Chapter 22
The screen door creaks when I pull it open, and the warmth inside hits me first. It’s not just from the heat, but the kind that comes only from a lived-in home. The aroma hits me second. Dinner smells like roasted meat, garlic, and fresh bread baking in the oven.
“Shut the door,” Knox calls from somewhere inside. “You’re lettin’ all the Montana in.” I smirk and step fully inside, letting the screen door snap shut behind me as I close the front door and take off my hat.
The wood floors in the foyer are worn from years of hard-soled boots walking across them.
Covering what I am assuming is the worst of the wear is a braided rug, faded and flattened in the center.
Family photographs line the walls, generations of sunbaked faces grinning beside horses, calves, and rodeo buckles held up like trophies. This place breathes history.
The hallway leads to the back of the house, opening into a modest but functional kitchen.
A heavy wooden table sits at the center, scarred and scratched from decades of use.
James is seated at the head, his elbows resting wide and his hands clasped loosely in front of him.
With his hat removed, I realize his hair is far more gray than I noticed earlier.
Teagan stands at the stove, her back to me, blonde hair pulled into a low ponytail that brushes the collar of her T-shirt. Her clothes hug her frame, accentuating both her curves and the strength earned from hours in the saddle and hard ranch work.
She turns at the sound of my boots on the linoleum floor, and I’m met with her green eyes.
Strikingly green. They catch the light from the overhead fixture and hold it, sparkling.
Her face is sun-kissed with high cheekbones and a mouth that looks like it’s perpetually seconds away from either a smile or a challenge.
I assume challenge occurs much more often.
Her pouty pink lips seem almost at odds with the dust smudged along her jaw from earlier.
She is beautiful. Not delicate or polished, but beautiful in the way the land here is—wild, unfiltered, and impossible to ignore. I have to be nearly a decade older than her. At least. She is entirely too young—and not Rosie—for me to be noticing.
Knox leans back in his chair, balancing it on two legs. “Look who decided to show up.” He smirks. “We were about to start without you.”
I glance at my watch. “It’s five fifty-five.”
James gestures to the empty chair next to Knox. “Sit.”
I dip my head and don’t hesitate to follow his instructions.
Teagan walks toward the table. This close, I can see the faint scrape along her forearm from the fall earlier. She moves like it doesn’t exist, setting a platter of roasted chicken and root vegetables in the center before sliding into the seat opposite me.
James bows his head slightly. Knox and Teagan follow without hesitation.
I do the same, unsure of what their protocol is, but not wanting to disrespect it.
James’s voice is low and steady when he speaks.
“Thank you for the food on this table and the hands that worked for it. Keep us safe tomorrow. Amen.”
“Amen,” the others echo.
I clear my throat softly and whisper, “Amen.” The word is foreign in my mouth, like I’m borrowing it from someone else. The only church I’ve ever sat in was at Rosie’s funeral. I remember wanting to believe in something then, but belief never came. Only grief and hopelessness.
The room is silent, except for the clinking of silverware and creaking of chairs, as plates are passed.
Chicken, roasted potatoes, and carrots. It’s simple food, the kind that keeps you upright through a twelve-hour day.
The sounds of our eating fill the quiet as Knox stares at me over his hovering fork.
“So… Easton,” he says casually, though there is nothing casual about the way his eyes flicker with curiosity.
“What are your intentions with our ranch?”
Teagan snorts softly into her glass. James doesn’t look up from his plate, but I can feel his attention on me, nonetheless.
“I’m here to work,” I answer evenly. “As long as you’ll have me.”
“You ever roped?” Knox studies me as he waits for my answer.
“A little. Not competitively.”
Teagan arches a brow. “Don’t think I’ve ever met a cowboy who doesn’t chase calves for sport. You are a cowboy, right? You can stay on a horse?”
“Something like that.” I smirk, though it’s been so long since I’ve really ridden that I am a little leery about tomorrow.
She finishes her bite and leans back in her chair slightly. “We’ve got rodeo season starting up in a few weeks. That means Knox and I will be gone some weekends.”
“Your father informed me before I took the job.”
“You ride bulls?” Knox asks, a wide grin spreading across his face as excitement flickers in his eyes.
“No,” I scoff. “Definitely not.”
“Smart man.” He chuckles before going into a long history of humorous moments and close calls he’s had on the back of a bucking bronco.
“Deacon will be here in the morning,” James interrupts the casual conversation. “He’s my other son. He lives a few acres east, with his wife and two young boys.”
“Looking forward to it.” The idea of young kids running around this property causes an unexpected reaction, as the future Rosie and I were planning whispers through my thoughts. I push the stolen dream away, not wanting to fall apart at the table.
When Knox opens his mouth again, I eagerly await the distraction until he points at my left hand with his fork. “You married?”
I take a sip of water to buy myself a second. “I was.”
Uncomfortable silence flickers across the table. James clears his throat and reaches for the potatoes, closing the subject before anyone has the chance to press. A notion I am very grateful for.
“You don’t talk much.” Teagan cocks her head to the side as she stabs a baby carrot with her fork.
“Neither does James.”
Knox laughs hard, nearly choking on his mouthful of food, as James shoots me a look. If I squint hard enough, I can pretend it’s amusement.
“Fair.” Teagan’s lips twitch as she fights to hold back a smile. She shifts her body and drops her head to look under the table. Her voice is sweet, but laced with an edge, as she adds, “And those might look like cowboy boots, but I’m pretty sure they’ve never even seen mud.”
I glance down at my feet instinctively to inspect my boots. They’re worn. Barely. But not ranch-worn.
Before I can respond, she sasses, “You might look like a cowboy, but those expensive jeans and boots… You don’t fool me, city boy.”
City boy?!?
I nearly laugh at the audacity.
Boy?
I have to be at least a decade older than her. If anyone at this table qualifies as a boy, it’s Knox. But I let it slide. It’s not even my first day on the job, and James had the generosity to invite me into his home. I need to be respectful of that.
“I grew up around ranches,” I reply, matter-of-factly. “I just… took a detour.”
Her gaze rolls over my face, and the corner of her lips ticks up with a bratty smirk. “A long one.”
Long enough to build a career. Lose my wife. Nearly lose myself.
“Long enough.”
Knox leans forward on his elbows, “Dad tell you we start at five?”
“Yes.”
“I hope you ain’t delicate,” he teases.
“I’ll manage.”
Teagan huffs softly. “We’ll see…”
The rest of dinner unfolds with more casual conversation.
Knox talks incessantly, Teagan frequently interrupts to correct his exaggerations, and James listens far more than he speaks.
I spend the meal carefully answering questions and sidestepping details.
Who I really am. The spotlight and world tours.
My dreamer. The life I walked away from.
I can tell by the way Teagan’s eyes narrow slightly at my deflections that she notices. As much as I expect her to call me out on it, she repeatedly lets the slide.
Halfway through dessert—peach cobbler that tastes like summer—I catch myself watching her.
Nothing about her is reserved. She says what she wants without a filter.
The way laughter bubbles out of her—especially when Knox says something particularly stupid—is almost contagious.
She’s strong and confident. Alive in a way that feels almost foreign to me.
When dinner winds down, James scoots back his chair. “Five a.m.”
“I’ll be ready.”
He nods once.
“If you oversleep,” Knox pauses to stretch as he stands from the table, “Teagan will pour a bucket of ice water on you.”
“I absolutely will,” she confirms sweetly with a devilish grin.
After pushing my chair back from the table, I rise to my feet. “Thank you,” I express my gratitude to James. “For the meal and the opportunity.”
“You’re welcome for the meal. You’ll earn the opportunity.”
“I will.”
Knox slaps his hand on my shoulder before walking me down the hall toward the door.
“City boy,” Teagan calls after us softly. I glance over my shoulder to find her lingering by the table, stacking plates. She has a glimmer in her emerald eyes and a playfulness in her smirk. “See you in the morning.”
I step out onto the porch, and the cool night air wraps around me instantly. The sky is darker, streaked with purple and scattered stars just beginning to appear. My boots crunch against the gravel as I head to the bunkhouse, replaying the events of the day.
Fucking city boy…
I huff and shake my head as I climb the steps of the empty bunkhouse. After closing the door behind me, I lean against it for a moment before pulling off my boots. I cross the room to the small desk beneath the window and sit before lifting the cover of Rosie’s journal.
The worn leather feels different under my fingers now. It’s grounding. My lifeline to the woman I love. I flip to the next blank page and pick up my pen.
Dear Rosie,
I finished the drive to Montana today. You would love it here.
The words come easier than they used to. I tell her in detail about the land stretching endlessly under a sky so wide it makes you feel small in the best way. Then about the Wilsons.
James is gruff and quiet. He reminds me a lot of the old man who ran the butcher shop on Melbourne. The grumpy one who hated everyone but you.
And Knox… He doesn’t quite strike me as the brightest marker in the box, but I’m quite sure beneath all the charisma and sarcasm, there’s a pretty genuine guy.
Then there’s Teagan.
I hesitate, my pen resting against the page, trying to decide how to describe her to Rosie.
I used to tease you about being stubborn and sassy, and after meeting her… I take it all back.
Shaking my head, I think about how quickly she climbed back into the saddle of the horse who bucked her off this afternoon and the crap she gave me at dinner.
I miss you, dreamer. And, like every night, I wish you were here with me.
I close the journal gently and set it aside. For the first time in seemingly forever, the longing ache isn’t the only thing in my chest. Possibility is weaseling its way in.