Chapter 19
CASSIE
Levi's been gone four days.
I reach for my phone before I'm fully awake. I've done it every morning since he drove out. There's nothing from him. I put it down, roll out of bed in my pajamas, and get the coffee started. Rent’s meowing outside. I get the food off the shelf and step out onto the porch.
Mae's in the rocker. I fill the bowl. Rent drops his head to eat without acknowledging me. Mae watches for a second, then stretches long and jumps down to eat beside him.
The coffee's ready when I go back in. I pour a mug and take it into the bathroom. Set it on the edge of the sink and get in the shower.
The hot water hits, and I stand under it.
I think about the morning he left, the way he looked at me on the porch before he went, like he was checking something.
Like he was making sure I was going to be okay.
I wasn't sure yet, he knew it, and he went anyway because that was the right call.
I press my forehead against the tile and breathe through it.
I didn't think I was this person. Apparently, I am.
The tightness in my chest is real. I don't have to pretend otherwise in here.
I stand there until it loosens enough to work with, then I pull myself together and turn the water off.
I dry off, drink half my coffee standing at the sink, then head to the bedroom and get dressed.
When I come back outside, the kittens are in the grass at the bottom of the porch steps.
Tornado's black shape bats at something in the dirt.
Biscuit's sitting in a patch of sun doing nothing, which is accurate for Biscuit.
Lightning made it three feet from the steps.
She looks uncertain about what comes next.
Steve's asleep on the bottom step with his chin on his paws.
I lean in the doorway, finishing my coffee, and watch them for a minute.
Lightning is the gray one, the one who always looks like she's in charge of something she didn't ask to be in charge of.
This morning, she's just standing in the grass looking at the arena fence like she's working something out.
Then I set my mug inside and head to the dining hall.
***
The dining hall smells like bacon and biscuits and Darla's coffee, which is stronger than anything a reasonable person would make. Mandy has a mug waiting at the counter before I've crossed the room. I sit down on a stool and wrap both hands around it.
The counter has a gap in it where he ought to be. It registers the way a missing tooth registers, not constantly, but every time.
"Morning," Darla says from the griddle. She's moving eggs around a pan. She doesn't ask how I am. She already knows.
"Morning."
She puts a plate in front of me. Eggs, two biscuits, and a slice of ham I didn't ask for. She goes back to the griddle.
"Londyn and I went into town yesterday morning," Mandy says, coming through from the back with the biscuit basket. She sets it on the counter and leans against it. "For coffee."
"Mmm," Darla says.
"Jess told us Rick Stone came in Tuesday and ordered a large coffee and stood at the counter for forty minutes telling her how to make pie crust."
Darla looks at her. "Rick Stone."
"Rick Stone," Mandy says.
"What does Rick Stone know about pie crust?"
"Nothing," Londyn says, coming through with sheets in her hand. "That was the problem. He kept telling her things that weren't right, and she couldn't say anything because he was so pleased with himself about it."
"What was he getting wrong?" I ask.
"Everything," Londyn says. "Apparently, you use warm butter."
Darla stares at her. "Warm butter."
"That's what he said."
"Warm butter will ruin a crust. You keep everything cold. The butter, the water, the bowl, if you can manage it." She turns to the griddle. "Cold fat makes layers. Warm fat makes paste. That is not an opinion. That is just how butter works."
"She smiled and nodded for forty minutes," Mandy says. "She said her face hurt after."
Darla makes a sound that isn’t quite a laugh. "That man talked my ear off for twenty minutes once about the best way to stack firewood. I had groceries going warm in the truck."
Londyn takes the sheets to her cart in the hall, and Mandy follows. The kitchen goes quiet for a minute, just the griddle and Darla moving through her morning.
"You sleeping?" she says, not turning around.
"Enough."
She turns a piece of bacon. "He's the kind of man who does what he says he's going to do. Always has been in the nine years I've known him." She says it to the griddle, flat and certain. "Nothing about this is different."
I don't answer.
***
New clients through the gate change everything. The horses lift their heads in the pasture. Bingo runs circles around the first trailer before Logan calls his name.
Logan and Kade run the side-by-side. Sutton's in the back like he got a formal invitation. Sawyer, Rhea, and I handle the lot.
Nora Keele comes in first. Her bay gelding Juniper steps off her trailer without drama, ears up, taking it in.
She's mid-fifties, the kind of woman who moves through a new place like she's already assessed it.
She shakes Sawyer's hand and takes her key.
Leads Juniper toward his corral. Logan and Kade load her bags and tack onto the side-by-side and head toward the cabins.
By the time they're back, Juniper is settled, and Nora is already walking toward the dining hall.
Boyd Creech pulls in beside her in a truck that has seen twenty Montana winters. His buckskin Huck steps off the ramp and plants, ears working every direction, taking the property in. Boyd climbs out in a worn hat and looks around with the slow, deliberate attention of a man who doesn't miss much.
"Boyd Creech," he says when I hand him his key.
"I'm Cassie. Welcome to Whispering Creek."
"My sister bought this for me," he says. "Thought I'd enjoy it."
"That was really nice of her."
He looks at the arena, the barn, and the mountains.
"She's usually right about things," he says.
I think about someone who knows you well enough to send you exactly where you need to be. I hand him his welcome sheet. "We'll get you taken care of."
He nods and leads Huck toward his cabin.
Tricia Hale's paint gelding Mosey comes off the ramp tight, ears going every direction, feet moving fast. Tricia leads him down, voice low, giving him room to look.
Sawyer watches from three feet away without stepping in.
That's the thing about Sawyer, she knows when the right move is not to move.
Tricia gets him settled, exhales, and looks up.
"Sorry," she says.
"Don't be," Sawyer says. "You handled it."
Tricia looks at Mosey, then back at Sawyer. She wants to believe that. She should.
Sam Pratt pulls in last. He comes over for his key and cabin assignment. I hand it to him, and he glances out at the property while I'm talking him through it.
"Mighty fine looking place," he says.
"Thanks. We love it."
He nods and heads back to Ridge, keys in hand.
Ellie Vance and Luke Farrow pull in together, trailers side by side.
Their horses, Thistle and Oakley, come off quiet and go where they're pointed.
Bev Strand takes her key with a thank-you and a firm handshake.
Owen Marsh is the last one through the gate, Cutter stepping off the ramp like he owns the place already.
I do my job. The morning runs itself the way it has since my first week. The ranch doesn't need Levi to keep going. I knew that. It's just different knowing it while it's happening.
***
The dining hall is full, the new group spread across the tables, Londyn moving through with the sweet tea, Rhea already across from me before I've picked up my fork.
"That man with the buckskin," Rhea says.
"Boyd."
"He watched Sawyer check the arena footing for twenty minutes and didn't say a word."
"Yeah?"
Rhea picks up her fork. "He's not hard to look at either."
"You would say that, Rhea."
We're halfway through our plates when the door opens. Sutton comes in with Biscuit draped over his forearm like a small orange loaf of bread. Bingo trots in right behind him. Mae comes in behind Bingo, which nobody planned for.
Sutton heads straight for the nearest table, where Luke is eating a piece of fried chicken and minding his own business. Sutton holds Biscuit out toward him.
"This is Biscuit," Sutton says. "He lives under Cassie's porch."
Luke looks at the kitten. Biscuit looks at Luke.
"He's very round," Luke says.
"He eats a lot," Sutton says, and moves on to Tricia at the next table. Tricia makes a sound and holds out both hands, and Sutton deposits Biscuit into them. Tricia holds him up and looks at his face.
"He looks like a Biscuit," she says.
"I thought so too," Sutton tells her. She hands him back, and Sutton moves on down the room.
Bingo has been patient. He spots Biscuit in Sutton's hands, and his whole body goes curious, nose stretching forward, tail starting up.
Mae has been watching Bingo since the door.
She comes around the end of the table and hisses at him, one sharp sound, and Bingo scrambles backward and hits a chair.
His ears go flat. He looks at Sutton with an expression of complete betrayal and presses himself against the wall.
Londyn laughs and steps around him with the sweet tea pitcher and keeps moving.
Darla comes out from behind the counter, wipes her hands on her apron, and takes Biscuit from Sutton. She holds him against her chest and looks at him. "Well," she says. Biscuit puts his chin on her arm. Darla looks at Sutton. "Where'd you find him?"
"He was at the bottom of the steps."
"They're getting brave," I tell her.
Darla scratches behind his ear, and he tips his head into it. Mandy comes out of the kitchen, takes in Bingo against the wall, and Mae sitting in the middle of the floor like she won, and looks at me.
"Did you name them?"
"That's Mae," I say. "The one Darla's holding is Biscuit."
"He's so little."
"He's the biggest of the four."