Chapter Twenty-Five
I didn’t sleep a damn wink last night.
Every time I closed my eyes, my mind drifted back to the night of my graduation party. Or it tried to. As soon as a flicker of a memory started to form, it evaporated into fog and slipped away, leaving me wide awake with my heart pounding and my jaw clenched.
I grip the edge of the vanity as I stare at myself in the bathroom mirror, eyes bloodshot, stubble darker than usual against my skin.
“Come on, asshole,” I mutter.
I squeeze my eyes shut, and I can see Shelby’s face from last night. The anger, sharp and blazing, and then the way it shifted, turning to hurt when I stood there like a fucking statue as she told me what had happened between us all those years ago.
I open my eyes and glare at my reflection.
I truly am a selfish prick. Destroying everything I come in contact with. Trampling through lives like a bull in a china shop and leaving devastation in my wake.
This is why I have no business being here. No business taking care of a tiny human.
I’m better off by myself, with no one depending on me but me.
“Fuck you, Waylon Ludlow,” I snarl at the mirror. “That’s no longer an option. You’ve hidden yourself away long enough. Time to be a man and face the consequences of your choices. Make it right.”
The words echo back at me. I splash water on my face, grab a towel, and scrub. Then I get dressed. Jeans. A flannel. Boots.
I don’t have the luxury of giving up. Not in front of my kid.
I head for the main house, determined to make pancakes with my baby girl.
When I walk into the kitchen, Momma and Ruby are already there, wearing matching aprons—yellow with little cornflowers stitched across the front. Both of them look surprisingly awake for this early hour.
“Daddy!” Ruby shrieks when she sees me. “We’ve been waiting for you forever!”
“Forever?” I scoop her up before she can reach me on her own. “How long is that? Five whole minutes?”
She giggles as I rub my stubble against her cheek, throwing her arms around my neck. “No, silly. Longer.”
I set her on her feet, and she takes my hand and drags me to the island, climbing up onto one of the stools and perching on her knees so she can reach the mixing bowl. Momma starts adding ingredients while Ruby stirs with fierce concentration, tongue poking out the corner of her mouth.
I kiss Momma’s cheek. “Morning.”
“Morning, son.” She gives me a look—soft, assessing, knowing. “You look tired. Everything okay?”
I scrub a hand over my face. “Yeah. Just had a hard time sleeping last night.”
She pats my cheek. “A little food in your stomach will help.”
I sit at the island while they work, Ruby narrating every step as they go.
“Now we put in the eggs,” she says.
“I can help with that part,” I say as I take one from the bowl on the island and crack it against the ceramic bowl.
“Careful. Daddy, if you get shells in it, it’s ruined.”
“Noted,” I say solemnly.
By the time a massive platter of fluffy pancakes and crispy bacon lands on the dining table, Pop joins us, already dressed and alert. Ruby chatters through breakfast, telling us all about the book Momma read her last night and how she made it to the end without falling asleep.
After we eat, Pop wipes his mouth and looks at Ruby. “That was delicious, Peanut. Thank you.”
Ruby beams.
“The fall festival at the church is tonight,” Momma says. “I expect you two to finish up work early.” She looks us both in the eye. “No excuses.”
“I’m a unicorn!” Ruby yells.
“A what?” Pop asks.
“A unicorn,” she repeats. “Nana made my dress.”
“Yes. We have a few more adjustments to make this afternoon, and it’ll be ready.”
The fall festival in Wildhaven is a big event.
The entire town comes together at the fairgrounds to celebrate the harvest season, fall foliage, and the ushering in of winter.
Since we live in a part of the country where your nearest neighbor is the farm or ranch ten miles down the road, trick-or-treating isn’t a thing here like it is in other cities, so the festival is a time for kids to dress up and enjoy a night of games, apple bobbing, and getting free candy from every vendor.
I loved the festival, growing up, and I can’t wait to share the experience with Ruby.
We managed to keep our word and finished up early today, which almost never happens when you’re gathering, driving, and branding cattle for a winter pasture move.
My arms ache in that good, earned way. I’d forgotten how much I missed this—the rhythm of the drive, the way a crew moves like one body, the horses knowing their jobs as well as we do.
It feels like slipping back into a version of myself I thought I’d lost somewhere along the way.
Now I’m clean, showered, and leaning against the banister in the front hall, waiting for the big reveal.
Momma and Ruby are upstairs, getting dressed for the festival, and Ruby has been vibrating with nervous excitement since our early supper.
She barely ate, too busy bouncing in her chair and peppering me with questions about the rides, the candy, the horses, the band.
It’s like she’s afraid the whole thing might not happen if she doesn’t keep reminding herself it’s coming.
I don’t mind.
I’m just grateful she feels like herself again.
Last week was rough. Really rough. Starting the day care knocked something loose inside her that I hadn’t even realized was still fragile.
She started asking for her mommy again, crying in that quiet, broken way that cuts right through my chest. She did that a lot when Candy first left her with me.
That first week was hell. She didn’t know me.
I was just a stranger who she was told was her daddy.
She wanted her mother. I couldn’t blame her.
But slowly, day by day, she began to trust me. To believe I wasn’t going anywhere.
And it’s been a long time since she asked for her mommy.
Until last week.
So, I caved. Let her crawl into my bed a couple of nights. Little arms wrapped around me like she was afraid I’d disappear in the dark. I didn’t even pretend to mind.
And now, here she is again, bright-eyed and buzzing, like nothing ever went wrong. Children really are resilient.
Footsteps sound on the stairs.
Momma’s voice floats down. “We’re ready!”
I straighten automatically, a smile already pulling at my mouth.
They come into view—Momma first and then Ruby, who looks like she stepped straight out of a fairy tale.
She’s wearing a powder-pink dress with tights and a rainbow tulle skirt that catches the light when she moves.
She’s got detachable iridescent wings, a little tail, and a unicorn horn headband perched crookedly in her hair.
She’s a sight.
She’s perfect.
“Well,” I breathe, “would you look at that?”
Ruby beams, spinning so her skirt flares. “I’m a unicorn fairy!”
“You sure are, sweetheart.”
Momma laughs. “You should see how long it took us to get all that on.”
“Worth it.”
Pop’s text comes through a minute later—he’s stuck in a meeting with one of his racehorse partners and will be running late—so Momma rides with Ruby and me in my truck.
By the time we pull into the fairgrounds, the place is already slammed.
Trucks, ATVs, even a couple of tractors line the lot.
The whole town must’ve turned out. The grounds stretch out in front of us—the arena, the exhibit halls, the auditorium, the RV park, and a sprawl of tents and rides in between.
There’s something for everyone—games, food, livestock shows, lawn-mower races in the little rustic arena. And later tonight, the band will play in the big event barn.
I park at the far end of the lot and help Ruby down, making sure her wings don’t catch on her car seat.
Momma heads for her booth, where her ladies’ group is selling their handmade wares—quilts, macramé, pottery, wood carvings, candles, and soaps.
Imma Jean is already behind the table, arranging items.
“Hi, Waylon. And who do you have here?” Imma Jean asks, bending to tap Ruby’s nose.
“It’s me!” Ruby bellows.
“Me who?”
“Ruby, silly.”
“Well, I declare. I didn’t recognize you, Ruby. I thought a unicorn came galloping out of the forest,” Imma Jean gasps causing Ruby to giggle.
Customers begin to line up, so Ruby and I break off to hunt for games and candy.
She spends the next two hours dragging me from booth to booth, eyes wide as vendors fill her tote until it’s overflowing with candy. Then we land at a ring-toss stand with a cluster of vintage glass bottles.
I’m lining up my third throw when Ruby suddenly squeals and bolts to my right.
“Ruby—”
I turn just in time to see Shelby and Harleigh Storm. Shelby scoops Ruby up like she’s done it a thousand times.
I toss my last ring—miss, of course—and head their way.
“No luck?” Shelby asks as she sets Ruby down.
“They’re all rigged,” I say.
Harleigh scoffs. “No way. Let me try.”
She holds out her hand.
“I’m telling you, I’ve already sunk fifty bucks into games,” I say.
Harleigh just raises a brow and shakes her hand. Giving in, I dig a few crumpled bills from my front pocket and drop a ten into her palm.
She looks down at Ruby. “Come on, kid. Let’s win you a unicorn to match your dress.”
Ruby takes her hand and skips off with her.
Shelby and I are suddenly alone.
“Hi,” I say.
“Hi. Looks like Ruby’s feeling better.”
“Yeah. She bounced back quick.”
My eyes slide over her before I can stop them. Denim minidress, a hint of cleavage beneath the tie front, and bell sleeves. The same knee-high suede boots she was wearing last night. Her hair falls loose down her back beneath a rust-colored cowgirl hat.
She looks … unreal.
And she smells like jasmine.
“Having a good time?” I ask.
“Yeah. Matty sent us for ribbon fries and fried pickles before the competitions start.”
Ruby comes running back a moment later with a stuffed unicorn, Harleigh smug behind her.
“Daddy! Look! Harwee won!”
“Thanks for showing me up,” I tell Harleigh.
She grins.
“Can we go watch the horse games?” Ruby begs.
“Horse games?”
“Grown men playing on horses for cheap buckles,” Harleigh says.
“Pleeeeease!” Ruby sings.
I laugh. “All right, let’s go.”
We follow the girls, who stop by a food truck and place an order, then head to the arena, where Case, Matty, Cabe, Axle, and Royce sit in the bleachers. Bryce and Charli arrive a minute later with kettle corn.
They call for bull riders, and I ask Bryce if he’s riding.
Axle laughs. “If he entered, they wouldn’t bother. They’d just hand him the buckle and save everyone the trouble.”
Royce taps my shoulder. “Hey, you want to enter the team roping contest with me? I need a heeler.”
“I haven’t roped in years,” I tell him.
“Like riding a bike.”
I glance back at him. “What about Axle?”
“I’m not risking injury over a cheap buckle and a gift certificate to Blackie’s Barbeque,” Axle says.
I nod, sliding my eyes back to Royce. “Why are you taking the risk?”
“Because, unlike some people I know, I enjoy the thrill of a challenge, no matter the purse.”
Harleigh scoffs. “Bullshit. He just wants to peacock because Elise is watching.”
“Elise? Elise Vassey?” I ask.
“Yep,” Harleigh confirms.
Elise’s family owns the pharmacy in town. She was a couple of grades below me in school. The same age as Shelby.
“It’s not called peacocking when you have raw God-given talent,” Royce quips. Then his pleading gaze comes back to me. “Come on, man. Let’s show the punk kids how it’s done.”
“Yeah, Daddy, show ’em,” Ruby cries.
I glance down at her. Her face is covered in ketchup as she dunks another long spiral rope of fried potato.
Shelby says she’ll watch Ruby.
So, I go.
Praying my hands remember how to do this.