Epilogue
Visiting my dad is easier than it used to be.
True to his nature, he held on a full month, twice as long as anyone expected. Then, in a room right next to the one where my mother passed away, my daddy finally got to go home.
Losing him breaks my heart, but I have a good man who holds me every night and a little girl who lets me hug her when I miss my father too much during the day. Between the two of them and their love, I know I’ll one day be okay.
We waited to bury Dad’s ashes until after the spring thaw, with the hard rushing of the Salmon River the perfect song as we laid him to rest next to my mom on the property. There are several generations of the Naples family buried here, but he’s going to be the last one. This is the Maple Ranch now, and a new wooden sign above the entry reflects the change to any of the infrequent visitors we have.
I still miss him every single day.
Emma likes to come and talk to him, her grandfather she only really met once. I like to listen to the water and my daughter and the wind playing through the trees. As we ride back and forth, Emma and I talk about how this is Nez Perce/Nimiipuu land and what it means. How just for now, we’re caretakers of this beautiful place, but it doesn’t belong to us. This land isn’t something we own or something we should split and sell away like it’s cash just waiting to be in our pockets. It’s something we should care about. Something to be loved, like a spouse or a child or a little brother.
She’s young, but my instinct tells me she understands. I think she particularly likes the little brother part.
So far, we’ve managed to keep it a secret, because things have a way of getting around small towns, and Guy and I have only started to relax now that I’m in my second trimester. But Guy’s hauling the grain on Tuesdays while I lean against the truck and enjoy watching him work, like the voyeur I’ve always been when it comes to him. And when we go to the Daily Grind, I’ve been ordering my latte decaf. Sanai’s got a knowing smile on her face again, and it’s not because Guy and I sneak a breakfast biscuit together while Emma’s in preschool.
I still haven’t gotten used to the delicate white-gold band on my finger. Guy wants to switch it out with a diamond later, but he’s going to have to pry this off my hand over my cold, dead body.
I know what I have. I don’t need sparkling things to remind me.
I’ve spent the morning in town, talking to my ob-gyn in the same medical building where Emma used to get her dialysis. I don’t miss those days, and I know she and Guy are delighted to be done with them too. It’s why I went to the appointment alone, even though Guy’s been there for most of them. He’s started fixating on the baby’s health in a way I think isn’t good for him. I do it too, because after Emma, how could we not? But I can tell Guy is scared, no matter how hard he tries not to let me know.
Our family has some triggers, and sometimes, love is keeping someone from walking into a building that causes them stress. Besides, I’ve already sent the man about twenty annoyed GIFs today regarding my current mood.
When I pull up to the ranch, a little girl is riding on the front lawn. Emma’s hair has grown longer beneath the riding helmet she hates wearing. She and Legs have formed the kind of bond only a passive-aggressive draft mule and a small child can have together. I swear the child was born with glue on the seat of her pants, and I know what it’s like to be in love with these animals. I’m teaching her how to ride because I know it won’t be long before our rules get broken, and she’s taking off all over these mountains. If there’s ever been a natural horsewoman, it’s my daughter. She can ride him without being on a lead line if they stay in front of the house or close to the barn, because Legs won’t let her fall. Grumpy or not, he’s really good at this kind of thing.
I don’t mind switching to the broad, stocky Appaloosa gelding I bought so Emma can have Legs. Guy and Lulu have hit it off, and this way, the whole family can ride together, motley crew that we are, with Guy’s head about at Emma’s shoulder as she perches on the tall mule and me on my tank of a gelding in between. I don’t mind the incessant lowing of our new bull (he never shuts up) or how Barley is refusing to teach the two new puppies anything cattle-dog related in retribution for all the times they’ve chewed on his tail. I don’t even mind Dad’s truck breaking down again or how Guy spends a solid hour a day in the garage, clanking around and happily swearing at the thing when Emma’s out of earshot. What does bother me is that as of this morning’s ob-gyn appointment, I’ve officially been benched from riding. I thought I’d have a couple more weeks, but nope.
I swear I could hear Legs laughing at me the entire drive home.
Guy’s waiting for me when I get back from the appointment, watching Emma from the porch with a sandwich cut into cute little shapes on a plate in his lap. I shudder when the smell of peanut butter and banana hits me, although it used to be my favorite comfort sandwich. He must have noticed me turning green because he gives me a sympathetic look.
“Is peanut butter on the list?” he asks, and I nod apologetically.
“Yep. As of yesterday.”
“Sorry, I thought it might help after the ixnay on the iding-ray.” When I narrow my eyes at his cheerful tone, Guy is smart enough not to laugh. “Hey, I didn’t say anything.”
“Good, because I’m still considering getting a second opinion.” Nothing makes a girl crabby like being cut off from her horses. Emma would understand. Unlike Guy, who is happy to have me benched, even if it triples his own work all over again.
He makes short work of the sandwich cutouts, then takes my hand. “Come on. I’ll get you something else to eat.”
“Good luck,” I say grumpily.
Morning sickness has been a beast, despite doing my best not to let Guy know how awful I feel some days. Lucky me, I didn’t get to phase out of this particularly fun stage at the end of the first trimester like some women. Throwing up is a particularly bad trigger for him after Emma’s illness, and Guy’s had the honor of listening to me hurl every morning and late afternoon like clockwork.
I keep telling him I don’t need him to hold my hair or stay with me on the bathroom floor, but he’s not the type of person who can listen to someone he loves being miserable and walk away. I’ve considered locking the bathroom door so he doesn’t have to deal with it too, because I love the man more than I ever thought possible. Knowing him, he’d just sit on the other side of the door. He’s a good man determined to take care of us, and I’m determined to take care of them. So we go round and round until we sneak off to bed and find more ways to show each other how much we love each other. Vomiting aside, I’ve never been this happy in my entire life.
He and Emma are everything to me. Seriously. Everything .
Guy probably knows, because he gives me a sexy smile as he moves about the kitchen, pulling out my favorite mug and a fresh jug of milk. We keep an eye on Emma through the kitchen windows as he pours me a drink.
“Just in case today was rough, Em and I picked up something in town while you were gone.” He nudges something on a plate toward me. What I see must be a mirage, a pregnancy-induced hallucination. They only exist during Christmas, yet somehow a peppermint-dusted, three-inch-thick, triple-chunk brownie appears next to my milk.
“Is this for me?” I ask, cautiously hopeful as I sink into a stool next to the stack of mail.
“Do you think I’d talk the bakery into making a pan of these for my wife and not give her one?” He presses a kiss to my temple before bending over to sneak a quick kiss to my thickening waist. “Be nice to your momma, okay? She’s having a tough day.”
“Her day just got a lot better.” A purring noise escapes my throat, and I give him a look I normally save for my favorite treats. “Want to chase me around for the second half of this later?”
Guy’s already heading back outside to stay with Emma, but at the question, my tall, beautiful Montana boy looks over his shoulder and winks at me. “That’s what the second brownie is for. By the way, Jess left something for you in the mail.”
I knew I married this man for a reason.
Mid bite of the best thing ever, I pause and look at the sticky note attached to a newspaper, resting on top of the pile of mail.
“Thought you might want to see this,” I read Jess’s note aloud before I page through their newest handiwork. There it is, right on the front page of the classifieds. I’m not sure whether to groan or laugh. After all, the last time, this worked out for me pretty darn well.
Wanted: Babysitter for Hire
Anyone less awesome than Jess need not apply.