Chapter 4
CHAPTER FOUR
Billy
Sedona hasn’t spoken in over an hour. Her body is angled toward the passenger window, her cheek against the glass, her eyes distant in a way that twists something deep inside my chest.
She cried for most of the morning, cried during the funeral and wake, cried through the drive out of Oregon, cried through the long stretch of highway before we hit the border. She hasn’t cried since lunch, but the silence she’s wrapped herself in feels heavier than anything I’ve seen her carry.
Tex and Seth sit in the back seat, both of them worn out, both respectful enough not to fill the car with noise. I’m so glad my brothers agreed to drive down with me. Joey stayed behind to take care of the ranch, but he’s been calling and asking for updates every five hours or so.
We’ve been on the road for almost thirty hours. My shirt sticks to my back, the collar of my shirt feels like a rope around my neck, and every muscle is stiff from the miles stacked behind us.
The smell of coffee that Seth spilled on the floor mat mixes with the scent of fast-food bags and the last traces of funeral flowers.
I haven’t been to a funeral since my father’s eleven years ago—it feels like it could’ve been last week.
The pastor’s voice, the smell of the church, the way Tex gripped my hand so hard I couldn’t feel my fingers—all of it crawls up the back of my throat if I let myself think too long. I shove the memory away and reach for Sedona’s hand.
Her fingers lie limp until I curl mine around them. Only then does she respond, the faintest squeeze, like she’s reminding herself I’m here.
Prairie Pine comes into view a little after nine in the evening. The lights along Main Street glow through my windshield as we turn toward Wildflower Hollow Road.
The sky is thick with clouds, hiding the stars she loves so much. The whole damn world feels hushed and somber, like it knows one more piece of her life has been taken.
Her father followed us separately this morning, but we left him behind at the inn outside Eugene when he couldn’t stop himself from reaching for another drink. Sedona didn’t say a word about it, but I saw the way she folded in on herself as she walked back to the truck.
I park in the driveway and breathe in the cool air as the engine dies. Tex elbows Seth lightly, and the two of them climb out quietly to give us space.
I turn in my seat and brush a hand along Sedona’s shoulder.
“We’re home,” I whisper.
She blinks slowly, like the words take time to land. Her face looks drained, all the usual color gone, her beautiful mouth drawn tight from holding herself together too long.
She unbuckles her seat belt and steps down from the truck with the kind of exhaustion that settles into bones and refuses to let go.
“Give me a minute,” I tell my brothers and step out of the truck.
Tex nods once. Seth claps my shoulder before climbing into the driver’s seat of the truck. They understand. They always do when it comes to her.
I guide Sedona to the house. She moves like she’s underwater.
When we get inside, the soft lamp glow in the living room wraps around us. The air smells faintly of lavender detergent and the dried flowers she keeps above the window.
Usually, her home feels warm, full of life, but now it feels fragile, like even breathing wrong might break it.
“You want anything?” I ask her gently. “Something to drink? Something to eat?”
She shakes her head and murmurs, “No. I just want to go to bed.”
But instead of heading upstairs, she walks straight to the sofa and lies down with her back toward me. She pulls her knees in, one arm tucked beneath her head. Her shoulders rise and fall with shallow breaths.
She looks small. She has been strong for days, stronger than anyone should have to be, and now she is fading right in front of me.
I step outside, where Tex and Seth are waiting at the foot of the driveway.
“Take the truck home,” I tell them quietly. “I’m staying.”
Seth’s face softens. Tex studies me for a long moment before nodding. “We’ll see you in the morning,” he says. “Call if you need anything.”
I watch them drive away before I go back inside. She hasn’t moved. The sight pulls something sharp inside my chest.
“Sweetheart,” I say as I crouch beside the sofa. “Let’s go upstairs. You’ll sleep better in your bed.”
She turns her face toward me, eyes red and unfocused. She nods, but when she pushes herself upright, she gets only a few steps before her legs give a little.
I don’t let her fall. I slide an arm beneath her and scoop her up without thinking. She rests her head against my shoulder, her breath warm through the collar of my shirt.
“I’ve got you,” I whisper as I carry her upstairs.
Her room smells like her—honeysuckle and something warm and familiar that settles under my ribs and stays there. I set her down on the edge of the bed and shrug out of my jacket.
The thing feels like a damn anchor around my shoulders, and I let it slide onto the chair in the corner. My shirt sticks to me, damp from the long drive, and I unbutton it, tossing it on top of the jacket.
She watches me with dazed eyes. “What’re you doing?”
“I want you to get a warm shower,” I tell her gently. “Then I’ll make you a sandwich, and we’ll sleep.”
She nods, her gaze fixed on my chest like she’s too tired to look anywhere else.
I help her stand. My movements are slow, careful, nothing like the way I touch her when we’re tangled up in each other.
I lift the hem of her dress and slide it over her head. She doesn’t resist; she just lets her arms fall, her body loose with exhaustion.
I tie her hair up into a ponytail so it doesn’t get wet. Then I strip down and take her hand, guiding her to the small bathroom.
The shower steam curls around us the moment I turn the water on. I hold her hand as she steps inside.
I wash her shoulders, her arms, her back with slow, soothing strokes, letting the warm water run down both our skin. She leans against me, her breath trembling, her fingers clutching my forearm.
When we finish, I wrap her in a towel and dry her off like she’s something breakable. Then I dry myself quickly. I pull a clean T-shirt over her head, easing her arms through, smoothing the hem down her thighs.
She looks so young like this, so tired, so heartbreakingly vulnerable.
I lay her on the bed and pull the covers up.
I grab my boxers and slide them into place. “I’ll make you a sandwich,” I say softly.
Her hand shoots out and grabs my wrist. “Don’t leave.”
“I’ll be right back.”
“Billy…” Her voice cracks. “Please don’t leave me.”
Those words cut deeper than she’ll ever know.
I climb into bed beside her without another thought. The moment I wrap my arms around her, she breaks.
Her sobs shake through her whole body, the sound muffled against my chest as she buries her face in me. I hold her tighter, one hand stroking the back of her head, the other rubbing slow circles along her spine.
“I’m here,” I whisper. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Her fingers pull me closer as she cries. I don’t say anything else. There isn’t anything to say that can fix this. All I can do is hold her and let her fall apart against me.
Sometime in the night, the sobs stop. Her breathing evens out against me, her limbs pressed into mine. My arms stay around her even as my own exhaustion pulls me under.
When morning filters into the room, I wake up. My hand is numb from where she’s sleeping on it. I control my breathing just so I don’t wake her.
Her eyes look a little puffy, her face soft with sleep and sorrow.
It takes what feels like twenty minutes before she stirs awake.
Her breath brushes my chest. She lifts her head slowly and studies me for a long moment. Her hand is splayed on my torso.
She drums her fingers gently. I lift the hand to my lips, pressing kisses to the digits. “Hey, baby.”
The first words she says are, “I want to marry you.”
My heart lurches so hard I forget how to breathe. I search her face, looking for doubt, but there’s none. She looks raw and fragile and utterly sure.
“Sedona…” My voice comes out rough.
“I mean it,” she whispers, her fingers curling against my skin. “I want to marry you. I don’t want to waste any more time.”
Emotion floods my chest so fast I have to close my eyes. I pull her into me, holding her with everything I am, feeling her exhale against my throat, feeling something bright unfurl inside both of us.
She wants me.
She wants us.
She wants forever.
And in this moment, as the morning settles around us and her breath warms the hollow beneath my jaw, I’ve never loved her more.
The sun sits high overhead when Jasper lifts his camera again and calls out for Joey to hold Diesel in place. The stallion tosses his head like he’s considering a fight, but Joey keeps his hand firm on the lead rope.
Diesel has always been the kind of animal who wants to win every interaction, even the ones that don’t matter. And Joey loves him exactly because of that stubborn streak.
Diesel was the first horse he’s ever loved and claimed as his own, and when one of the rodeo boys tried to buy him last year, Joey said he’d sooner sell a lung.
The four of us stand in a rough half-circle inside the makeshift pen. Dust rises every time a hoof digs in. These three new stallions are a whole different challenge, though.
They came from a ranch down in Idaho that got slammed with medical bills after the owner’s wife got sick. They needed cash fast, so Seth drove down the day after we heard the rumor and bought all three.
They weren’t cheap, but they’re strong animals, two bays and one gorgeous silver roan. A little wild around the edges, but nothing we haven’t handled before.
Seth strokes Juniper’s neck while he double-checks the rope halter. Juniper isn’t new. She’s his. She’s calm and smart, exactly what he needs in a horse, and she takes to new routines faster than any horse I’ve ever seen.
Tex sits up on Bandit, riding lazy circles inside the pen. Bandit listens to no one except him.