34. Josephine
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Josephine
By the time the McCoy ranch comes into view, the ranch lies beneath a clear night sky, every fence post, barn roof, and pasture line softened by darkness.
The truck rolls slowly up the gravel drive, tires crunching beneath us while the main house glows with warm yellow light.
After hours of highway, gas station coffee, quiet conversation, and Clay’s hand wrapped around mine in the backseat, the ranch feels almost unreal, as if Buckhorn kept existing while the rest of my life split wide open somewhere outside Twin Falls.
Boone parks near the porch and kills the engine.
Nobody moves right away.
Rose shifts in the passenger seat and looks back at us with tired eyes and a gentle smile. “Well, nobody vomited, nobody bled, and Boone only threatened two drivers between Idaho and Oregon, so I’m calling this trip a success.”
Boone opens his door with a low grunt. “One of those drivers deserved more than a threat.”
“He cut you off once.”
“He cut me off with disrespect.”
Clay huffs out a laugh beside me, and because I’ve spent most of the drive tracking every change in his breathing, every wince from his leg, every time his thumb moved over my knuckles, I feel the sound all the way through my chest.
Rose notices too. Her smile warms before she climbs out.
Clay keeps hold of my hand even after the engine dies.
I look down at our joined fingers, then over at him. “You have to get out eventually.”
“I know.”
“You also have a bad leg, so sitting here won’t improve your mobility.”
His mouth tilts. “I was having a moment.”
“You can have one upright.”
“Bossy already,” he murmurs. “Motherhood suits you.”
The word catches between us.
Motherhood.
I should probably be used to it by now. I’ve known about the twins for weeks. I’ve seen them on an ultrasound screen, heard their heartbeats, built budgets and contingency plans upon contingency plans because apparently pregnancy has turned my brain into an overachieving project manager.
But hearing Clay say it makes the whole thing shift.
His expression changes the second he realizes what slipped out. “Sorry,” he says. “Was that weird?”
“Yes.”
His face falls a little.
I squeeze his hand before he can pull away. “But not bad weird.”
Relief moves across his face so openly that it almost hurts to look at.
“Okay,” he says quietly. “Good.”
Outside, Boone knocks once on the truck window. “You two planning to raise those babies in the backseat, or are we going inside?”
Clay rolls his eyes but doesn’t stop looking at me. “He’s been waiting his whole life to say things like that.”
“He’s very gifted at eldest brother harassment.”
“It’s his spiritual calling.”
I laugh, and Clay smiles at me as if the sound does something to him.
That’s the problem with tonight. Every time I try to get my feet back under me, he looks at me as if I’m not the complication that ended his freedom, but the answer to a question he’s been carrying for years.
I don’t know what to do with that.
Inside the house, Maggie is waiting in the kitchen.
She must’ve been pretending not to wait, because there’s a dish towel twisted in both hands and a kettle sitting untouched on the stove. The second Clay steps through the doorway, relief washes across her face so openly I have to look away.
“Oh, thank goodness,” she whispers.
Clay barely has time to brace himself before she crosses the kitchen and wraps him in a hug. He goes still long enough to look startled, but then one arm comes around her shoulders, and his head dips as if the weight of the day has finally found somewhere to land.
“I’m okay, Mama,” he says.
Maggie pulls back far enough to grip his face between her hands. “You’re not okay. You’re pale, exhausted, limping worse than when you left, and you look as if you’ve been sleeping in a ditch with men who think whiskey is a vegetable.”
Boone shuts the door behind us. “That’s oddly specific.”
“I raised four boys. Nothing I say is oddly specific.”
Rose touches my elbow and gives me a small, encouraging smile before setting her bag on a chair.
Maggie’s gaze shifts to me. Suddenly, I’m certain she knows everything. Maybe mothers develop that ability after enough years of raising sons who make irresponsible choices and then wander home expecting nobody to notice.
Her expression softens, but she doesn’t ask. “Josephine, sit down before you fall down.”
“I’m fine.”
All four McCoys turn and look at me.
Even Clay, who should know better by now.
I sigh. “That phrase has really lost power recently.”
Rose pulls out a chair. “Completely ruined. Tragic, honestly.”
I sit because my body is no longer accepting arguments from my personality.
Maggie moves around the kitchen with brisk purpose, reheating stew, slicing bread, filling glasses with water, and muttering under her breath about stubborn boys and long drives.
Boone takes Clay’s bag without asking. Clay starts to object, but Boone lifts one eyebrow, and Clay decides survival matters more than pride.
For a little while, everything becomes strangely ordinary.
Bowls are set on the table. Rose steals half of Boone’s bread after insisting she wasn’t hungry.
Maggie fusses at Clay until he eats three bites, then fusses at me until I eat four.
Boone leans against the counter, pretending not to watch his youngest brother as if Clay might vanish again if nobody keeps him in sight.
Every few minutes, his eyes find mine across the table, and each time they do, the same quiet promise waits there.
I’m here.
I’m still here.
I want to believe it so badly it scares me.
Eventually, Maggie orders everyone to bed with the authority of a woman who could command weather if she felt strongly enough. Rose hugs me before she and Boone head toward their place, and Boone stops beside Clay long enough to put a hand on his shoulder.
“Tomorrow,” Boone says.
Clay nods. “Yeah.”
“Don’t make me chase you again.”
Clay’s mouth curves faintly. “I'd say you enjoyed every minute of it, but Rose is still within throwing distance.”
“She is,” Rose calls from the doorway.
Boone points at him. “Tomorrow.”
After they leave, the house settles into the sort of quiet that comes after too much emotion has passed through it. Maggie disappears down the hall, but not before giving Clay a look that says their conversation is far from over.
Clay waits until her bedroom door closes before he lets out a long breath.
“You want to go outside?” he asks me.
I glance toward his brace. “Can you?”
“I can make it to the porch, Doc.”
“I’m not that kind of doctor.”
“You’re the closest thing I’ve got right now, and you’re too mean enough to be effective.”
“That might be the nicest insult anyone’s ever given me.”
He smiles, but there’s exhaustion underneath it, and when he reaches for his crutch, I stand with him.
The porch is warm and dry, carrying the smell of dust, hay, and summer grass. Crickets sing from somewhere near the fence line. Beyond the yard, the pastures stretch dark and wide beneath a sky crowded with stars.
Clay lowers himself onto the porch swing with a careful grimace.
I sit beside him, close enough that our shoulders almost touch. Then Clay looks down at my stomach. “Do you have a picture?”
I blink. “Of what?”
“Them.” He clears his throat, suddenly self-conscious. “The twins. From the ultrasound.”
“Oh,” I say, then immediately hate how small my voice gets. “Yes. I have one.”
I reach for my phone with fingers that aren’t quite steady, open the photo, and hand it to him.
Clay takes it carefully, as if the phone itself has become fragile.
The screen lights his face while he studies the grainy black and white image. His brow furrows with intense concentration.
I wait.
He studies the image long enough for nerves to start working their way in.
Then he says, “I’m gonna be honest with you.”
“That’s ominous.”
“They look a little strange.”
A laugh bursts out of me before I can stop it.
Clay glances over, alarmed. “What? They do.”
“They’re sixteen weeks old.”
“I’m not blaming them. I’m just saying nobody warned me babies start out looking this mysterious.”
“They’re not mysterious. They’re developing.”
He looks back at the screen, and his expression changes again, humor fading into wonder so slowly it steals my breath.
“That one’s turned sideways?”
I lean closer and point. “That’s Baby A.”
“Baby A,” he repeats, the words carrying an almost disbelieving care.
“And that’s Baby B.”
“There’s really two.”
“Yes.”
“Right there.”
“Right there.”
He stares at the image for another long moment, then presses his thumb lightly against the edge of the phone, nowhere near the screen, careful not to smudge anything that doesn’t exist.
“I missed this.”
The ache in his voice makes my throat tighten.
“You didn’t know.”
“No, but you did.” He looks over at me. “You went through this without me.”
I fold my hands in my lap because I don’t know what to do with them. “I didn’t know how to tell you. Then you were hurt, and everything with your family felt complicated, and every time I almost said it, you were already halfway out the door emotionally.”
Clay takes that in without defending himself.
“I made it hard,” he says.
“You made it confusing.”
He nods slowly, gaze dropping back to the ultrasound. “That too.”
The swing shifts faintly beneath us when he adjusts his leg.
“I want to come to the next appointment,” he says.
My heart gives an unhelpful little twist. “It’s in two weeks.”
“I’ll be there.” He coughs awkwardly. “Boone’s gonna be unbearable.”
“About what?”
“Advice. All of it. He’ll start with diapers, somehow end at property taxes, and make both sound equally urgent.”
I smile. “Dallas?”
“Quietly practical. Probably already knows which car seat has the best safety rating and where to get it cheaper.”
“Nash?”
Clay’s smile widens. “Nash will buy them tiny cowboy hats and teach them something dangerous before they can walk.”