Chapter Twenty
I’m in the arena with Becky, a competitive barrel racer training for WPRA Mountain State Circuits Finals. The sun spills across the dirt. Dust hanging in the air like glitter.
“That’s it, Becks. Keep control. Straight lines and tight turns are going to beat wild speed every time.”
She runs the cloverleaf pattern again as I time her.
“Sixteen point four.” I’m leaning on the rail, clapping, when my phone buzzes in my back pocket for the third time in two minutes.
I fish it out, see it’s Harleigh’s number, ignore it, and shove the phone back into my pocket. I’ll call her back later.
Then I hear it.
“I could be dead on the side of the road, you know.”
I spin around so fast that I nearly trip over my own feet.
Harleigh’s standing just outside the gate, sunglasses perched on her head, overnight bag slung over one shoulder. She’s wearing her college uniform—dark jeans, University of Wyoming sweatshirt, sneakers, and a wide smile.
“Dead people don’t make calls,” I reply as I hop down and hurry over to throw my arms around her.
“Geezus, Shell,” she says, hugging me back.
I pull back, scowling at her even though my eyes burn. “What are you doing home?”
She arches a brow. “Hello to you too.”
“Hello, sis,” I say, rolling my eyes. “Seriously, I didn’t think we’d see you until Thanksgiving.”
“It’s just a long weekend. I have to be back Monday night.” She looks past me, taking in the arena, Becky perched proudly on her bay. Then she looks back at me, expression softening.
“Did you tell anyone you were coming?”
“Yeah,” she says. “Charli and Grandma know.”
Becky finishes her last pattern and walks her horse to the gate.
“Sorry, Becks.” I smile. “This is my sister Harleigh. She surprised me.”
“That’s okay. I think Bonney has had enough for today.”
“You did great. Shaved a half second off,” I praise.
“Oh, nice,” Harleigh adds, giving Becky a wink.
“Thanks.”
Becky’s mom arrives to pick her up, and Harleigh and I walk toward the house, side by side. Once we’re inside the kitchen and she’s dropped her bag by the island, she reveals the reason she’s really here.
“So,” she says casually, walking to the fridge and popping the top off a can of soda, “Charli tells me you’ve been training Waylon Ludlow’s daughter.”
I shrug. “Yeah. So?”
She gives me a look over her shoulder. “So, I thought you might need moral support.”
I snort. “For what?”
She turns, leaning back against the counter. “Shelby.”
“Harleigh.”
“Don’t Harleigh me.”
“Oh my God,” I say. “Please tell me that’s not the only reason you drove all the way home.”
She studies me like she always does when she’s deciding whether to push. Then she sighs. “It’s one of the reasons.”
“I knew I shouldn’t have told them,” I mutter. “It’s not a thing. I’m a big girl, and Waylon Ludlow doesn’t bother me. It’s ancient history.”
“That’s what I thought,” she says. “But Matty and Charli made it sound like it was kind of a big deal.”
My eyes narrow.
She lifts a shoulder. “Don’t be mad. You know it’s a sister summons.”
“Sister summons?” I fold my arms across my chest. “You guys have a group chat without me, don’t you?”
Harleigh grins. “We do.”
I gasp, affronted. “I knew it.”
Sister summons is what we call it when one of us needs the others.
She takes a sip from her bottle. “Relax.”
As if summoned by the power of sibling betrayal, Charli and Matty stroll in the back door, with Grandma bringing up the rear.
“Relax?” Charli repeats. “What’s going on now?”
Harleigh doesn’t miss a beat. “Shelby found out about our group chat.”
“Ooh,” Charli quips.
“I can’t believe you three are in a group without me,” I snap.
“Oh, please. You, Harleigh, and I have one that Matty’s not in. What’s the difference?” Charli says.
“You do?” Matty asks, her eyes bouncing between us.
Charli scoffs. “Of course. We started it years ago.”
Harleigh smiles sweetly. “Yeah, we had to be able to cover for each other.”
Charli hooks an arm around Harleigh’s head. “We’re the only ones who are in all the chat threads. Right, kid?”
Harleigh averts her eyes and starts to whistle.
Charli’s eyes flick between us. “Excuse me?”
“Um,” Harleigh says.
Matty, Harleigh, and I share a look. The kind that comes from years of scheming, surviving, and sometimes being terrible together.
Charli’s mouth drops open. “Are you kidding me right now?”
“What’s happening?” Daddy asks warily as he enters the kitchen. “Why does Charli look like she’s about to flip a table?”
“They’re in a group chat without me,” Charli says, pointing at us like we’ve committed treason.
“A what?” Daddy asks.
“A group chat,” Charli repeats.
Daddy’s face goes blank.
“It’s where they text message each other all at once,” Grandma clarifies.
“Honestly, I don’t even know what that is,” he says, shaking his head. “You girls’ fights were a lot easier to understand and referee when you were little.”
Harleigh holds up her hands. “In our defense, we had to start a group without Charli last year.”
Charli stiffens. “Had to? Why?”
“To talk about you and Bryce, duh,” Harleigh says gently. “They kept me in the loop.”
The kitchen goes silent.
Then Matty snorts. “Oh. My. God. She’s the mastermind,” she says, pointing at our baby sister.
Charli spins on Harleigh. “She’s right. You’re the only one in every chat.”
Harleigh grins. “Caught.”
The next thing I know, all three of us are on Harleigh—poking, accusing, laughing—as Grandma and Daddy look on, shaking their heads. She throws her hands up, laughing so hard that she nearly drops her drink.
“I regret nothing!” she declares.
By the time supper’s ready, Bryce has shown up, too, duffel bag slung over his shoulder, grin easy and familiar.
Charli runs to him, and he catches her midair.
“Hey, cowboy,” she says, removing his hat and placing it on her head. “How was Boulder?”
“Eight seconds on Optimus Prime,” he says.
She squeals and slides to her feet to admire the new hardware on his belt.
“That’s not all I picked up in Colorado,” he says as Cabe’s brothers, Royce and Axle, come barreling in the door.
Aunt Irene lets out a sob as she hurries over to embrace her two rodeo-chasing sons.
“And what about you two? How’d you fare this past weekend?” Uncle Boone asks.
“Fair to middle,” Royce says.
“Yeah, it’s hard to get in the money with this beast on the roster,” Axle says, thumping Bryce’s chest.
“Don’t worry, boys,” Charli says. “He’ll be clearing the path for you soon.”
“Not soon enough,” Axle grumbles playfully.
“Yeah, we can’t wait for that sexy son of a bitch to retire,” Royce says, taking a seat next to Grandpa Earl. “Not like he’ll be hurting when he does. You guys should see the billboard off the side of Highway 119.”
“Picture it,” Axle says, spreading his hands dramatically. “Bryce Raintree’s muscular fourteen-foot-tall ass in a pair of Duluth Buck Naked underwear. Even I creamed in my panties a little when I saw it.”
Grandpa spits tea across the table. “Geezus, son,” he wheezes as everyone bursts out in laughter.
Grandma Evelyn is pleased as pie as she sends Cabe and Royce to grab a few extra chairs from the dining set on the porch as she gathers more place settings.
The table feels full in that rare way it only does when everyone’s home. Even Caison is here, sitting close to Matty, his hand resting on the back of her chair.
Harleigh clinks her fork against her glass.
“Since the entire family is home,” she announces, “we need a girls’ night.”
A chorus of agreement erupts from all us girls immediately.
Caison looks at Matty. “You sure?”
“Yes,” she says.
He nods, but a few minutes later, he asks again, “You really want to go out tonight?”
She shoots him a look. “I said, yes,” she hisses through gritted teeth.
I watch the exchange from across the table, unease settling low in my stomach. Maybe Cabe’s right, and there is tension between her and Caison.
The thought makes me sick to my stomach. She’s been happier than I’ve ever seen her this past year. But something about the tightness in her jaw now makes me wonder.
When dinner breaks up, I hesitate. I already agreed to meet Dixon for drinks. But as I watch Matty plant a fake smile on her face, I pull out my phone and text him.
Me: Change of plans. Harleigh came home for the weekend and wants us all to go out tonight. Want to meet us at The Soused Cow?
The reply comes almost immediately.
Dixon: Absolutely.
Me: See you there around 9 p.m.?
Dixon: I’ll be there.
We hurry to help Grandma with dishes and quickly change. By the time the nine of us roll into town, The Soused Cow is already hopping. We grab a table near the dance floor, and us girls waste no time ordering tequila shots.
The band begins to play a song we like, and we’re on our feet, laughing, spinning, falling into our rhythm. It feels good to let loose.
Then I see Dixon walk in.
He spots me immediately, smile spreading. I slip off the dance floor and meet him at the bar.
“Wow,” he says, eyes sweeping over me. “You look incredible.”
I glance down at my outfit—long-sleeved cream bodysuit, high-waisted brown suede miniskirt with a fringed hem, knee-high suede stiletto boots.
I don’t usually get this dolled up to go out.
That’s more Charli’s and Harleigh’s style.
I’m more a jeans-and-tank-top girl, but the two of them talked me into putting in a bit more effort tonight since he was coming.
“Thanks. You clean up pretty well yourself.”
He laughs as he glances down at his jeans and flannel. “What’re you drinking?”
“I’ll take a Paloma.”
He orders it and a beer for himself.
I nod toward the table. “You want to join us?”
He doesn’t hesitate. “Sure.”
Introductions are easy. Caison recognizes him from Ironhorse. Bryce shakes his hand, and he gushes about being a fan. Cabe scoots over to make room as he introduces his brothers.
Dixon settles in beside Cabe, and I sit next to him, his knee brushing mine.
The conversation flows. Shop talk. Horses.
Rodeo circuits. Bryce tells Matty all about the professional cowboys he’s been recruiting for the academy, including Royce and Axle, who agreed to help when they weren’t on the road, competing themselves.
She announces that she has new hires starting next week—two seasoned cowboys, one young buck, and a female ranch hand. The table erupts.
Shots are ordered.
Harleigh leans toward Bryce, impressed. “I still can’t believe you convinced Matty to let you open a rodeo school. I might need your help talking her into another expansion,” she says.
I see Charli shake her head, mouthing, No, behind Matty’s back, but it’s too late.
“Whatcha have in mind?” he asks her.
“A guest ranch on the southern border, near the base of the mountain range.”
Matty shuts it down instantly. “We are not opening a dude ranch on Wildhaven Storm, Harleigh.”
The mood dips for a moment, but Harleigh wisely brushes it off and changes the subject, asking Dixon if he has any family drama he’d like to share.
The music swells again, and we head back to the dance floor.
I stand and squeeze Dixon’s hand. “Are you good here?”
He smiles. “Yeah, go have fun.”
We line up, falling into a familiar step pattern as Lainey Wilson’s voice, singing “Wildflowers and Wild Horses,” swirls around us.