Eight
Sarah
Stony silence permeated the car all day.
My heart sagged with relief when I saw the wooden sign at the end of the long, gravel driveway.
I would never tell Peter that his sisters had to scramble to accommodate us.
That the fifth wheel was supposed to be on the road this week.
That Hollie, Jesse, and the kids would be separated all week because of our imposition.
When Bea alluded to the fact that the Holmes might be using the fifth wheel and she’d have to check with them, I tried to back out and offer to come at a more convenient time.
She would not hear of it.
And Hollie immediately agreed to stay home.
I felt bad, but my desperation choked out my manners.
The tires spit gravel onto the undercarriage of the car, my Subaru almost sinking into the layer of white rocks.
It looked like they’d poured fresh gravel recently.
On either side of the driveway were fenced pastures, each with a little hut that held a cage full of hay and feed buckets.
Sun reflected off the brown pond and the barn loomed in the distance.
From here, I could see a couple men standing in the training ring with a few horses waiting in the corrals.
I’d been to Meadowbrook twice now, and I had to say, I loved it.
Every visit brought it dearer to my heart.
The ranch drummed up an ache of nostalgia deep in my gut.
Arriving always felt like a tiny homecoming—not because it was my home, but because it felt like a family.
A huge family that sucked you in no matter who you were or where you came from.
The location felt other-wordly, or maybe like another time in history.
The life here was fast-paced, yes, but simple.
Everyone worked hard, ate together, and had a common goal.
So different from the big city we were used to, where you could see an infinite amount of people yet never utter a single greeting.
I knew all about existing without being seen. But I never felt invisible at Meadowbrook.
Already, I grew faint with want for all the hugs I was about to give and receive. I couldn’t wait to squeeze the breath out of my sisters-in-law, their husbands, my nieces and nephew, and even the horses.
As if by miracle, I forgot all about Peter’s sucky attitude and a huge smile stretched across my face as the men in the training ring—which I now recognized were Jesse, Cooper, and another man I’d never met—lifted their hands to wave at us with smiles on their faces. I waved like a maniac.
The bottom of the car scraped over an uneven mound of gravel, and Peter woke up. He drew a sharp breath and pulled the ear buds out of his ears. His voice crackled. “We’re here?”
“Yep.”
He quickly sat upright and grabbed his hat from the dashboard, settling it over his head, then rubbed his eyes. “How long was I sleeping?”
“Three hours.”
Bea must’ve heard us driving up, because she exited the big house and waved—her mouth open as if she was squealing. Wren, unbelievably grown from the last time I saw her, bounced on her hip, her chunky legs kicking with excitement until Bea deposited her onto the porch.
I narrated. “Bea and Wren are waving at us from the porch.”
Peter took a sharp breath that I couldn’t interpret. Was he dreading this? I glanced over to find his eyes turned down, his gaze dark. He didn’t look excited, that was for sure. I rolled my eyes and shook my head, determined not to let his rain clouds ruin my day.
The door opened again and out came Hollie, Izzy, and Nora.
An entire welcoming committee.
I squealed, too. Before I’d even fully parked, my seatbelt flew off and I threw open my door.
Peter said something, but I’d exited the vehicle.
The Texas October wrapped around my limbs and whipped through the roots of my hair, delivering the scent of hay and horses and the sounds of Meadowbrook’s family saying my name.
I rushed forward with open arms and Bea filled them, squeezing me so that I could hardly breathe.
She embodied sunshine, her hug infused with warmth that radiated into my bones.
Relief flooded me as she chattered a million words a minute and violently swayed our hug side to side.
Her words blurred in my head as I relished her arms around me and marveled at how badly I needed a hug.
Hollie was next. She pulled me into her arms, her baby bump pressing into me. I squealed incoherent nonsense over how cute she was—all glowy and pregnant. Hollie laughed and swiped a hand beneath her belly, proud.
Her gaze roamed my face. “You look so tired.”
“I am. That is a long drive.”
She pursed her lips. “It’s brutal. Are you hungry?”
“Starving.” I’d only had a protein bar since the hotel’s crappy continental breakfast we had at eight o’clock that morning.
“You showed up just in time. We’ll eat in about an hour.
” Her eyes flicked to where Peter had gotten out of the car and she stepped around me, leaving a small gaggle of children in her wake.
Izzy and Nora’s hugs came like attacks, knocking my feet backward as I laughed. “Oh my gosh! You two are huge!”
“I’m forty-two inches tall,” Nora chirped, letting go of me in order to twirl. Her cowgirl boots sank into the gravel and her skirt wrapped around her knees. She was seven now and Izzy was eleven. Both of them were absolutely gorgeous. Just like Hollie.
Izzy let go and looked into my face. She had lengthened significantly. It wouldn’t be long before we were eye to eye. “Mom said you’re staying for a week.”
“We are.”
Nora squeaked. “Yay! We’re going to have so much fun!”
“I know! I’m so excited.”
Then her eyes darkened. “Mom said we aren’t supposed to talk about what happened to Uncle Peter.”
“Nora,” Izzy chided. “That means don’t bring it up at all.”
Nora looked to me. “Does he want us to say hi?”
I smiled down at their curious brown eyes. “Of course he wants you to say hi. And if you have questions about what happened, I promise you can ask him. He is fine with talking about it.”
With that they darted around me to greet their uncle, which left little baby Wren scowling at me from the porch steps with stormy grey eyes.
Her pink lips puckered together and a deep crease furrowed her brows.
Soft brown curls were frizzy on her head like she’d been rubbing her head against a pillow.
Drool left long wet marks down the front of her white onesie and her bare foot stamped the wooden planks under her feet as she angrily cried, “Mama!”
Gracious, she looked just like Tag.
“Hi, Wren!” My pitch jumped an octave. “Oh my goodness you are so big.”
“Mama!”
I stepped to the side so she could see her mom behind me. “She’s right there.” I pointed at Bea who was hugging Peter for a second time. I reached out my hands. “Can I hold you?”
Wren calculated, her eyes darting between me and Bea, then held her hands up. I scooped her body into my arms, loving the way her bare chunky thighs gripped my waist. Unable to stop myself, I gave her leg a squeeze. What were they feeding this kid?
Wren’s pointer finger jabbed Bea’s direction. “Mama!”
As I walked, Wren nearly fell from my arms trying to escape into Bea’s.
Laughing, I off-loaded the little user to her mother, and our party of seven moved to the front porch.
A smile rested on Peter’s face, but I could see the concealed strain in his eyes.
He’d grabbed his long cane from the front seat and swiped it side-to-side ahead of his feet.
Hollie had linked arms with him, guiding him along.
I wished I could read him or predict the conversation that awaited us later. Would he be angry at me for dragging him down there? Or maybe relieved that we had come?
“Okay, so did you get stuck in traffic?” Bea asked. “Tag said the road work is getting ridiculous.”
I groaned. “Yes, we did. For almost an hour.” Hollie directed us into the wicker chairs and I drooped with relief at the pitcher of iced lemonade and cookies on the table. The chocolate chips glistened—warm from the oven. “Oh! That looks so good.”
Hollie chimed, “Have as much as you want. I figured you guys would be famished.”
I poured two cups of lemonade and plucked two cookies with a napkin, handing one of each to Peter, narrating as I did so. “Cookie and lemonade.”
We caught up as I ate too much. After a while, Hollie got up to put the chicken in the oven.
Then Wren fussed, whacking Bea’s chest with her hand until Bea relented and placed her on her lap.
With effortlessness I admired, Bea nursed Wren while her little feet happily kicked the back of the porch swing.
Motherhood suited Bea.
I wondered if it would suit me. Or if I’d ever get the chance to find out.
Hollie disappeared into the kitchen again, calling her daughters to help her set the table.
And, one by one, cowboys meandered across the barnyard, making their way to the side of the house.
Bea lingered on the front porch, her eyes trained to the spot where the driveway wrapped past the barn.
Then she gasped, looking down at her baby with wild, wide eyes. “Wren! You hear Dada’s vroom-vroom?”
Wren let out a blood curdling scream that would’ve scared me if it weren’t for the toothy smile splitting her face open. She flapped her arms and sang, “Dada! Dada!”
Bea laughed as she set Wren on the porch and tossed us a smile, explaining their excitement. “Tag left before we woke up this morning. And Wren is a bit of a daddy’s girl.”
“Aw. She’s so happy!” I glanced at Peter, who was grasping his cup of lemonade to his chest. The smile on his face looked thin.
Sure enough, a gigantic black pick-up truck rounded the corner and rolled to a stop near the front of the house while Wren jumped up and down.
From what I had gathered about Tag, he was sweet but very reserved.
His conversation was cordial, but he didn’t talk a lot unless he had to.
Which made him rather difficult to get to know.