8. Holden
HOLDEN
When I stroll into the kitchen that evening, the sight before me brings a reluctant smile to my face.
It’s been too long since I saw Dad with a dishcloth draped over his shoulder, standing in front of the stove, stirring saucepans and checking on what’s roasting in the oven.
After Mom died, he didn’t have much choice but to hold himself together, at least enough to feed us kids. For months, we survived on baked beans, scrambled eggs, and bacon.
Not that any of us really felt like eating anyway. But eventually, our appetites returned, and we all gradually improved our cooking skills. Dad, in particular, threw himself into it. I think it gave him something to focus on.
If the rich aroma of roasting meat that hits me is anything to go by, he’s been sharpening his skills even more since he handed the ranch manager role to Sterling.
Speaking of my eldest brother, he’s in his usual spot at the table, laptop open in front of him, probably poring over another spreadsheet. Quinn is messily setting the table around him, and Chance is chopping vegetables at the island.
The warmth of the scene triggers a wave of homesickness, which makes no sense. Why the hell would I feel homesick when I’m already living here? I don’t. It’s the rodeo I miss. The road. The competition. The place where I know exactly who I am. That’s what I’m planning on getting back to.
I scan the space for Taryn.
And Sage.
Neither is here. Still, I swear I can almost feel Sage’s presence. A buzz of energy I’ve only ever felt the instant before getting on the back of a bull I’ve never ridden—unsure whether I’ll last eight seconds or end up in the dirt, but with a deep-seated need to find out.
Quinn glances up and spots me loitering in the doorway. “Ah, a rare dinner appearance by the middle son. Call the paparazzi.”
When I glare at him, his brows shoot up. “Still too soon?”
My middle finger twitches, along with my lips. “Smart-ass.”
It’s too damn hard to stay mad at my youngest brother. Even when he pokes at sore spots. Dragging a hand over the back of my neck, I step into the room.
“Why’s Quinn a smart-ass?” Taryn asks from behind me.
I turn, my attention snagging on Sage, who’s lingering in the doorway just like I was.
Her dark hair is loose, tumbling thick and silky over her shoulders.
And she’s changed outfits. The new jeans might have a more practical cut than her first pair, but they hug every curve they’re meant to.
The tailored shirt from this morning has been replaced by a soft, lightweight flannel, unbuttoned to reveal a tank top underneath.
Before I can stare too long at the way the thin fabric clings to the swell of her breasts, I force myself to focus on my sister.
“We all know he’s generally a smart-ass. But what’s the particular reason this time?”
“Hey!” Quinn interjects.
I shake my head at the pair of them. “Just talking shit as usual.”
Without looking at Sage again, I turn away and join Dad at the stove. “Anything I can help with?”
“Almost done.” He opens the oven door and pulls out a tray of roasted vegetables. “Go sit down, son.”
The smell wafting around me makes my mouth water, so I don’t argue. I take a vacant seat at the end of the table, though when Sage pulls out the one across from me, I realize I’ve made a mistake.
A few minutes later, there’s a full spread set out before us, and I have to admit, it beats the canned stew I would have cooked up back at the cabin.
When Dad sits down, Sage smiles at him.
“Thanks so much for letting me stay for dinner.”
He grins back. “It’s nice to see the table full again. With River away and Holden and Sterling missing most of the time, it’s a bit too quiet around here.”
I scoop up a spoonful of vegetables and dump them onto my plate before passing the tray to Sage.
“River doesn’t work on the ranch?” she asks Dad as she fills her own plate.
“He does. But he’s down in New Mexico for now, starting colts for a rancher we know. He’ll be back soon, so you’ll get to meet him.”
“Sounds like you’ll have a full house.”
“First time in a long time.”
Guilt lodges in my throat. Most years, I only made it home once. Sometimes not even that. It always seemed easier to stay on the road. Keep my head in the game. Not break the rhythm of the season.
The scrape of serving spoons against platters pulls me back to the table. Everyone has started eating, and I join them. For a few minutes, the room is quiet as we set about demolishing the meal.
Eventually, Dad props his elbow on the table. “What kind of photography did you do in New York, Sage?”
She smiles at him. “I did fine art and conceptual mainly. Some editorial.”
“Big change,” he notes.
“That’s one way to put it.” Her eyes catch on mine for a second, but they dart away quickly.
“There’s plenty out here to keep you busy, anyway.” Quinn gestures vaguely in the air with his fork.
She glances past him at the darkness beyond the windows.
“It’s beautiful out here. I’ll do my best to do it justice.”
Dad nods in approval. “You’ll fit in just fine around here.” After a moment, he adds, “So, do you have a man waiting for you back in New York?”
Sage, who’s mid-sip, chokes on her water, her eyes going wide. “Uh, no. Nope.”
“Interesting,” Chance murmurs, amusement playing across his features as he catches my glare.
“She’s focusing on her career at the moment,” Taryn says as she spears another piece of roast beef with her fork.
“That’s right.” Sage shifts in her chair, her smile a little weaker than I’m used to.
Was it Dad asking about someone waiting back home, or Taryn mentioning her career, that made her uncomfortable?
Without thinking too much, I lean back, stretching my legs beneath the table until the toe of my boot brushes her ankle. She shoots me a look I can’t read, but she doesn’t move her foot away.
Even as she answers more questions about her job and what life in New York is like, I don’t miss the way she keeps it light. Surface level. A few mentions of magazines her work’s been featured in, her favorite places in the city to photograph.
“How did you meet Mia?” Taryn asks after having emptied her plate in record time.
Sage swallows what she’s eating and daintily pats her lips with a napkin. “We were neighbors in New York. Same apartment building. I was a little surprised she moved out here after her divorce, but I’m starting to see why.”
Dad chuckles. “It’s an easy place to fall in love with.”
“How long have you lived here?” Sage asks him.
“All my life. My great-grandfather settled the land. Started small and added to it over time. Every generation since has built on what he began.”
“That’s impressive,” she says. “And now you’re getting into agritourism.”
“World changes. We gotta change with it,” Sterling says.
Across the table, Dad picks up a bowl and passes it down to Sage. “Try the potatoes,” he says. “Quinn’ll finish them otherwise.”
Quinn snorts. “That’s slander.”
“I think you mean a statement of fact,” I say.
Laughter ripples around the table, and the conversation turns to other topics. I should probably pay more attention, but my gaze keeps drifting back to Sage. She’s watching my family with a quiet smile, like she’s soaking it all in.
Funny how comfortable she already looks here.
Before I know it, the meal is over. Chance and Quinn head out to do a final check on the horses, Taryn clears the table, and Sterling and I get started on the dishes. When Sage offers to help, Dad shakes his head, patting the chair next to him.
“Come and keep me company.”
She accepts the invitation with a smile, and within minutes they’re deep in conversation. I steal glances at them as we clean.
“Something wrong?” Sterling asks.
Quickly refocusing on my task, I shake my head, but I can feel his gaze on me.
“It’s good seeing you around more.” His voice is lower, for my ears alone. “Dad and Taryn have missed you.”
A snort escapes me. “I’ve been living here for the last six months.”
“Not sure living is the right word for it.”
I put down a plate a little harder than necessary. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
He doesn’t answer straight away, continuing to scrape food scraps into the bin. When he’s done, he props his hip against the counter and crosses his arms. “Remember when we were teenagers, and we’d go out to the watering hole and spend hours fishing and swimming?”
I nod, picking up another plate. Where the hell is he going with this?
“We’d just shoot the shit, talk about girls, school, that kind of thing.”
“I remember.”
“When was the last time you did something like that?”
I stare at him. “That’s stuff you do as a kid. We’re adults. We’ve got better things to do.”
His dark brows lower. “That’s debatable. But answer the question. When was the last time?”
I cast my mind back, searching for the last time I simply hung out with someone, just relaxing and having fun. I come up blank. “There’s not much chance to do that kind of thing on the circuit.”
“I’m sure. Would it surprise you to know that I remember the exact last time you and I did it?”
I shift my weight. “What’s the point of this conversation?”
He straightens, letting his arms fall to his sides. “The last time you and I hung out together was the day before Mom died.”
Every muscle in my shoulders locks tight, and I scrub harder at the plate in my hands. “Makes sense. Don’t think any of us were in the mood to have fun after that.”
He still doesn’t look away. “It’s been twelve years, Holden.”
I set the plate down. “And?”
“You left.” His voice remains even. “And every time you’ve come back, you’ve acted like someone forced you to.”
I lean back against the counter, arms crossed. “I rode professionally. Me not being around wasn’t a shock to anybody.”
Sterling nods once. “You’re right. But staying gone this long was.”
Something barbed twists in my gut, but I ignore it. “Coming back now wasn’t part of the plan,” I say flatly. “But I’m here, aren’t I?”
“Yeah.” Sterling eyes the dinner table. “You are.”
I glare at him. “If you’ve got something to say, then spit it out.”