Chapter 9
NINE
IZZY
“If you get tired of the grumpiness, I’ve got a spare room in the city with your name on it,” Chase says with a wink so exaggerated it feels like it should come with a health warning.
The man’s magnetic, with that shaved head and the mischievous spark in his dark brown eyes.
I can already see he’s the kind of person who lights up a room just by walking into it.
Just as I can see his outrageous flirting is more about annoying Dylan than it is about me.
I laugh, happy to play along. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
“Is that the spare room where you and JT store your football equipment?” Jake asks from across the table, mentioning the Stormhawks kicker Chase moved in with when he came back to Denver.
“That room is a biohazard.” Jake has one arm slung casually around Harper’s shoulders, the pair of them practically glowing.
His dark hair is longer than Dylan’s, curling slightly at the ends and pushed away from his face, and his smile is broad and easy, which I guess has a lot to do with the rock sparkling on Harper’s delicate finger.
“And yet it’s still nicer than being around Dylan’s grumpy ass.” Chase laughs.
Dylan barely grunts in response as he takes a sip of water. He’s like a storm cloud in the middle of all this sunshine. And yeah, I think Dylan is a massive jerk with a serious attitude problem, but even I can see it can’t be easy having your brothers still playing NFL football when you’re not.
Across the table, Dylan shifts in his seat and reaches for the bowl of potatoes. He looks around the table, pausing when he sees Madison’s near-empty plate. Without a word, he spoons the last two onto her plate.
“Thank you, Dylan,” she says, stabbing one of the potatoes with her fork and popping it straight into her mouth.
It’s a small gesture, but I’m surprised he noticed or cares enough to make sure Mad has enough to eat. I force my eyes away before he catches me staring. Dylan is as closed off with his family as he’s been with me. If there’s anything else beneath that scowl, it’s buried deep.
Madison’s fork clinks against her plate as she sets it down and leans back, rubbing her belly with both hands. “Why are you all so big?” she asks, staring from one Sullivan brother to the next.
“Mad,” I hiss as the table erupts in laughter, the kind that’s impossible not to join in with.
“What?” Madison asks, her face the picture of innocence. “I really wanna know.”
Mama reaches to pat Madison’s hand with a conspiratorial smile.
“You ask whatever questions you like at this table, Miss Madison. The answer might have something to do with my boys always eating a second helping of vegetables,” she says with a wink to me before pushing the bowl of roasted carrots and green beans toward my daughter.
With a gleeful smile usually reserved for ice cream, Mad scoops two heaping spoonfuls of vegetables onto her plate and starts eating.
I shake my head in disbelief, hiding my own laughter as well as the yawn threatening.
Caring for the horses while making sure Madison has my full attention has been exhausting, and I still have a pile of clothes to handwash in the sink of the trailer after dinner.
I really need to get my washing machine fixed.
The conversation flows easily around the table as Mad munches on her vegetables.
Harper lights up as she talks about dividing her time between working on features at Sports Magazine and writing a book about vampires that’s being published next year, her voice animated as she describes the process.
Jake looks like he’s about to burst with pride as she speaks, and I like them both already.
We zigzag from one topic to another, and as Chase and Jake descend into fits of giggles with Madison over a story about their dad falling in a puddle of mud they’d made with the hose as kids, I can’t help but compare it to the dinners at my parents’ house.
Polite conversations that always loop back to the hospital and their patients.
My family never means to exclude me—it’s just that their world is so different from mine.
At least once during those dinners, someone—usually my brother, David—will steer the conversation toward my work on Bill’s ranch. But their eyes will glaze over fast.
Whatever wildness lives in Bill’s blood, the thing that made him save every spare cent he had to buy a patch of land near Shamrock and build a horse ranch from scratch, it skipped a generation.
His son—my dad—chose hospitals and air conditioning over open land and dirt.
Dad always talks about growing up in a tiny apartment above a bakery in Northglenn, only moving to the ranch when his parents finally had the money saved when my dad was seven.
Dad’s ranch stories are of the hard years—when the bills piled up, and the bank kept circling like vultures.
That struggle pushed him into med school, and into a life of white coats and neat routines. I respect it. But I never wanted it.
I grew up in a house where everything had its place, including me.
My parents’ love felt like it came wrapped in expectations.
Straight As. College. Med school. But summers spent on Bill’s ranch while my brother and sister went to camp—that was freedom.
I’d brush down the horses for hours, throw myself into every job, and fall asleep with a smile on my face.
It was the only time I ever felt like myself growing up.
Working for Bill for the last eight years felt as easy as those summers.
We never needed small talk. We’d pile sandwiches high with whatever we had, head out to the porch steps, and talk through the work still ahead.
I love my family, but they understand my world about as well as I understand theirs.
And when those summers ended as a kid and I went back to the city, it felt like a part of me was being locked away.
This right here—the Sullivans with their noise and laughter and teasing—is a different kind of family.
I’m pulled back to the table by Madison tugging at Dylan’s tee, where the material stretches over his bicep. “Do you have a girlfriend?” she asks, her tone casual, like she’s asking him if he wants dessert.
For some reason, the question causes a wave of heat to creep up my neck and my thoughts to flash to our kiss. I take a slow sip of water, grateful for the distraction of Chase’s laughter. “That would require Dylan to talk to women,” he says, his grin wicked.
“That Sullivan charm is in there somewhere, Dyl,” Jake throws out.
“Buried under a mountain of grump,” Chase finishes.
Dylan’s glare sweeps the table, and they bite back their laughter, shoulders shaking silently as Dylan turns to Mad. He isn’t laughing, but he isn’t angry either. “Ignore them,” he says.
Madison doesn’t miss a beat. “My daddy has lots of girlfriends,” she says in the matter-of-fact way she does that never fails to make me both insanely proud and also want to bury my head in my hands. “I can ask him if he can give one to you, if you want.”
“I’ll be fine, but thank you, Mad,” Dylan replies, and just for a second I think I catch the ghost of a smile. Our eyes lock and something else passes between us.
“That’s probably best.” Madison nods earnestly, completely oblivious to how the air is suddenly charged in a way I didn’t expect and sure as hell don’t want. “Unless you can sing. My daddy’s girlfriends like him because he’s a country singer.”
“Anyone we know?” Harper asks.
Pride shines in Madison’s bright eyes. A well-worn pain surfaces, the kind that twists like a knife. I hope she never realizes what a lousy excuse for a dad Hooper is.
“He’s Hooper Greene,” Madison announces.
My ex-husband’s name causes a collective gasp around the table. Of all the promises Hooper made when he dropped to one knee when I was eighteen and pregnant, him becoming a star was the only one he kept—and the least important, it turned out.
“He travels all around the country. He said he’ll take me with him one day,” Madison explains, her small hands gesturing animatedly as she talks.
I stay quiet, keeping my expression neutral. Hooper gets to flit in and out of her life whenever it’s convenient for him, leaving me to pick up the pieces of broken promises.
Sometimes I wonder if I’m messing this whole parenting thing up.
Madison says she loves our trailer—calls it a cozy space just for us.
And I try to believe that’s enough. It gave us our own place at Bill’s ranch once Mad started walking, and it meant we weren’t imposing every time he wanted to watch his war documentaries instead of the tenth rerun of whatever Disney movie Mad was currently obsessed with.
But still, I worry that a tiny trailer, no matter how filled with love and laughter, isn’t the kind of stable home she deserves, especially when we’ve spent this past year so unsure of what the future holds.
I watch Madison now, stroking Buck’s head beneath the table. She skipped through every task today like she belongs on a ranch as much as I do. I silently will her not to fall in love with this ranch or these people. Because in five weeks we’ll be gone.
Assuming Dylan doesn’t pull his head out of his ass and sell the horses before then.
I miss Mad like crazy during the week when she’s off at Hooper’s parents’ summer camp—spending the days swimming and playing with friends.
I know she’s safe and happy, but the quiet of the summer weeks eats at a part of my soul.
It’s easier during the school year. I count the hours until she jumps off that yellow school bus, and Mad tells me about her day as we cook dinner together.
“I don’t get to see him much,” Mad adds, still talking about Hooper. A sadness creeps into her voice that cracks open my heart.
“Well, that sounds a lot like he’s missing out,” Dylan says, the sincerity in his voice throwing me off balance.
Mama nods, her warm smile spreading across her face as she looks down the table at her boys. “Families aren’t just the people you’re born into. They’re who you choose. Who you show up for. And who shows up for you.”
“I don’t know, Mama,” Chase says, voice teasing. “If Dylan keeps up his terrible excuse for ranching skills, we might need to audition for a replacement brother before he brings down the Sullivan name.”
Across the table, Jake cracks up, and maybe it’s the kind words Dylan had for Madison just now—or a temporary lapse in judgment—but before I can stop myself, I’m stepping in. Not to defend Dylan exactly. He’s still a grumpy, unreliable pain in my ass.
I flash my sweetest smile. “Sounds a lot like you boys think you could do better. Why don’t you both join me at five tomorrow morning and we’ll see how long you last? I mean, unless you’re scared of getting your hands dirty and seeing what a real day’s work looks like?”
The table falls quiet. I catch Dylan’s head jerk up, his eyes flicking to mine with something like disbelief in their dark depths—maybe even gratitude.
Jake’s laugh breaks the silence. He shakes his head, raising his hands in surrender. “Fair point, Izzy. And thanks, but I’ll leave the ranching to the two of you.”
“Three,” Madison throws in.
“I’ll leave ranching to the three of you,” Jake corrects with an apologetic smile so sincere, I’m certain it’s got him out of a lot of trouble over the years.
Later, when Jake and Harper take Buck for a walk around a lake I didn’t even know existed at the back of the ranch, and Chase leaves to drive back to the city, Dylan, Mad, and I help Mama tidy the dishes.
My arms feel heavy with exhaustion as I lift the last plate from the rack to dry.
I can’t fight back the long yawn that escapes me.
Mama doesn’t miss it. “When my Harry was alive—that’s my late husband and Dylan, Jake, and Chase’s father,” she explains to Madison.
“He died when the boys were not much older than you. He used to be asleep on his feet by this time most nights,” she says with a knowing smile.
“You girlies need to get some sleep, too.”
“Thank you,” I say, tucking my hair behind my ears. “This has been a very fun evening.” One I didn’t expect to enjoy as much as I did.
“It has,” Mama agrees. “And a lot of that fun came from this one,” she says, wrapping her arms around Madison and kissing the top of her head. “You come for dinner anytime,” she says. “Now, have you girls got all you need?”
“Yes, thanks, Ma—” I start to say, but Mad is already speaking up.
“Can we use your washing machine tomorrow, please, Mama?” she asks. “Ours is broken, and Mom’s been washing all our clothes in the sink.”
Heat floods my face as a mortified “Mad!” escapes. My voice is soft, but the warning is clear. “It’s fine, honestly,” I tell Mama. “We’re managing just fine.”
Mama’s gaze on me is firm and assessing. It’s the same look she’s given her boys all evening when their teasing goes too far, the one that says she knows exactly what’s what, no matter what you try to tell her. I don’t need to look at Dylan to know he’s finding this exchange amusing.
Jerk!
Mama takes Madison’s hand. “This way, sweetheart.” She leads Madison to a utility room by the back door.
“We’ve got a washing machine and a dryer right here by the boot room.
When we had the kitchen built, I made Harry install a shower room too, so he could wash off the smell of horses before trailing through the house. ”
She shoots Dylan a pointed look and he rolls his eyes. “Message received,” he says. “From now on, I’ll shower there before coming in.”
Mama smiles back and I get the impression she’s a woman who always gets her way. It makes me like her more, even if the embarrassment is still burning on my face.
“You two use this shower or the washing machine anytime you like. The back door is always open,” she continues, opening the door to a neat utility room.
“There are two machines in here. If I show you now, then you can show your mom when she’s ready to admit that asking for help is a sign of strength, not weakness. ”
I bite down hard on my bottom lip, willing the words to roll right off me.
I know she’s right, but it doesn’t make it easier to hear.
Not when I’ve spent years rebuilding myself brick by brick after my marriage crumbled.
I think back to those early days when Madison was just a baby and I’d had no choice but to crawl back to Denver at the age of nineteen, to my parents’ house and accept help.
When Bill took us in and hired me as a ranch hand, I swore to myself that I’d never ask for help again.
Never rely on anyone but myself. I don’t need anyone’s help now.
Except maybe for a washing machine until I can get mine fixed…