15. Flint
Flint
“Boys, what have you done?” I ask as I survey the spilled cat food scattered throughout the grass. The two of them had been playing near the cat shed, and it looks like they spent that time opening the food bags and spreading it everywhere.
They went shopping with their mom yesterday and came back chatting about their boots. They were both so damn proud, strutting around in them then trying on mine. It made me laugh to see that, and I reminded them one day they’d need big boots too.
“Meow,” Branson says.
“Use your words,” I tell him, borrowing one of Ronnie’s phrases that she uses with the boys. I can’t figure out why on earth they’d open up the bags and put food all over the place. It doesn’t look like it was spilled but purposely spread out.
“We can’t. We’re cats now,” Brock answers with a huff.
“No, you’re not, silly,” I grab the empty feed bags and toss them into the nearby recycling bin. My boots crunch over the dry pellets with every step. I have more cat food. I’ll call Kane and have him run it up here.
Before I can reach for my phone, I see Brock’s chin wobble. “I wanna be a cat.”
“Me too,” Branson says so softly that I almost miss it.
Something nags at me, and I take a seat on the grass, forgetting all about my phone. I ignore the cat food that I’m crushing to focus on the boys. “Okay, why do you want to be cats today?”
The boys look at each other for a minute, neither of them speaking. I wonder if it’s a brother or a twin thing, the way they exchange those looks. I asked Ronnie about it, but she’s an only child like me.
I have a feeling I know what this is about, so I ask gently, “Is this because my friend called me cat dad?”
“We could be good cats,” Branson says.
“I meow good,” Brock adds.
My heart breaks for them, and I stand. “Come with me. I want to show you two something.”
I grab my phone. I send a quick text to Bronco letting him know that I’ll survey the valley later this week instead of today.
Now that we know the dam is holding well, he wants to put a few barns down there, maybe even some barracks on that land.
But some things are more important than double-checking property lines. Like being here with my boys.
Neither of them moves to follow me.
“You’re not in trouble,” I tell them.
That seems to get them in gear, and they trail after me to the house.
“Are we in time out?” Branson asks as they trail after me up the front porch steps and through the living room.
“You’re not in trouble,” I remind them. “I have a surprise for you.”
“A cat dish?”
“No, better than that,” I tell him and head into my bedroom.
It smells like Ronnie in here. The sheets are still rumpled from where she slept, and her makeup products are scattered across the dresser top.
If she’s found that ring box hidden in my top drawer, she hasn’t mentioned it. I bought it the weekend we met.
Brock tries to climb on the bed, but it’s too tall for his short frame. I grab him and Branson in my arms and plop them down on the bed. They bounce a little and giggle. “It’s like a bouncy castle!”
“Yeah, well, don’t bounce on it. Your mom sleeps there, and I don’t want you breaking the springs for her.
” I open the door to the walk-in closet and reach for the boxes I stored on the top shelf.
These were going to be future Christmas gifts, but I’m thinking now is a good time. “Here. I got you a present.”
“It’s not even our birthday!” Branson exclaims as I pass them each a white box.
The moment they open the boxes, they both start squealing with excitement.
“I’m a cowboy!” Brock shouts and shoves his hat on his head.
“Me too!” Branson does the same.
I kneel so I’m at their eye level. “This is what a cowboy dad does. He gives his sons hats, so everyone knows they belong to him. You’re not cats. You’re cowboys.”
“Cool!” Brock says.
“Does this mean I can ride Hilda now?” Branson asks, looking up at me from underneath the brim of his hat.
I chuckle and set it right on his head. “No, you’ll ride horses just like your old man.”
Ronnie
“And he built this?” Mira asks again, flicking through the photos on my phone of the boys’ T-rex bed. I snapped a few pictures of it last night to show her. “This man, who was your one-night stand, built your kids custom furniture, put a baby in your belly, and you’re just roommates with him.”
“It’s complicated,” I say, blowing out a breath.
The two of us are in my office. After we met up at Sprinkles yesterday, we spent the night texting each other.
She told me she wants to spend more time in Courage County, maybe even move here permanently.
But there’s a lot to think about since she runs a successful company in Asheville.
Cord is supportive of whatever she wants to do so for right now, they just alternate, spending time between Courage and Asheville.
There’s a knock on the door then the boys are barreling inside without waiting for permission.
Flint is in the doorway, and he gives me a wave before leaving.
I know he has a lot to do today on the farm, but he took time away to be with the boys.
He promised them horse rides, and he’s never broken a promise to them.
“Hey, boys! How was your day?” I ask, noting their cowboy hats. Those are new, and I know I didn’t buy them.
“We got to ride the horses again!” Brock explains as he races toward the little cubby where I keep snacks for them. He pulls out a banana then wrinkles his nose and tosses it back in, opting for a box of fruit snacks that he sweet-talked Grandma into buying at the grocery store.
“Not the big ones. Not yet. Flint says when we get big like him then we can ride them all day!” Branson adds and yanks the fruit snacks from his brother. “Gimme.”
“You can’t take your brother’s stuff. There’s a pack for you in the cube.” I make the decree in the court of sibling justice before the case can come before the bench.
Branson grumbles but offers no appeal. He hands it back to his brother before shoving his little arm into the cube and pulling out a fruit snack of his own.
“You guys have cool hats on,” Mira says and passes me back my phone.
Brock stops cramming the gummy snack into his mouth. His chest puffs out. “I got it from my dad!”
My heart skips a beat, and I exchange a look with Mira. “Can you watch them for a second?”
She nods, smirking at me. “Sure. We’ll hang here.”
“Boys, listen to your Aunt Mira,” I tell them as I shove my feet into my shoes and hurry out the door, my heart thundering in my chest.
I don’t have to search long to find Flint. He’s unloading chicken feed from a truck while a country song blares from his radio. He pauses when he sees me, a grin forming on his face.
I’m in no mood to appreciate how hot he looks hauling the heavy feed or be swayed by his beautiful smile. “What do you think you're doing? You can't just tell my kids that they can call you dad.”
He sets the feed back in the truck and turns to me, pulling off his thick work gloves, “What's wrong with that?”
“They were two when he left and you know what? They don’t remember him.
But you? They’ll remember you, Flint! Have you even thought about what it will do to them if you’re not here in two years, if you lose interest because being a parent is the hardest fucking job in the world and not everyone is cut out to be one?
” My voice has grown louder and more hysterical with every word.
How can he not see the problem with this?
He takes me by the shoulders, his touch instantly grounding me and soothing me. “Have you ever considered what their lives will look like when I am still here in two years? I know he was the leaving kind, but I'm not him. I'm not gonna leave you. I'm not gonna leave them.”
I swallow around the lump in my throat. “You should have talked it over with me first.”
“Whether you like it or not, our lives are bound together now. We're having a baby. And what am I supposed to do? Am I supposed to love the baby and refuse to be a father figure to their half-siblings? I don't work that way. I won't work that way. I'm all in right here.”
“This is a lot,” I admit in a tiny whisper, feeling fragile in a way I haven’t for years. The problem with being a single mom who is larger than life is sometimes, you start to believe your own hype. You start thinking you really can’t depend on anyone else but what if…what if I’m wrong about that?
He doesn’t argue with me or try to convince me that he’s right. He nods, the knowing look in his eyes telling me that he’s seen beneath my surface today.
I take a deep breath, feeling raw and exposed. “We’ll talk about it later.”
I turn to go, but he calls my name softly. “You look beautiful today.”
“I threw up three times.”
“Still beautiful,” he says in a tone that makes me think he believes it.
“I’m trying really hard to be mad at you.”
He shrugs. “Be as mad as you need to be. I can take it.”
“I’m going back to the office now. I’ll see you for dinner.”
He tips his hat. “Looking forward to it, boss.”
I can barely focus during dinner. I just keep replaying my argument with Flint in my head and thinking about his question. Have you ever considered what their lives will look like when I am still here in two years?
The truth is, I haven’t once considered that something good could come from this, that we could build a pretty life together. I’ve been so focused on all of the pain that I never want to feel again. That I never want my children to feel.
After dinner, Flint plays with the boys in front of the fireplace. He must be exhausted from working on the farm all day, but it never shows. He helps them use their blocks to build a racetrack and launch cars across the room, laughing with them the entire time.
He reads their story at bedtime and tucks them in with tender care, staying with them until they’re fast asleep and dreaming of one day riding “the big horses”.
I grab the laundry from the dryer and move to the bedroom. It’s not even my bedroom. It’s his bedroom that he gave up for me without complaint. I shake my head. I can’t keep twisting myself up in knots.
Dumping the laundry on the bed, I quickly sort through it, looking for my comfy underwear that are faded and frayed. I find a couple of his T-shirts, the ones he normally sleeps in and grab them. Maybe I take a big inhale, trying desperately to memorize his scent.
Irritated with myself, I stalk to the dresser and shove the shirts in there. Of course, they catch on something, and I have to take the whole thing out. I get all the fabric back into the overflowing drawer that he never organizes, pausing when I feel something hard beneath a shirt.
My breath catches when I realize it’s a ring box. For a moment, I wonder about ex-girlfriends then worry that he’s seeing other people. But his words come back to me. First love.
I probably shouldn’t, but I open it. I gasp the moment I see the vintage diamond ring. It’s a beautiful engagement ring, the kind a cowboy could easily spend thousands on.
I feel Flint’s presence behind me and close my eyes. Once again, I didn’t even hear him come in. “I’m scared.”
“I know, and I won’t ask you to slide this ring on your finger until you're one hundred percent sure. But while I'm waiting for you to decide, would you do me a favor?”
I think of all the things he’s done for me and for the boys, the way he’s chosen to be there for all of us. He hasn’t asked for anything in return, and I want so badly to show him that I care. “What’s that?”
“Would you wear it on your necklace? I want to see it on you, to know it’s at least a possibility in your eyes,” his voice cracks, the raw hope in his tone cutting me open.
“Promise you'll be gentle with all of our hearts.” It’s not a request. It’s a plea from a woman who’s realized it’s too late. There’s no taking back my heart from Flint. I’ve already given it to him. I’m just not ready to admit it out loud quite yet, and I think he knows it too.
“You can count on it,” he says the words solemnly, like he’s taking an oath and knows the importance of what he’s just given me.
His fingers ghost along my neck as they work the clasp open. I slide the ring on it then move to the mirror behind his door. I stare at my reflection, loving the way it looks against my skin and how it feels to know he’s claiming me.
He slides his arms around my body and presses a soft kiss to my temple. “Don’t fear the future. Good things are coming.”
I turn my head toward him, our breaths mingling. His kiss tastes of hope and new beginnings and a life that doesn’t hurt anymore. I run my tongue along his, groaning when his hands tighten on my hips, kneading my flesh.
He lifts his head. “We’re not doing that, but I will hold you through the night.”