Chapter Eighteen
Lanterns sit along the porch railing. Mason jars glow along the wooden folding table. Classic country music drifts from a speaker balanced on the top porch step, and the bonfire crackles steadily in the firepit Daddy and Uncle Boone built years ago when we were kids.
It’s a beautiful, clear night. Peaceful in that way only the ranch can be. And it’s a welcome sight after the crazy week I’ve had.
And somehow … Porter Garrison is standing right in the middle of it.
In the middle of my front yard with my friends and family.
I can’t quite believe it.
He stands beside me now, near the edge of the yard, tall and composed in faded dark jeans and a navy-and-green plaid button-down flannel. His sleeves are rolled to his forearms, and an intricate ink design covers his skin from his right wrist and disappears under the fabric.
Guess I know where some of his hidden tattoos are now.
It’s jarring to see him dressed so casually. Like he belongs here.
Which I wouldn’t have said this morning.
His eyes are scanning the surroundings, like he’s studying everything.
“You okay?” I ask, nudging his arm lightly.
His gaze shifts down to me, a faint smile touching the corner of his mouth.
“I’m good,” he says. “This is … nice.”
Nice.
I laugh softly. “That’s a very polite way of saying chaotic.”
His eyes sweep the yard again—Shelby tossing a horseshoe while Waylon heckles her from the sidelines, Charli arguing with Cabe about something, Matty talking animatedly with Caison near the coolers.
“Actually,” Porter says, voice low, “I think nice applies.”
Something warm stirs in my chest at that.
“Well,” I say, grabbing his wrist, “come on, boss man. Might as well jump in headfirst.”
He raises a brow.
“First stop, Grandma.”
We weave through the yard, dodging cousins and neighbors. Porter moves easily beside me, nodding politely to people who greet me along the way.
Grandma Evelyn is seated at one of the long tables, like the queen of her kingdom, a glass of sweet tea in her hand and Imma Jean perched beside her.
Grandma spots me immediately. “There’s my girl!” she calls.
Her sharp blue eyes immediately flick to Porter.
I swing my arm in his direction. “Grandma, this is Porter Garrison. My boss.”
Porter dips his head politely. “Ma’am.”
Grandma studies him for a second before her mouth curves into a knowing smile.
“Well now,” she says, “aren’t you a tall drink of water?”
I clap a hand over my mouth to keep from laughing.
“Grandma,” I mutter through my fingers.
Imma Jean chuckles beside her, warm, wide eyes twinkling as she looks Porter up and down.
“Oh, Evelyn, don’t embarrass the poor boy.”
“I’m not embarrassed,” Porter says calmly. “It’s nice to meet you ladies.”
Grandma gestures toward him with her glass. “I like you.”
I sigh. “This is my grandmother, Evelyn Storm,” I tell him. “And this is Imma Jean. She owns the Ryse & Shine Café in town.”
“I do. And you need to come in sometime and try a pastry,” Imma Jean adds.
Porter nods respectfully. “I’ll do that.”
Imma Jean beams at him.
Grandma leans forward slightly, elbows on the table. “So,” she says casually, “you’re Harleigh’s boss.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Thank you for bringing her home tonight.”
Porter glances at me briefly before answering, “Yes, ma’am.”
I grab Porter’s sleeve. “Okay. Next.”
He’s smiling now.
We head toward the coolers, where Matty and Caison are grabbing beers.
Matty spots me and lights up. “Hey! There she is!”
She pulls me into a quick hug before looking at Porter with open curiosity. “Hello, strange man.”
I laugh. “Matty, this is Porter. He’s my boss.”
I gesture between her and Case. “Porter, this is my sister Matty and her husband, Caison.”
Caison extends his hand immediately. “Nice to meet you.”
“Likewise.”
Matty hands both Porter and me an open beer.
“Thank you for arranging all this, sissy.”
Her expression softens immediately. “Of course. I’m just sorry it took four months.”
I shake my head. “Matty, it’s okay.”
“This is the first time I felt okay leaving AJ. I pumped several bottles, and he’s at home with Case’s mom. They’re gonna have tummy time and read some books.” Her voice wobbles slightly.
I frown immediately. “AJ isn’t here?”
Matty’s eyes glisten. “I know,” she says softly. “I miss him already.”
Caison steps behind her and wraps his arms around her waist, pulling her gently against his chest.
“Hey,” he murmurs.
She leans into him.
“He’s fine.” Caison kisses her temple. “He’s being spoiled rotten by Nana,” he says. “Probably milk drunk and snoring already.”
Matty huffs a small laugh through her tears. “You’re right.”
He squeezes her gently. “We’ll be home before you know it.”
She exhales slowly. “Okay.”
Matty smiles and nudges me with her shoulder. “I’m fine. Go finish introducing your boss to the circus.”
I roll my eyes. “Yes, ma’am.”
Porter follows me again as we cross the yard toward the barn.
Daddy stands behind the massive grill like a general, tongs in one hand.
“Hey, kiddo,” he calls the second he sees me.
My chest warms instantly.
“Hey, Daddy.”
He hooks his arm around the back of my neck the instant I step close and kisses the top of my head.
“How’s my little wildfire?”
I grin. “I’m great.”
Then I gesture toward Porter. “Daddy, this is my boss, Porter Garrison.”
I turn slightly. “Porter, this is my father, Albert Storm.”
Daddy wipes his hand on a towel before reaching out. “Nice to meet you, son.”
Porter shakes it firmly. “Likewise, sir.”
Daddy studies him for a breath before nodding approvingly.
“Well, I hope you guys brought your appetite,” he says. “Meat’s almost ready.”
“I did,” Porter assures him.
Daddy grins.
“How’s Blue Bessie?” I ask.
“All patched up and good as new. Your grandpa and I will pick her up after church tomorrow.”
I kiss his cheek. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome, sweetheart.”
We leave him to his grill and start toward the bonfire.
The flames are dancing high and bright, sparks drifting upward like fireflies.
We’re almost there when someone calls out, “Hey! Porter Garrison.”
I turn.
Waylon Ludlow is walking toward us with that crooked grin he always wears. “Long time no see.”
I blink. “You two know each other?”
Waylon jerks a thumb toward Porter. “Yeah. His family owns the Silver Spur Ranch over near Moose.”
My eyes widen. “Wait, you know the ranch?”
Waylon nods. “Yeah. Pop used to buy livestock and bull straw from Porter’s granddad back in the day.”
I look at Porter. “You never mentioned that.”
He shrugs slightly. “Didn’t know you knew the Ludlows.”
Waylon chuckles. “We’re practically family.” He winks at me. “Soon anyway.”
I lift my eyebrows. “Waylon is Shelby’s fella,” I tell Porter.
“What brings you out here?” Waylon asks him.
Porter lifts his beer. “I’m just here for the party.”
Waylon glances around the yard before nodding. “Well, it’s good to see you, man.” He claps Porter on the shoulder. “We’ll have to catch up sometime. Come out to Ironhorse, see Pop. Meet my daughter, Ruby.”
“I’d like that,” Porter says.
Then Waylon turns to me and rubs his hands together. “So, squirt … where’s this douchebag boss man of yours Shelby made me promise to be nice to?”
Right on cue, Shelby appears behind him and punches him square in the ribs.
“Ow!” Waylon doubles over. “What was that for?”
I hook a thumb toward Porter. “Meet my douchebag boss.”
There’s a beat of silence.
Then Waylon bursts into booming laughter. “Oh, hell,” he wheezes.
Porter chuckles beside me.
Shelby crosses her arms and shakes her head.
“You’ll never guess what I saw earlier,” she says to me.
“What?”
“Daddy and Imma Jean smooching on the back porch,” she whispers.
“No!” I gasp.
She nods. “Yes.”
“What did you say?” I ask her.
“Nothing. I turned and walked back to the barn.”
“Did they see you?”
“I don’t think so.”
“I think it’s great. Albert deserves to get a little action,” Waylon quips.
Shelby scowls at him. Then she shrugs. “Yeah … he does.”
I laugh. “Daddy and Imma Jean.”
Charli comes up beside me. “Right? We’ve always suspected, but it’s weird to have confirmation.”
“Super weird,” I agree.
Bryce walks up with a piece of brisket, which he pops into his mouth before licking his fingers.
“Hey, how did you get your hands on meat?” Waylon asks.
Bryce shrugs. “Guess I’m Albert’s favorite son-in-law.”
“The hell you are,” Waylon cries, then takes off jogging toward the grill.
“You’re not his son-in-law,” Charli points out.
Bryce grins. “Only a matter of time, cowgirl.”
I watch as she melts into his side.
“Porter Garrison, meet Bryce Raintree. My almost-but-not-quite brother-in-law.”
Bryce reaches around Charli to shake Porter’s hand.
“Nice to meet you. I’m a big fan,” Porter says.
“Garrison? As in Senator Garrison?” Bryce asks.
“He’s my father,” Porter says.
“Really?”
“Yeah. I heard about him wanting to dedicate a day to you,” Porter says.
Which is news to me. He didn’t say anything when I told him about Charli and Bryce.
“Yeah. He mentioned it when I met him at Cheyenne Frontier Days last year. But to be honest, I’m not interested,” Bryce says.
“Why not?” Charli asks.
He shrugs. “Just seems a little over the top. I’m not a Wyoming native. If a senator from Oklahoma suggested it, I could see it.”
“You might not have been born here, but you call Wyoming home now. And this is where you’re planting roots and opening your rodeo school, which is a big deal for the state, Wildhaven in particular,” Porter says.
“That is true,” Charli agrees.
“Think of what the endorsement of a state senator will mean for the academy,” Porter continues. “It’d be beneficial for both you and the state.”
Bryce’s interest is piqued. “Spoken like a politician,” he says.
Porter shakes his head. “I guess it runs in the family.”
“Tell you what,” Bryce says after a few beats. “You tell Barron that if he agrees to come to the ribbon cutting for the academy next month, I’ll consider it.”
“Fair enough,” Porter says.
Charli hooks her arm in mine and leans in to whisper in my ear, “Well, well, he’s already fitting right in.”
“Stop,” I say under my breath.
“Lookie what I got!” Waylon shows back up with a paper plate piled high with brisket. “Who’s the favorite now?”