Chapter Seventeen
The tires hum against the black road as we leave my grandfather’s place behind us. The Escalade’s headlights illuminate the ranch’s boarding fence posts.
Harleigh sits beside me with one leg tucked beneath her.
“Okay,” she says before pointing ahead, “you’re going to want to stay on this road for another mile or so. Then there’ll be a fork. Follow it to the right.”
“Got it.”
I glance at her briefly.
She looks relaxed now, the frustration she wore earlier when I found her standing outside the hotel long gone. A small smile curves her mouth as she gazes out the window at the open land rolling past.
“Thanks,” I say finally.
Her eyes flick to me. “For what?”
I shrug one shoulder. “For entertaining Josiah. It was good to hear him laugh.”
She leans her elbow on the door, resting her chin on her hand. “He’s charming.”
I snort softly. “No, he’s an ornery old SOB,” I say. “You’re charming.”
“Mmhmm,” she hums. “He just seemed lonely to me.”
Her tone isn’t judgmental. Just observant.
“He doesn’t have to be out there all alone,” I say. “He’s just stubborn.”
“Sounds like someone else I’ve met,” she mutters under her breath.
I huff a laugh at that.
“That’s fair,” I admit. “I have tried to get him to leave that place, you know.”
She looks over at me. “Leave that place?” she repeats.
“Yeah,” I say. “Sell it and move into town with me. Somewhere he can get around easier.”
Her brows knit together. “Sell it?”
The confusion in her voice is obvious.
“But he said he was leaving the ranch to you.”
I can’t help the short laugh that escapes me.
“Yeah, well”—I shake my head—“I don’t have any time to deal with it.”
She doesn’t say anything. She just stares at me in disbelief, so I finish the thought.
“What am I going to do with an old, shutdown cattle ranch anyway?”
Silence. Then she slowly shakes her head.
When she speaks, it’s almost under her breath. “You see an old, run-down ranch …” Her gaze drifts out the windshield toward the dark, rolling hills. “But all I saw was a family legacy and beautiful potential.”
The words land heavier than she probably intended.
I glance at her.
She doesn’t seem to realize she spoke aloud. She’s still looking out the window like she’s imagining something out there. Something bigger than what currently exists.
I clear my throat lightly.
“So,” I say, nudging the conversation forward, “right or left at this Stop sign up ahead?”
She blinks and straightens. “Oh! Right.”
I turn the steering wheel sharply.
“And then it’s just another mile,” she says. “Wildhaven Storm will be on the left.”
I glance sideways at her and find myself smiling.
The road curves again.
And then the iron gate appears. I take the left onto the long gravel drive.
Lights suddenly appear in the distance. Not the soft porch light glow I expected from a ranch house.
No.
This looks like a damn festival.
String lights hanging between fence posts and in the trees.
A massive bonfire burns bright enough to be seen from the road.
Music drifts through the open night air.
People are everywhere. Dozens of them milling around between the white ranch house and the barn.
The scent hits me next.
Smoke.
Charred meat sizzling.
“What in the world?” Harleigh says.
I slow the Escalade, pulling off the gravel into the grass and coming to a stop just short of the firepit.
A long iron grill sits near the barn entrance with a man flipping slabs of beef.
Someone’s laughing loudly by a table lined with Styrofoam coolers.
Two women suddenly break off from the rest and sprint toward us.
One blonde.
One brunette.
They run full speed, straight for the Escalade, like they’ve been waiting for us to arrive.
I lower the passenger window instinctively.
As soon as it’s halfway down, they both shove their faces into the cab.
“Surprise!” they yell in perfect unison.
Harleigh jerks back in her seat.
“Surprise for what?” she asks.
The brunette beams. “For you!” She gestures wildly behind her. “It’s your do-over party!”
Harleigh blinks. “My what?”
“That’s why Cabe was running late to pick you up,” the brunette continues excitedly. “Grandma and Imma Jean told him to stall you while we finished setting everything up.”
The blonde nods. “Yeah. We had to light the fire and get the brisket going.”
Then the brunette’s eyes shift.
Past Harleigh.
To me.
Her grin sharpens.
“Hi,” she says brightly. “I’m Charli. Har’s favorite sister.”
The blonde immediately scoffs. “Are not.”
She sticks a hand through the window toward me. “I’m Shelby.”
Shelby. The barrel racer. I recall that from Harleigh mentioning her sisters at dinner.
I shake her hand. “Porter.”
Her eyes flick toward Harleigh.
“It was nice of you to bring Harleigh home, Porter.”
Harleigh groans. “Stop.”
Shelby laughs.
Charli ignores them both and keeps staring at me like she’s trying to figure something out.
Harleigh opens the door.
“I didn’t need a do-over party,” she says as she steps out.
Charli waves that off. “Matty insisted.”
“Yeah,” Shelby adds. “She still feels guilty for going into labor and ruining the last one. Besides, there’s brisket and presents.”
Harleigh shakes her head, but she’s smiling. The kind of smile that tells me this family probably does this sort of thing a lot.
She shuts the door.
Once she steps away from the Escalade, Charli leans down and peers at me through the open window again.
“You’re invited too, Mr. Fancy-Pants.”
I blink. “Um …”
An excuse rises instantly to my lips.
I should go.
But before I can say it, Charli continues, “Come on. You’re already here. Might as well grab a plate and a beer.”
I glance past her.
Harleigh stands with Shelby.
She shrugs and tilts her head toward the bonfire in invitation.
I sigh quietly.
Then I reach over and shut off the ignition. “Might as well.”
Charli grins and claps as I step out. “That’s the spirit!”
She spins around and starts walking toward the party.
I follow.
Harleigh falls into step beside me.
“You don’t have to stay,” she says quietly.
I glance at her. “I am hungry. Granddad didn’t offer to share any of his dinner with me.”
She giggles. “Fair warning: my family can be … a lot. But I’d put my grandma’s food up against any of your Michelin-starred chefs. She has a secret family recipe for barbecue sauce you wouldn’t believe. And Daddy’s brisket melts in your mouth.”
I look toward the fire, where at least twenty people seem to be gathered now.
“That’s an awful big statement.”
She laughs as she turns toward me and walks backward toward the crowd.
“Oh, that’s a fact, Mr. Garrison.”
That laugh makes staying feel like a very good decision.