3. Clay
CHAPTER THREE
Clay
I wake up to noise.
It presses in before I even open my eyes. Voices layered over each other, something clattering, a kid laughing too loud for this early in the morning. The kind of noise that fills a place completely, leaving no quiet corners to hide in.
I stay still, staring up at the ceiling, letting it settle over me.
The mattress is familiar. It smells of coffee and bacon, drifting in from down the hall. It takes me a moment to place it, to catch up with where I am.
Home.
The word sits strange in my chest, heavier than it used to.
The McCoy Ranch hasn’t necessarily been home for a very long time. But I guess it always will be in a way.
I drag a hand over my face and push myself upright, the ache in my body dull and manageable, the kind that comes from travel and a couple too many late nights. It’s nothing I haven’t worked through before. Even here…
Although not with so many children around.
Yet despite the chaos, somewhere in the back of my mind, there’s her. Dark hair, sharp eyes, the way she didn’t smile like everyone else. Josie. I don’t usually think about the women I leave behind, but she sticks a little longer than she should.
It was supposed to be nothing. One night, easy, no strings, exactly how I like it. But there’s a flicker of something I can’t quite shake, the way she looked at me like she saw more than I offered.
The noise sharpens as I swing my legs over the side of the bed, forcing my thoughts to the side. Mom cuts through everything else, because she’s orchestrating the whole damn morning. Other voices follow: Rose, Faith, Dallas, Boone, overlapping in a rhythm that feels rehearsed.
I guess this is how things always are.
I push to my feet before I can think too hard about it.
Wyatt nearly takes me out the second I step into the hallway. “Uncle Clay!”
I catch him on instinct, hands landing on his shoulders before he can crash into me full force. “Easy there, buddy.”
“We’re having pancakes,” he announces, because to him it’s the biggest news of the day.
“Sounds good.”
“It is,” he says with complete seriousness, then twists out of my grip and bolts down the hall again. “Come and have some.”
I watch him go, shaking my head, amusement pulling at my mouth before I can stop it. Then I follow the noise into the kitchen, and that’s when it hits me properly.
The place is alive.
Rose stands at the stove, flipping pancakes while keeping half an eye on Ellie and Lila. Wyatt’s climbed onto a chair he shouldn’t be on, already reaching for something within arm’s length.
Faith balances Brooklyn on her hip while pouring coffee, Dallas stepping in to still the mug before it spills. Tessa sits at the table, Hailey tucked close against her chest. Nash hovers beside her, still figuring out how to exist without checking every second that everything’s okay.
Mom moves through it all, directing people without raising her voice. “Ellie, careful. Wyatt, down. Faith, sit, I’ve got it. Boone, plates.”
Boone’s already there, grabbing dishes, setting things out, filling in whatever gaps need filling without being told twice.
Everyone’s moving with purpose; they all know exactly where they belong. I guess I did too, once upon a time. Before I left for the circuit.
Now… I stop just inside the doorway.
There’s no obvious place for me in it.
Before I can decide whether to sit down or retreat backward into the hallway, a streak of red shoots between my legs.
“Rusty!” Mom snaps.
Too late.
The old heeler mix launches himself at the edge of the table with the kind of determination I almost respect, manages to steal half a pancake off Wyatt’s plate, and takes off across the kitchen as if he’s pulled off a bank robbery.
“My pancake!” Wyatt shrieks.
Ellie gasps in horror. Faith starts laughing so hard she nearly spills her coffee, and Boone just sighs because this is somehow a normal start to the day.
Rusty skids around the table, pancake hanging from his mouth, and barrels straight into my shins.
“Jeez…”
I catch myself on the counter, barely, while Rusty circles back wanting congratulations.
“Don’t you dare reward him,” Mom says sharply.
“I’m not rewarding him,” I mutter, looking down at the dog now sitting on my boot with syrup on his nose and absolutely no shame in his body.
Wyatt points at me, deeply offended. “He likes you.”
“That says more about his judgment than mine.”
Rusty wags once, then tries to lick the syrup off my jeans.
“Well, good job you decided to join us,” Mom says.
“Yeah,” I chuckle. “Good morning, I guess.”
“Almost afternoon,” Dallas corrects without looking up.
I snort under my breath and grab a mug, pouring myself coffee before anything else. The first sip grounds me a little, heat settling in my chest, a familiarity in the middle of all this movement.
“Clay,” Faith says. I glance over just in time to see her shifting Brooklyn toward me. “Hold him a second?”
My hands come up automatically. “Yeah, sure.”
He’s in my arms before I can think too much about it, and just like that, everything in me goes still. He’s small as well, fragile and lovely. But he doesn’t know me as well as he should. I’ll always be the uncle he doesn’t have the same bond with as the others.
“Relax,” Dallas says, catching the look on my face. “He’s tougher than he looks.”
“Feels like a lie,” I mutter.
Brooklyn shifts, his small hand curling against my shirt. I adjust my grip without thinking, supporting his head, settling him closer. He quiets almost immediately.
I don’t know what to do with it.
I shift my weight, clearing my throat. “Alright, that’s enough of that.”
Faith laughs as she takes him back. “You did fine.”
“Yeah,” I say, brushing it off. “Don’t get used to it.”
But my arms feel strangely empty when he’s gone.
I ignore that.
Breakfast happens around me. Plates get passed. Chairs scrape. Conversations weave in and out of each other in a way that should feel overwhelming but doesn’t. It just keeps moving.
I sit where there’s space, eat what’s in front of me, listen without really trying to be part of it.
Boone’s talking about fence repairs out in the north pasture. Dallas adds something about feed deliveries and paperwork. Nash, still looking weary because he probably hasn’t slept in days, is already working out how to balance the dude ranch with everything else.
Tessa chimes in quietly, already thinking ahead. Faith mentions something about business picking up, Rose talks about the girls’ school schedule, and Mom ties it all together, adjusting, planning, keeping it running.
I sit there with my coffee, watching it happen, and it’s hitting me harder than ever that I’m now on the outside, looking in.
This is what I wanted, right?
“Clay.” I look up. Boone’s watching me. “You sticking around a bit?”
I lean back in my chair, rolling my shoulders. “A few days.”
“How many’s a few?” Dallas asks.
I shrug. “Depends.”
Boone nods slowly, as if he expected that answer. “Got work that needs doing.”
I roll my eyes because that’s always the case. “Figured.”
“You up for it?”
I huff out a quiet laugh. “I can manage a few chores.”
He studies me, then nods once. “I’ll get you a list.”
The list’s longer than I expect. Fence repairs, troughs, cattle, a busted gate. Routine. A routine that I used to hate back when I was dreaming about freedom.
I glance it over and nod once. “Got it.”
“Let me know if you need anything,” he says.
I almost smile at that. “I won’t.”
Out here, things make more sense.
The air’s cleaner. The noise fades into something quieter, easier to handle. Wind moves through the grass, cattle shifting slow in the distance, the ground solid under my boots.
I get to work.
First the fence. Then the troughs. After that, the gate.
It’s all familiar. Muscle memory more than anything else. My body knows what to do even if my head’s somewhere else.
But somewhere along the way, that edge slips.
I lean back against a fence post, pulling a coin from my pocket and flipping it between my fingers.
Up.
Catch.
Again.
The cattle keep grazing happily, because they’ve got nowhere else to be. The house sits in the distance, smaller from here, but still full. Still moving. I watch it, then look away the moment my phone buzzes in my pocket.
I pull it out, glancing at the screen.
Brandon: You back yet? Got a big one early next month. You in?
I stare at it longer than I need to.
I can already feel it. The pull of it. The noise, the movement, the heat of the arena, the way everything narrows down to one thing that matters.
No expectations beyond that, no questions about where I fit, just the eight seconds I know all too well.
I roll the coin across my knuckles, then catch it, closing my fist around it.
My thumb moves before I can second-guess it.
Clay: Yeah. I’ll be there.
I slide the phone back into my pocket, pushing off the fence.
There’s still work on Boone’s list. I’ll get to it, or I won’t. Either way, I already know that I won’t be in Buckhorn for long.