Chapter Nine
“Have you heard the news?” Preston Sweet came through the front door.
“News?” Alice looked up from where she had her nose in the fridge.
Desperately wanting to go lie down and ease the noise dancing in his head, Hanson knew that disappearing as the family began slowly gathering together before dinner would be a dead giveaway that he wasn’t doing as well as he tried to pretend.
The day had been long and hard in a way that was totally different from how surviving boot camp or filing his income tax return had been.
Who knew that simply buying hot dogs for a few people could have been so challenging.
All of it begged the question, what else would be a struggle when he finally finished his last therapy option—the Sweet Ranch?
“Could you be more specific?” Jess dropped a bag of potatoes on the counter, then turned to Kat who gathered her things by the kitchen table. “Remember how to wield a potato peeler?”
A smile spread across her face. “Better than anyone I know.”
“Could we get back to the news?” Arms laden with salad fixings, Alice straightened.
“Old man Harding sold his ranch.”
“Really?” Alice stopped in her tracks. “I didn’t know it was up for sale.”
“No one did. Apparently, he’s accepted that none of his kids are moving back to carry on ranching and he got an offer he couldn’t refuse.”
Hanson’s gaze drifted to the peace and quiet on the other side of the kitchen window.
His mind batted about the idea of living and working full time, forever and ever, on a ranch like this.
He was a city boy through and through. Career military—or at least that had been the plan.
Even so, he couldn’t understand why anyone would want to sell a place like this.
“The new owners took possession Monday.”
Alice frowned and stopped rinsing the lettuce. “Is this going to affect the fair?”
“Fair?” Hanson unintentionally asked aloud.
“The county fair has been on Harding land since we were all kids.” Preston stuck his head in the fridge and pulled out a longneck beer.
“Even before y’all were born,” his mother added.
The front door squeaked open and banged shut. Booted heels across the living room announced Carson’s arrival. “Have you heard?”
“About Harding?” Alice asked.
Giving his wife a quick peck on the lips and loving tap on the rear, Carson turned and nodded. “And the new owners are denying the county use of their land.”
“Can they do that?” Preston tipped a bottle at the others, silently asking if they wanted a beer.
“Apparently,” Carter accepted the drink, “Harding’s father made a handshake deal with the county and it was not included in the sale of the property. Since the county doesn’t actually pay to use the land, the new owners saw no reason to host the fair.”
Alice shook her head. “The Hardings thought it in the best interest of the community to give back. Sounds like the new owners are not planning on making friends with their neighbors.”
“Corporate owners.” Carson took a seat at the table. “They’ll never know their neighbors.”
Her mouth, slightly open, Kat’s gaze narrowed. “Then we have no fair?”
Carson shrugged. “I ran into Mayor Stedman, he says the county is scrambling. They have contracts with all the vendors. No one is sure if the insurance would cover the costs of canceling or not.”
Swiping a little harder at the potatoes, Kat heaved a deep sigh. “Even though I don’t enter any of the competitions, I think it would be awful if we didn’t have the fair.”
“Heaven knows a lot of our kids have been counting on the fair to sell the cows they’ve been raising all year.” Alice threw a dishrag over her shoulder. “How much damage do you think a few thousand people stomping around would do to the south-east pasture?”
Carson and Preston’s gazes met and the corners of their mouths tipped ever so slightly upward.
Hanson may not be able to remember when interrupted if he was loading or unloading, but he still recognized silent communication.
These two brothers were doing just that, and something told him it had everything to do with using Sweet land, at least temporarily, for a county fair.
Before anyone could respond, Garret and Jackie came hurrying in the front door.
“The county’s agreement with Harding was that any damage caused by the events would be covered by the county. Supposedly the cost was minimal compared to actually leasing land.”
“What I don’t understand,” Jackie stepped away from her husband, “is how can the county not already own enough land for a little fair?”
“Little?” Kat muttered. “Our fair is almost as big as the State Fair.”
Alice waved her hands. “Can we do it? Can we bail out the county?”
“Good catch, Mom.” Preston glanced at Carson before nodding. “That field is fallow this season.”
“So it won’t cost us anything?” Alice’s gaze remained fixed on her son.
Carson shrugged. “Depends on the damage. We might need an extra season, but since we’re going to build the new breeding barns anyhow, maybe…”
“Would that land be large enough?” Alice’s eyes lit with excitement.
Again, Preston and Carson’s gazes met before Carson spoke up. “We think so.”
Now Alice’s grin widened. “Then I think we have solved the county’s problem. At least for this year.”
Glancing from one face to the next, Hanson had never seen so many sincerely happy smiles, but the one that made him want to grin back was on Kat’s face. He really did like how her smile lit up her whole face. She was beautiful on her own, but smiling, she was irresistible. At least to him.
One of Kat’s favorite pastimes was dinner at the Sweet family ranch. Being here felt like the perfect episode of a 1950s television series. Plenty of banter, a little teasing, and a whole lot of love.
The county fair had dominated the conversation all through dinner and dessert.
By the time the last plates were scraped and the serving bowls carried to the sink, the conversation had already stretched from livestock pens to parking, from funnel cakes to Ferris wheels, from where to set the vendor booths to anticipated blue ribbons.
The transition from an animated meal to a spotless kitchen happened with the speed of practiced choreography that came from years of a large family working together.
Jess loaded the dishwasher while Carson gathered the last of the heavy serving platters.
Jackie wiped down the long dining table, leaving the wood gleaming under the overhead lights.
In no time at all, the clatter of silverware and running water faded, replaced by the low, comfortable murmur of conversation as the family naturally migrated toward the large family room at the front of the house.
Walking like a woman on a mission to the speaker parked on a shelf in the corner book case, Alice set her phone beside it and after a few taps, the soft melodies of popular country tunes began to fill the room.
Settled into his favorite leather armchair, Clint didn’t hesitate. Pushing himself right back up, the tall man clad in pressed jeans walked across the woven area rug and extended a hand toward his wife. “May I have this dance?”
A soft smile and a hint of pink touched Alice’s cheeks. “You certainly may.”
Stepping forward, Carson grabbed one end of the heavy square coffee table.
Preston grabbed the other end, and together they hoisted it out of the way, sliding it against the far wall to open up the center of the room.
Jess didn’t even have to ask. The moment the table was clear, she stepped into Carson’s waiting arms. Across the room, Garret pulled Jackie to her feet.
The couples circled the makeshift dance floor as though this had been a nightly event for decades.
The whole scene put a smile on Kat’s face.
Like she’d said before, the perfect family.
A sudden, sharp realization pierced through the contented moment.
Scanning the room from sofa to corner book case and back, Hanson was nowhere to be seen.
Her gaze moved back through the kitchen.
He stood by the sink, one hand braced lightly on the counter, looking out the window into the dark.
The glass reflected the room behind him in faint pieces—moving bodies, soft lamplight, but his gaze was fixed on some distant point.
“Too much?” She approached quietly.
He didn’t startle, but the fingers on the counter flexed once before relaxing. “A little.” No joke. No quick smile. Just honesty.
She stepped beside him, leaving a few inches between them, and looked out the window too. There wasn’t much to see in the darkness beyond. “They can be a lot.”
“They’re good people.”
“The two are not mutually exclusive.”
That earned her the faintest curve at one corner of his mouth. Behind them, Garret whooped as Jackie made a successful turn under his arm. Hanson’s eyes flicked to the reflection in the window. “They make it look easy.”
“They’ve had practice.”
“I meant the family part.”
Hadn’t she been thinking something similar herself? Sucking in a slow breath, she turned slightly to face him. “The other day you made a comment about being fine fifty feet in the air rigging a bridge under fire.”
He nodded.
“I’ve been wondering what exactly you did in the military.”
His gaze turned back out the window. For a moment she thought he might dodge the question.
Then his shoulders eased by a fraction. “Combat engineer. Twelve Bravo.” He paused, as if deciding how much that meant to someone outside his world.
“Army Sapper. We handled mobility, counter-mobility, survivability. Built things. Blew things up. Cleared routes. Rigged bridges. Breached obstacles. Made roads where there weren’t roads and tried to make bad places passable. ”
Kat absorbed the clipped explanation. “And the height?”
“Part of the job sometimes. Bridges. Towers. Rigging. Air Assault training. Rappelling.” He gave a small shrug. “You learn to trust your gear, your hands, and the man on belay.”
“Okay, I have no idea what man on belay means, but most of those words sound scary as hell.”
“The man with the rope ready to provide support.”
She noted that he didn’t say anything about the scary as hell part of her statement and then, he blew out a deep sigh and shifted to face her.
“Not as scary as forgetting whether I’m coming or going, what comes next after taking that first step, and worrying what am I going to screw up now… or over and over again forevermore.” His voice was so low and laced with pain, not physical pain, but the pain of loss.
“Have you started any formal therapy yet?”
He shook his head. “Next week. Via zoom.” For some reason, that made him chuckle softly.
“That should help.”
“That’s the plan.”
“You’re not convinced.”
“Honestly,” he turned his whole body, fully facing her, “I’m not sure about much of anything anymore, but since arriving here, I’m more hopeful than I have been since that stupid truck blew up and started a chain reaction that put too many good men in the hospital for too long.”
What the heck was she supposed to say to that?
“Often, I just can’t remember the simplest of things. I certainly can’t go back to the only work I’ve ever known if things don’t…change.”
“Therapy will help.” At least she hoped so, but somehow, she was pretty sure managing his brain injuries wasn’t what he wanted. He wanted a cure. Didn’t everyone?
“Sorry, just wallowing in the unknown.” Pushing away from the counter, Hanson glanced over his shoulder.
Following his gaze to the folks laughing and twirling in the other room, she still didn’t know how to respond to his last words. He was right. His future was unknown, but then again, wasn’t everyone’s? “We should probably rejoin the group.”
His shoulders tensed again. “I don’t dance.”
“I find that hard to believe.” Kat didn’t move out of his path.
“I’m from California.” A defensive edge creeping back into his voice. “People in California don’t dance like that.”
“You mean the two-step?”
“If you say so.”
“Well, I say so.” Kat held out a hand. “And you’re in Texas now. Not dancing is practically a misdemeanor offense.”
Hanson let out a dry, humorless breath. “Miss Sutton, my brain currently drops the sequence of tying my own shoes if someone asks me a question. You really want to put me on a dance floor and ask me to remember footwork?”
“Slow, slow, quick.” Kat flashed what she hoped was an easy smile. “That’s the entire equation. Just four beats. I’ll lead.” She positioned his right hand at her waist, took his left in her right, and stepped back to give them both room.
His posture shifted immediately—weight balanced, stance widened slightly, the automatic adjustment of a man whose body knew how to be ready even when his mind was negotiating the terms.
“It’s four beats. Slow, slow, quick, quick. Left foot leads. Don’t think about it, just count.”
“Slow, slow, quick, quick,” he repeated in a monotone, looking at his feet.
“Don’t look down.”
His head snapped up. Their eyes were closer than either of them had accounted for.
“Slow,” she repeated. “Slow.” She stepped back, he stepped forward, the rhythm finding them before either of them went looking for it. “Quick, quick.”
His left foot landed wrong.
She adjusted her weight without announcing it. “Again.”
“Slow, slow—”
“Don’t count out loud.”
“How am I supposed to—”
“You said that you rigged bridges under fire. You can do this without counting out loud.”
Something shifted in his expression. The corner of his mouth moved. “That’s a completely different skill set.”
“Is it?” She stepped back again, drew him with her.
“Slow. Slow.” The weight transferred, his hand steadied at her waist, and she felt the moment it clicked—the same way she felt it with Mason when a rule landed, when the sequence stopped being an effort and started being a thing the body simply knew. “Quick, quick.”
He didn’t step wrong.
She didn’t say anything about it. Just kept moving, wishing this moment would never end. And wasn’t that something interesting to figure out?