Chapter 4
Chapter four
Everett
“You remember what Grandaddy used to say, right?”
“He used to say a lot of things, honey,” Mom says with a smile. She reaches to ruffle my hair and I swat at her hand playfully.
“If you can’t fool ‘em with facts, boy, baffle ‘em with bullshit.”
“Ah, yes,” Mom laughs. “My Grandaddy used to say that, too. Probably where yours got it from.”
“Probably,” I hum in agreement. “I was just thinking about it this morning. About him.”
“You miss him,” Mom says. She sighs, coming to sit on the bench beside me and pulling me into a sideways hug. I nod. My throat feels tight and heavy just thinking about it—about him. I daren’t speak.
“I miss him too,” she says after a moment. “Every day.”
Of course she does. Ashton and I lost our grandaddy, but Mom lost her father—the man who raised her, who adored her from day one.
She never knew her mom, who passed shortly after she was born, and her father never remarried.
He spent the rest of his life devoted to two things: his daughter, and his ranch.
Later, he added his grandchildren to that list. With Grandaddy Smith’s passing, Mom was alone—no siblings, no parents, no aunts or uncles or grandparents.
The ranch is hers now. Dad and I work it, with the help of Brooks and his family, and a couple other ranch hands who’ve been with us for decades.
But no one has managed to fill the gaping hole left behind—either on the ranch, in our home, or in our hearts.
Mom and I sit in silence for a while, holding each other. In the distance, cattle vocalise and engines roar. A light breeze rustles the leaves on the trees, and birds sing happily, calling out to each other like they’ve no idea there are two hearts broken on the patio bench.
“I met someone in New York,” I say after a few minutes of quiet.
I’m not sure why I’m telling Mom about the woman I talked to for all of ten minutes and will probably never see again, but meeting Ruth feels like some kind of paradigm shift.
Like my life might not ever be the same, now that I know she exists in the same timeline.
That somewhere out there, she’s living, and we’re sharing the same world.
“Okay,” Mom says. “You met someone, huh?”
“Yeah.” I exhale slowly. “At the airport, on my way home.”
“Explains why Ashton hasn’t taken great delight in telling me first,” Mom says with a smile. “I take it she doesn’t know, either.”
“No, she doesn’t.” It’s not the whole reason why I haven’t told my sister about Ruth, but it’s definitely a good one.
“Are you gonna tell me any more than that, Ev?”
“Huh? Oh.” I guess I got carried away thinking about Ruth. “She’s beautiful. She drinks margaritas. And I think she’s British.”
“You think?”
“I didn’t really ask. She’s not American.”
“You didn’t ask? Everett—”
“Mom, it’s not like that. I was a gentleman, I promise. I sat at the bar by the most beautiful woman I think I’ve ever seen in my life, I bought her a drink, and we talked for a couple minutes. And then I went to catch my plane home, and I assume she did the same.”
“So, who is she?”
“That’s what I mean, Mom. I have no idea, except that her name is Ruth, and I can’t stop thinking about her.”
“Oh, honey. You remember something else Grandaddy always used to say?”
“What’s that?”
“What’s meant to be will always find a way. If she’s meant to be yours, sweetheart, she’ll find her way back into your orbit, or you’ll find your way into hers.”