Chapter 21BOONE #2
“Yeah,” I say. “Floodplain near the creek’s soft. Bring extra posts. If it gave last night, we’ve got problems.”
“Got it,” he says, clicking his horse into motion. “Try not to fall asleep on Springsteen, old man.”
He rides off, still grinning like an idiot, and I shake my head as I head toward the barn.
It’s quiet except for the low rustle of hay and a few soft snorts from the stalls.
Lights flicker once, then hold steady. I grab the clipboard from the tack room, scan the stock notes.
Headcounts solid, feed levels fine, but there’s that steer flagged again for limping. I’ll need to go check on it myself.
Springsteen’s already leaning over the stall gate, ears forward, tapping a hoof like I’m late.
“Keep your damn horseshoes on,” I mutter, stepping inside.
He nudges my shoulder, tail flicking. Big bastard’s been with me longer than most people in my life, and he knows the drill. I check him over quick—legs good, coat clean, attitude intact—then haul the saddle off the rack and toss it over his back.
Time to get to work.
********
By mid-morning, I’ve already knocked out more than I usually do, but it still feels like I’m behind.
Always does this time of year. Spring had the land growing faster than we can manage it, calves coming in steady, grass pushing up where we want it—and too many places where we don’t.
I spent the better part of the morning helping Witt with a downed section of fence near the floodplain, the posts rotted clean through from the runoff, mud up to our ankles and nowhere solid to stand.
After that, we moved a batch of cattle into the south pasture, trying to give the grazed areas a chance to come back.
The real headache, though, has been the water lines.
Half the east pasture’s running dry because the old PVC is cracked to shit underground, likely from the freeze-thaw back in March.
We’ve been patching it where we can, but every time we fix one section, another goes.
It’s a losing game, and I’m damn near ready to rip the whole thing out and start fresh.
I stopped by the main house earlier to grab something quick to eat.
Sage and Mom had the place smelling like vanilla and bananas, prepping to make my Mom’s famous chocolate chip banana bread and Hudson was covered in flour, telling me all about the movie night they had — him, Mom, Sage, Wren, Ridge and Loretta.
He talks fast when he’s excited, like Lark, and it made me laugh.
But he was happy, and that’s not something I take for granted.
Now I’m at Old Faithful, sweat sticking to my back, sawdust clinging to my shirt like it’s part of the fabric.
We’ve managed to knock out a hell of a lot in the last six weeks.
The porch is finally done, all the way down to the last rail and sealant, and we just started putting up interior walls.
With the days stretching out longer, we’re trying to steal every hour of daylight we can outside of our ranch work, get ahead before the real summer heat sets in.
Inside, it’s fucking chaos. It probably would look like a mess to anyone else, but to me, it’s progress.
Tools scattered, lumber stacked against the studs, sunlight pouring through where windows should be.
Witt’s crouched near one of the outlets, a tangled mess of wires in his hands, muttering under his breath.
“I’m about five goddamn seconds from lighting this place on fire and walking away,” he says, yanking out a section of wire that just looks…
wrong. “This whole setup’s ass-backwards.
I don’t know who the hell wired this place the first time, but they either didn’t know what they were doing or they were high off their ass. ”
Ridge looks up from the other side of the room, where he’s measuring for drywall. “Didn’t your cousin wire this place back in the day?”
Witt snorts, tossing the wire onto the floor. “Yeah, well, he’s an idiot. Remind me to never let family do anything important.”
I lean against the doorway, wiping my hands on a rag I find in my back pocket. “What’s the damage?”
Witt stands, stretches his back with a grunt.
“I need about sixty feet of twelve-gauge, minimum. Whoever ran this before didn’t ground half the outlets, and the junction box is a goddamn joke.
I can make it work, but it’s gonna take a couple days to rip the bad stuff out.
You need to make a run to town—pick up wire, new outlets, and a breaker that won’t get someone fucking electrocuted to hell. ”
“How bad is it if we don’t?”
“You like fires? Because that’s what we’re looking at if we half-ass this. I’m serious, Boone. If we’re doing this, we need to do it right.”
I nod, already pulling out my phone to add everything to the ever-growing list. “Alright. Text me what you need and I’ll go get it.”
Witt crouches again, tools clattering around him as he pries out another section. “Will do. In the meantime, I’m gonna swear at this thing until it learns to show me some goddamn respect.”
Duke walks in just then, chewing on a protein bar. “If you win that fight, let me know. I got fifty bucks on the wiring.”
Witt doesn’t look up. “Cocksucker.”
“I’m heading into town,” I say, pulling my keys from my pocket. “I’ll grab whatever you need. I’ll pick up lunch while I’m at it, so text me what you want. Or don’t, and I’ll bring whatever sounds good to me.”
Witt squints at the mess in front of him, sweat already beading at his hairline. “Don’t get me no goddamn salad now, Boone.”
“No promises. Try not to electrocute yourself while I’m gone.”
He waves me off, already lost in the wiring again, muttering something under his breath that sounds vaguely threatening.
Duke steps over to the back wall, glancing at the pile of boards we hauled in last week and the blueprints laying on the floor. “I’ll start framing out one of the bedrooms, boss.”
I nod, already half out the door. Truth is, I just want to get the hell out of here for a bit.
The list of materials is legit, and we need it.
I could’ve sent Ridge or Duke just as easily to grab it, but I want the drive.
I want the air. More than that, I want to stop by the Harts’ ranch so I can talk to Vaughn and get to the bottom of this shit with The Bluebell.
But first, before any of that, I need to see Lark.
I grab one of the ATVs we hauled down here, the engine growling to life beneath me. The trail up to the cabin is rough, winding along the edge of the ridge, but I could drive it in my sleep. I check my watch. She might still be asleep. That woman sleeps like the dead.
As I ride, wind cutting across my face, I can’t stop thinking about last night. About her. About the way she told me she loves me.
She’s said it before, but not like this. Not like it was something she wasn’t afraid of anymore. This time, it felt different.
No hesitation. No edge of pain. No memory lurking underneath the words.
Just love. Simple. Direct. Real.
I knew what it cost her to say it. How many walls she had to tear down to even get there. I know how many versions of herself she’s had to become since I left and how carefully she built a life that didn’t leave room for me in it.
So for her to say those words like that—without flinching, without bracing for the fall—it mattered.
It didn’t just feel good.
It felt like a beginning.
When I came back to Summit Springs, I didn’t have a plan beyond the ranch.
I didn’t think much past the work—long days, worn boots, cattle drives, auction prep, fixing what was broken.
It felt simple. Safe. I figured maybe down the line I’d find time to settle in a little, maybe get a dog, think about a wife and kids if I ever got around to it.
But I didn’t want that with just anybody. I wanted that with her.
Always her.
I just didn’t know if that was still possible.
Now it feels like it could be. Not just the two of us trying to find our way back to what we were, but building something new, something that lasts.
I’m not good at saying things before I can prove them, but I figure Old Faithful’s a start.
I’m not just rebuilding a house. I’m showing her I’m here, for good this time.
That I want this life—with her, with Hudson.
I want to throw a baseball in the yard with him.
Teach him how to saddle a horse, how to fish out at the creek out past the north pasture where the trout bite early if you know what you’re doing.
I want to take him into town for ice cream on Friday nights, let him talk my ear off about whatever the hell twelve-year-olds are into these days.
I want mornings that start slow and end with all three of us around the table, too full, too tired, too happy to want anything else.
The trail winds uphill, sun climbing higher behind me, casting long shadows across the grass.
Cattle graze off to the right, tails swishing lazily, and the breeze carries the scent of pine and sage, earthy and clean.
The cabin’s just ahead now, tucked into the trees, sunlight catching on the windows.
I ease off the throttle and coast the last stretch.
When I push the door open, she’s already awake.
She’s at the kitchen counter, one leg folded under her, the other moving slightly, heel tapping against the rung of the stool.
She’s still in my old T-shirt, the sleeves too long and big, slipping off one shoulder, the hem barely covering the tops of her thighs when she sits.
Her hair is falling down her back in soft, loose waves—all sleep-mussed and golden in the light, messy in the way that only happens first thing in the morning and somehow looks better than anything intentional.
The laptop is open in front of her, her fingers hovering over the keys like she was typing and then forgot what she meant to say.
There’s something about her here—in my shirt, in this cabin, on this ranch—that pulls at something deep in my chest. I don’t have the words for it, not really. I just know I’ve never wanted anything more than to keep walking into rooms and finding her in them.
She looks up when I walk in, a smile already stretching wide across her face. She’s always had a grin that took up all of her—big and bright and impossible to ignore. When we were kids, I would’ve done just about anything to make her smile like that. Still would.
“Hey,” she says, voice light, warm. “How’s your morning going?”
I don’t answer right away, just walk behind her, sliding my arms around her waist underneath her T-shirt, palms flat against her stomach. She’s warm beneath my hands, skin soft, and I press my lips against the side of her neck. “Better now.”
She laughs, tilting her face up to mine. Her lips find mine in that way they always do—soft, sure, like it’s something we’ve done a thousand times and still haven’t gotten enough of.
She holds up the note I left earlier, pinched between two fingers, her mouth pulling into something smug. “Also, my coffee is not awful.”
“It is,” I say, already grinning.
“It’s not. You just have bad taste.”
“Sure. That’s the problem.” I laugh and press another kiss to her temple, then glance at the laptop still open in front of her. “What’re you up to today?”
She sets the note aside, stretching her arms over her head. “Gonna get dressed, head up to the main house, see Hudson. I don’t want Molly feeling like she’s got to keep him busy all day.”
I snort, pulling back just enough to meet her eyes. “Are you kidding me? She’s in grandma heaven right now.”
Lark leans back slightly, her hand brushing my arm. “You think?”
“I know. She’s probably cooking him a three-course meal as we speak.”
Her lips twitch. “Fair.”
I glance toward the bedroom, then back to her. “What’re you wearing up there?”
She leans forward, grabbing her coffee. “I texted Wren earlier, asked if I could borrow a pair of jeans. Figured she’d ignore me, but she actually brought some down. We talked for a while. It was really nice, catching up with her again.”
I nod, pulling in a breath that’s equal parts relief and something else. “Told you she’d come around.”
She takes another sip of her coffee, eyeing me over the rim of the mug. “What about you? What do you have going on today?”
I lean against the counter, watching her fingers trace the edge of the laptop like she’s not even thinking about it. “Need to run into town, grab some supplies for the ranch. But I could always do it later if you want me to stay.”
She tilts her head, considering. “I actually asked Wren earlier if she wanted to go riding. She said yes, and I’ve been itching to get back out there.” Her eyes flick up to mine. “It’s been too long.”
“That sounds fun,” I say, and I mean it. The idea of her and Wren spending time together again settles something in me. “You and Hudson wanna stay for dinner tonight? I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
She nods, already smiling. “Yeah, we’d like that.”
I check my watch, then glance at her again. “I’ve got some time before I need to leave.”
Her mouth pulls into something slow, almost teasing. “Time for what?”
I step forward, slipping a hand around her waist and pulling her into me. Her laughter bubbles up, but before she can say anything else, I lift her clean off the stool. Her legs wrap around me and she’s still grinning as I start toward the bed.
Her arms tighten around my neck as she tilts her head, mouth close to mine. “Just so you know, if you’re late for whatever you have going on today, it’s your own fault for getting distracted.”
I don’t say anything to that. Just carry her the rest of the way, her laughter soft against my throat as the afternoon light spills across the unmade bed and everything else fades away.