wes, that potato's done. You’re peeling off the good parts.”
I glance down at the potato in my hand, then at the pile of perfectly edible peelings in the trash before giving Sawyer a wry grin. “Sorry.”
She wipes her hands on her apron before teasing the hair at the nape of my neck. “I know you’re nervous. It’s going to be fine. Your parents love you.” She kisses my cheek and then glances around me to Pops. “Tell him I’m right,” she says.
“She’s right. Your parents love you,” Pops mumbles, his mustache twitching in amusement.
She gives me her I told you so look and I rest a hand on her hip, giving it a gentle squeeze. “I know you’re right. It’s the anticipation of how they’ll react that’s killing me.”
The sound of gravel crunching under tires has my insides clenching so hard I might have a coronary.
Sawyer’s gaze swings to the window over the kitchen sink, and she gives my beard a gentle scratch before stealing a quick kiss.
“Looks like you don’t have much longer to wait. Let’s get this over with, hm?”
I nod and trudge over to open the door. Quinn makes it up the porch steps first in her high heels. She throws her arms around me, a bottle of wine in one hand and her designer bag in the other, while Dixie dances at her feet, tail wagging in glee. “Thank God, we made it.”
She smiles at the dog and kneels down to give her the attention she's dying for. "Hi, sweet girl. Aren't you a pretty thing?"
I tilt my head to the side. “Rough drive down?”
She glances over her shoulder before lowering her voice. “Mom and Dad were bickering the whole way here. You know how they are in the car. Mom kept nitpicking his driving and Dad was losing his patience. Next time, I’m driving myself.”
I snort. “Where’s the boyfriend? I thought you were going to ride down with him.”
Her shoulders slump. “He ended up being on call at the clinic, so he couldn’t make it. Please point me toward the corkscrew and the wine glasses because I need a damn drink.”
I step aside, gesturing her toward the kitchen. “Sawyer can help you find what you need.”
Dad stomps up the porch steps. “Good to see you, Wes,” he says, patting me on the shoulder.
He looks back at Mom, whose lips are pursed as she looks over the small house with derision.
She picks her way over the broken-up walkway, trying not to get mud on her heels.
“I’m going to go see if Quinn has that wine open yet. ”
“Honey, it’s so good to see you,” Mom says when she reaches the porch. She leans in and kisses me on the cheek before looking me over like she used to when I was a kid to see if I had any dirt on me before coming into the house.
“What are you looking at me like that for?” I ask with a laugh.
“You’ve got some color in your cheeks, and you don’t look nearly so worried as you did at my party.”
“Well, there’s no chance I’ll be running into Hannah here,” I say, cocking a brow.
“I am sorry. Quinn told me Hannah caused a little tension between you and Sawyer. If I’d known you two were… well, I wouldn’t have invited her to the party.”
I sigh. “I know, Mom. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you I was bringing a date.”
She waves off my apology. “All is forgiven.” She studies me with the scrutinizing gaze of a mother. “You look happy, honey,” she says after a moment of contemplation.
“Yeah. I am happy, Mom.”
She gives me a warm smile. “Well, thank goodness for small blessings. Now, let’s get inside. It’s awfully cold to be standing out here on the porch, not to mention the smell.”
I duck my head and smile. I don’t even notice the smell anymore.
"Honey, your hair could use a trim, and that beard is truly getting out of hand," she says as she brushes past me into the house, and I follow her inside where the smells of turkey and stuffing chase away the smell of the horses.
Once everyone is settled with a glass of wine, Mom pulls a folder from her bag and passes it to Pops.
“Here's the listing agreement for the ranch. Wes fulfilled his end of the deal, and I'm glad it brought you to your senses.”
Of course, Mom has all the paperwork in hand for Pops to sign on the dotted line. I glance towards Pops, whose face is fixed into a look of polite amusement. Sawyer sips her wine in the chair next to me, her eyebrow curving up in quiet entertainment.
“Janine, we haven’t even had the turkey yet,” Dad says, his tone chastising.
“Well, there’s no sense waiting when I have everything ready to go right now,” Mom retorts.
Sawyer’s hand lands on my thigh and Pops coughs, barely masking his chuckle.
I snatch the folder off the table. “Mom, I have something to say.” I hesitate, thoughts scrambling for the right words.
Mom watches me with pursed lips, brows raised expectantly. I drop my gaze to the place setting, my fingers toying with the cloth napkin resting on the plate. The weight of Sawyer’s hand on my knee grounds me, giving me the courage to speak.
“Pops isn’t selling.”
Her brows knit together. “What do you mean, he’s not selling?”
“I mean, I’m taking over Dawson Ranch. I’m staying here in Cottonwood Creek. For good.”
My statement is greeted with tense silence. I don't dare look up, certain I'll find disappointment etched across my parents' faces.
“It’s about damn time,” Dad mutters gruffly.
I pull my gaze from my plate to find him grinning at me in relief.
“What?” I ask.
“You’ve been miserable working for me at the firm. I had half a mind to fire you so you would find something you actually enjoyed instead of rotting away at a desk the rest of your life doing something you hated.”
“I wouldn’t say I hated it,” I argue, even though we both know it's a lie.
Dad snorts. “You hated it." He leans back in his chair, shaking his head. "It’s alright, Wes. I know how much you love the ranch. Part of me always thought you’d find your way back to keep the place alive for another generation.”
“You did?” I blink at him, stunned.
Dad never told me any of this before—never hinted that he knew I wouldn’t be taking over the accounting firm when he retired. Never suggested he expected me to do anything different.
“Of course," he says simply. "But that was a choice I wanted you to make for yourself. Ranching is a tough job. You have to want it.” His eyes are soft and for the first time, I think I see a bit of pride shining through.
I chance a quick look at Mom. Her lips are a thin line, and while Dad isn’t surprised in the least, she still seems to be processing this sudden turn of events.
“Mom?”
Dad wraps an arm around the back of her chair, jolting her back to reality. Her eyes dart between Sawyer and me—our chairs pushed together and hands clasped under the table. Whatever she sees in that moment makes her expression shift, her features softening.
“I’m happy if you’re happy, honey," she finally says. "If the ranch makes you happy, then I’d never try to talk you out of being here.” Her smile looks a little forced, but I imagine that’s because she’s thinking of how she’ll have to come out to the ranch more often now that I’m staying.
But she's trying.
Quinn is quietly gnawing on her lip, but she tosses me a wink when she sees me searching for some reassurance. “Looks like we might start having some more holidays out here now that you’ll be busy working on the ranch, huh?”
“Looks like it,” I say, shooting Pops a glance as I take a drink of my wine. Now that my big news is out of the way, I can finally breathe.
Sawyer joins Mom and Quinn in the kitchen to finish preparing the meal while football plays in the background. By the time the turkey is ready, Dad carves it with Grams’ old carving knife, and we all settle in at the table, the scent of roasted herbs and warm cider filling the house.
“Sawyer, honey, this meal is incredible,” Mom says between bites. “I need to know how you made the stuffing.”
Sawyer smiles. “Thank you, Mrs. Dawson. I’ll get you the recipe.”
“Don’t you ‘Mrs. Dawson’ me, honey. You can call me Janine.” She tosses me a wink.
As the evening winds down, Dad leans back in his chair, his eyes distant. By the time I finish helping Sawyer and Quinn clean up the kitchen, he’s on the couch with Pops, watching the game and talking about the upcoming season—just like old times.
When Mom hints at Sawyer redesigning the living room, Dad decides it’s time to get her back to the city. Pops says a quick goodbye before heading back to Dawson Ranch, no doubt for a long, turkey-induced nap.
I follow my family out the screen door, catching it before it slams on Dixie’s tail. I hug my mom and sister goodbye, and my dad pulls me aside on the porch.
“I want you to know I’m proud of you,” he says, his voice rough. “I have no doubt you’ll do great things for the ranch.”
“Thanks, Dad.”
He nods, then glances out toward the open fields, his expression turning wistful. “Take care of Pops for me, alright?”
My throat tightens. “Yeah, I will.”
Satisfied, he claps me on the shoulder before stomping down the porch steps to where Mom and Quinn are waiting.
As their car disappears down the long driveway, Sawyer threads her fingers through mine and leans her head against my shoulder.
I press a kiss to the top of her head, wrapping my arms around her. “You ready, Red?”
She hums in contentment, resting her head on my chest. “Ready for what?”
“I’ve been dying to have you since you rolled out of bed this morning to put the turkey in.”
She tilts her head up, smirking. “Is that so?”
“Mm-hmm.”
Her eyes gleam with mischief. “What if I said if you want me, you’re gonna have to catch me first?”
I grin. “I’d say you better run, Red.”
With a giggle, she takes off across the yard, her laughter ringing through the chilly night air. I give her a ten-second head start before I chase after her.
And I know, without a doubt, I’ll spend the rest of my life chasing this wild woman.
And that’s exactly how I want it to be.