Chapter Two
Matty and I make our way outside.
It’s a perfect Wyoming night. A darkening deep blue sky stretches forever over the ranch, like God painted it just for us.
The sun dipped behind the mountains a little over an hour ago, leaving a streak of peach and lavender along the horizon.
Fireflies blink in the tall grass around the pasture, and the air smells like smoke and fresh-cut hay.
I stand at the edge of the bonfire pit, a red Solo cup in my hand, and try to memorize the moment. The crackle of flames. The sound of laughter drifting across the yard. The glow of string lights. The silhouettes of my family and friends moving through the warm night.
After four years of making the trek to and from school while helping my sisters navigate their complicated relationships, I’m finally back where I belong.
And tonight feels like the start of my own complicated story.
“Earth to Harleigh.”
I blink and turn just as Shelby bumps my shoulder with hers.
She’s grinning, cheeks flushed from the firelight, her blonde hair pulled into a messy braid over one shoulder.
“What has you staring off into the distance like you’re contemplating the meaning of life?”
I snort. “I’m not doing that.”
“You certainly are,” she says. “And you look way too serious for the guest of honor. Come on. Let’s get drunk and celebrate.”
She lifts her beer and gestures toward the yard.
The place is packed.
Half of Wildhaven showed up tonight. Ranch hands, neighbors, old schoolmates, random people who probably heard the words bonfire and free beer.
Daddy is sitting on the porch with Imma Jean and Uncle Boone.
Charli’s at the drink table, mixing something in a cocktail shaker.
Grandma is perched in a lawn chair, wrapped in a blanket despite the warm night, watching everything with those sharp blue eyes.
And Matty is seated on a cushioned patio chair near the fire.
She’s smiling as she chats with a few of the new ranch hands, but she also looks tired.
Very, very tired.
And very emotional.
Her husband, Caison Galloway—who she married on a cool afternoon two months ago in this very spot—hovers beside her like a six-foot-three golden retriever who’s convinced someone might steal his favorite chew toy.
He keeps adjusting her blanket.
Refilling her tea glass.
And fluffing the pillow behind her back.
“Case,” Waylon calls from the cooler, tossing him a beer. “Buddy, you’re gonna wear a trench in the dirt, pacing like that.”
Caison catches it, but doesn’t open it.
Waylon Ludlow is Shelby’s beau. His parents own the neighboring Ironhorse Ranch.
We all grew up together, but Waylon left after graduating high school and returned to Wildhaven last year with a four-year-old daughter, Ruby.
After working through a few old hurdles, he managed to win Shelby’s trust again, and soon, she fell hard for both him and Ruby.
We all did.
“What if Matty goes into labor tonight?” he asks.
Shelby snorts. “We’ve been asking that question for three weeks.”
“Yeah,” Waylon says, “and every night, she doesn’t.”
Caison frowns at Matty’s belly like it personally insulted him.
I wander over and lean down beside her chair.
“How are you feeling?” I ask.
She smiles up at me, but it doesn’t reach her eyes.
“I’m good,” she says quickly.
“You sure?”
“Of course.” She grabs my hand and squeezes it. “This night is about you. Not me.”
My heart twists.
Matty is wiped.
I can see it all over her face.
She squeezes my hand again.
“I’m so proud of you,” she says softly.
Before I can answer, Charli’s voice rings out across the yard. “Shots time!”
A cheer erupts.
Shelby immediately grabs my arm. “Oh, hell yes.”
“You’re all horrible influences,” I tell her.
“You mean fun influences.”
Charli lines up little plastic cups on the picnic table like a bartender.
“Graduation tequila!” she declares.
“Oh God,” Bryce mutters.
Bryce Raintree is a bull-riding superstar.
He and Charli met when his management team hired her to help him rebrand after a nasty fall that landed him in the hospital with a possible career-ending concussion.
She failed at training the stubborn cowboy, but she won his heart in the process.
Now, he’s relocated from Texas to a cabin here behind the main house, and he and our family have partnered up to build and open a premier rodeo school at Wildhaven Storm.
Charli walks down to us and hands one of the shots to me.
“To the future,” she says.
“To bad decisions,” Shelby adds.
“To my baby sister,” Matty says, lifting her tea.
We clink.
We drink.
Tequila burns down my throat.
Fire pops in the pit.
Music drifts from the speakers near the porch.
And for an instant, everything feels perfect.
Then Matty makes a weird sound.
It’s faint.
Barely more than a gasp.
But every Storm woman on this property hears it.
Her hand flies to the arm of her chair.
Her eyes go wide.
“Oh,” she says.
The word hangs in the air, and Caison freezes.
“What was that?” he asks immediately.
Matty blinks.
Then she looks down at her chair.
“Oh no.”
“What?” Caison repeats.
She slowly lifts her gaze. “I think my water just broke.”
Silence. Complete. Total. Absolute silence.
Then chaos explodes.
“Oh my God,” Shelby yells. “Are you sure?”
“Unless I just peed myself, I’m pretty sure,” Matty replies.
Charli drops her cup and looks at Caison, who has turned white as a ghost. “What do we do?”
He just stares at her.
“Hello?” Charli says, snapping her fingers in front of his face. “Earth to Caison.”
Grandma Evelyn is already standing.
“Well, don’t just stand there like a fence post,” she snaps. “Someone, get the hospital bag. It’s sitting on the bench in the mudroom.”
“I’ll get it!” Shelby shouts, sprinting toward the house.
“I’ll grab Case’s truck,” Waylon says.
Charli runs to the porch and snatches a roll of paper towels from the dessert table and hurries back.
“Why do I have paper towels?” she asks no one.
Guests start scattering like startled chickens.
Daddy appears. “What the hell is happening?”
“Baby,” Charli yells. “Baby is coming. And I have paper towels.”
“Oh!”
Matty suddenly bursts into tears. “I’m sorry!” she sobs.
I drop to my knees beside her chair. “What? Why are you sorry?”
“Your party!” she cries. “I ruined your party!”
My jaw drops. “Matty.”
“I’m always ruining things!” she wails.
“You are literally having a baby.”
“Your graduation!” she continues, crying harder. “I missed it, and now I ruined your homecoming!”
“Matty Storm,” I say firmly.
She sniffles.
“You are not ruining anything.”
Caison kneels on her other side, looking like he might faint.
“Are you in pain?” he asks.
“Yes!” she screams.
“How much pain?”
“Yes!” she repeats as her face contorts and a contraction hits. She grabs both our hands. “Fuuuuuck.”
Caison’s eyes bulge and dart up to Grandma just as Shelby comes barreling out of the house with Matty’s packed duffel bag slung over her shoulder.
“Is that normal?”
Grandma Evelyn rolls her eyes. “Yes, son, it is.”
“What do we do?” he asks as Waylon rolls up to the bonfire in his truck.
“You take her to the hospital.”
His apprehensive eyes flicker to Matty, and Grandma sighs.
“It’ll be fine. Women have been giving birth since the beginning of time.”
Charli’s pacing with the paper towels clutched in her fist. “Should we call the hospital? We should call someone, right?”
“It’s the hospital, Charli,” I say. “I think they are already equipped for the situation.”
“Right.”
She pulls out her phone anyway.
“Come on, sissy,” I say gently as I reach down to help Matty up.
She grabs my hand. “Harleigh.”
“Yeah?”
She’s crying again. “I’m sorry.”
My chest aches.
I brush her sweaty hair off her forehead.
“You’re about to give me a niece or nephew,” I say. “This is literally the best party surprise ever.”
Shelby crouches beside us.
“Seriously,” she says. “This kid has impeccable timing already.”
Grandma nods. “Wildhaven Storm babies have a habit of arriving with flair.”
Another contraction hits.
Matty groans.
Caison looks like he might pass out.
“Case,” I say. “You wanna help?”
That snaps him out of it. He takes Matty’s other hand, and we walk her over to the open passenger door.
“You’re doing great, sissy,” I tell her.
“Am I?” she pants.
“Yes.”
“Because it feels like I’m dying.”
Grandma snorts. “You’re not dying.”
Waylon appears again and drops the key fob into Caison’s hand.
I wrap the seat belt around Matty, and she grips my arm.
“Harleigh—”
“We’ll be right behind you,” I say before kissing her cheek.
“No.”
I freeze. “What?”
“You stay,” she says.
“What?”
“This is your night.”
“I’m not missing the birth of your baby!”
“You won’t,” she says. “It’ll probably take hours.” She grips my hand tighter. “Stay with the party. Celebrate.”
Caison is already in the driver’s seat, clutching the wheel like it might escape.
“Shut the door. I’m driving now,” he says.
“We’ll see you at the hospital,” I say.
Her eyes fill with tears. “I love you.”
“I love you too.”
“Tell Daddy to bring the camera.”
“I will.”
“And, Harleigh?”
“Yeah?”
“Thank you.”
My throat tightens. “For what?”
“For understanding.”
I squeeze her hand.
“Go have your baby,” I say and close the door before she can protest again.
Daddy points toward the ranch trucks with keys in hand. He tosses a set to Cabe. “Let’s move.”
“Matty said to remind you to bring a camera,” I shout.
“Got it,” Imma Jean calls as she hurries behind him.
We all sprint forward as Caison slams the truck into gear and hits the gas, spitting gravel and a cloud of dust in our direction.
By the time Shelby, Charli, and I pile into the back seat of one of the trucks with Cabe behind the wheel, and Waylon sandwiched between him and Bryce, we’ve all got tears streaming down our faces.
“Geezus,” Cabe says, glancing at us over his shoulder. “What a bunch of crybabies.”
“We’re Storm women,” Shelby says. “We’re emotional.”
Charli wipes her eyes dramatically. “I blame hormones.”
“Those aren’t your hormones,” I point out. “You’re not the one having a baby.”
“Sympathy hormones?” she says as she pulls off a paper towel square from the roll and hands us each one.
We drive off, following Caison, as the rest of the party watches like it’s a live sporting event.
Tires crunch gravel as we speed down the driveway.
“Anyone need a drink?” Charli asks as she pulls the tequila bottle from the seat beside her.
“Hell yes,” Shelby says, grabbing it from her hands, unscrewing the top, and taking a huge swig. “Heck of a graduation party,” she says, turning her eyes to me.
I laugh and take the bottle from her hands. “Yeah.”
She grins as I turn up the bottle.
A brand-new Storm is on the way.