Chapter 14
Asher
There's something about Jenna and Josh's place that always feels like home, even though it isn’t mine. Maybe it's the wide porch strung with lights or the way the grill smoke hangs in the air with the promise of the amazing food I know we are about to eat.
Or it could be the way Jenna always makes too much food and pretends she didn't plan it that way.
But mostly, it's that when we gather here, nothing bad can touch us for a little while.
The world shrinks down to this little patch of earth where only the good stuff sticks.
Where laughter becomes a language we all remember, even when we forget how to breathe.
I pull onto the gravel drive, parking next to Finn's old truck and a row of others I recognize. I didn’t realize he was back from the rodeo yet, but leave it to him not to miss a free meal.
Both my brothers are out front—Zach lounging on the porch rail like he owns the place, Finn limping slightly as he laughs at something Zach said.
"You're late," Zach calls out, grinning. "We were about to send Phantom to drag you in by your boots."
"Had to make sure the ranch didn't fall apart without me," I shoot back. Finn smirks, rubbing his knee, his own secret badge of honor.
"Don't let him fool you," Finn adds. "He just didn't want to face Mom's potato salad first."
Jenna's best friend, Sky, and her husband, Dash, are already out on the porch, drinks in hand, talking to Jenna and catching up as though they haven't seen each other in years instead of weeks.
Skye's laugh carries across the yard, light and real.
She's got that way about her, bringing the sunshine with her.
Dash, her new husband, is quieter, but there's a steadiness in him I recognize.
Jenna adores Skye like a sister, and seeing her this happy with Dash beside her eases something in my chest I didn't even know was tight.
The kind of bond that makes you believe some people really do find their forever.
Inside, the house smells like pulled pork and cornbread.
Josh waves me in from the kitchen. The man could run a fence line and still bake the best damn cornbread this side of Texas.
Mom is in her apron, shooing Josh away from the rolls, acting as though he doesn't know how long bread takes to warm.
She stops to hug me, flour on her cheek.
There's music coming from an old speaker in the corner, something classic and twangy, and it hums right through the walls.
"You made it," Josh says, handing me a beer.
"Wouldn't miss it," I say, clinking the bottle against his. "What's the occasion? Or is Jenna just bored again?"
"Bit of both," Dad answers from the doorway, clapping me into a quick hug that smells of cedar and pipe smoke. "Also, Jesse and Natalie are coming. He's got something to say."
I raise a brow but don't press. Natalie is Austin's little sister and the whole reason Austin came back to town to help run her aunt's diner.
Jesse has been through hell and back, and Natalie's the kind of woman who holds people together.
If he's got something to announce, it'll be worth hearing.
Probably something big if Jenna broke out the good tablecloth.
Out back, the yard is buzzing with conversation.
Lawn chairs are spread around, and someone is tuning a guitar on the porch steps.
It's summer at its finest. I see folks from all corners of our lives, ranch hands and old teachers, even Ben deep in a conversation about irrigation systems with someone's uncle. Everyone belongs here in their own way.
"Asher!" Jenna calls, waving me over. "You remember Cade, right? The new vet?"
Cade stands beside the fire pit, looking a little like a ranch dog at a kennel meet-and-greet. New and eager, but guarded. I nod and extend a hand.
"Good to see you again."
He shakes it firmly. "You too. Thanks for calling me out for Duke. That horse has good people looking after him."
"We try. You settling in alright?"
"Getting there. This helps," he says, gesturing to the gathering.
It's hard being new in a town like Walker Lake, but getting out tonight and meeting people will help. The ranchers here are protective of their animals, and they won't always call someone they don't know yet if they have another choice.
Ben walks up not long after Cade is pulled away, already talking about fencing and irrigation. Apparently, he can't turn off the landowner part of his brain. He's got plans for a hobby ranch just west of town, and apparently, no off switch when it comes to soil pH or rotational grazing.
"You get a tractor yet?" I ask.
"Next week," he says, eyes gleaming. "Still trying to decide between red or green."
"You're about to start a war in this county," I say with a grin. "Better pick a side before the neighbors do it for you."
"Green," Zach pipes up from across the table, already shoveling food onto his plate. "Everyone knows green's prettier. Unless you want orange, in which case, we can't be friends."
Finn groans. "God help us, here he goes again. Don't get him started on tractors unless you want a three-hour sermon."
Behind us, Dad chuckles low. "Son, the only war worth fighting is for land and family. Pick your tractor, but remember—it won't matter nearly as much as who's sitting at your table when the day's done." His words settle heavier than the firelight, the kind of thing you don't forget.
Mom pipes up from the end of the table, laughing. "Speaking of fights. Remember the time Finn rode Phantom bareback down Main Street and nearly caused a traffic jam?" Her eyes sparkle as she shakes her head. "Still don't know how you didn't break your neck."
"Talent," Finn grins, puffing his chest out. Zach snorts. "More like dumb luck. I still say Phantom was smarter than you that day."
The jokes roll easily, and soon the sun dips low, casting long shadows across the yard.
We move to the long table under the oak trees, plates piled high, drinks passed down the line.
You can't even hear yourself think over the stories and laughter.
There's something healing about eating with people who've seen you at your worst and loved you anyway.
Halfway down the table, Finn is regaling Natalie with his latest rodeo mishap, pulling up his jeans to show off a bruised shin like it's a trophy.
"Eight seconds never felt so long," he says proudly, and everyone groans at the familiar story.
Zach throws a roll at him, and Finn catches it midair with a grin.
Jesse clears his throat midway through dinner and stands, holding a glass.
"I won't make a big thing of it," he says, smiling at Natalie beside him. "But it's official. Nate is officially mine. The adoption's finalized."
When Jesse and Natalie met, Natalie was pregnant and about to go through it all alone.
Jesse's sister was also pregnant, and they ended up at some of the same classes and events.
Before Nate was even born, Jesse had laid his claim on both Natalie and Nate.
The adoption was simply paperwork, but also security that Nate wouldn't be taken from them by Natalie’s ex.
Cheers erupt around the table. Natalie wipes at her eyes, and Jesse ducks his head like he didn't just change his whole world with one sentence.
I clap him on the back when I pass by to grab seconds.
The good kind of heavy settles in my chest. Pride fills the space, real and unspoken, and suddenly everyone seems to breathe a little deeper.
Across the table, Mom dabs at her eyes with a napkin.
"That's what it's all about," she whispers, sliding another spoonful of potatoes onto Zach's plate, feeding him as if it’s the only way she knows how to handle good news.
She catches me looking and gives me a soft, knowing smile.
"Someday, Asher. Don't think I don't see you smiling at that phone of yours. "
Later, as the fire crackles and the adults roast marshmallows, I pull my phone from my back pocket and text Kassi.
Me: You ever been to one of those big, noisy family dinners where everyone talks over each other, and the food runs out too fast?
She replies faster than I expect.
Sunshine: Sounds like my favorite kind of chaos.
Me: That's what I'm living in right now. Pulled pork and too many opinions.
Sunshine: Lucky. I had frozen pizza and a moody little girl
Me: Trade you one cousin for a slice.
Sunshine: Only if I get the cousin with the good hair.
Me: My brother Zach has the best hair of the bunch and a bathroom full of hair products to prove it. You'll have to fight off half the county.
I grin at the screen, then glance up to catch Jenna watching me from the porch. She narrows her eyes, but doesn't say anything. Just smiles. Like she knows something I don't yet.
Sunshine: Do you ever wish for more than this?
The words punch me harder than I expect. My thumb hovers over the screen, typing and deleting before I finally write something safer.
Me: More what?
Sunshine: More than land and fences and long days. More than small-town gossip. Just... more.
I almost tell her yes. That sometimes I wonder what it would be like to share this life with someone. That I'm tired of shouldering it alone. But I delete the words before I hit send, my chest tight.
Me: Sometimes.
She doesn't reply right away, and I stare at the phone too long. Mom notices from her chair and says, "You've got that look on your face, Asher. Like your heart's already halfway gone." Jenna catches my eye too, her head tilted in amusement, though she stays quiet, but her smile knowing.
Sunshine: So, who's winning the chaos contest?
Me: Jury's still out. Jesse made everyone cry, and then there was Ben starting a tractor debate.
Sunshine: Tractor debate sounds intense.
Me: Only if you're brave enough to take a side.
Sunshine: And if I said I liked orange ones?
Me: Then we'd have to talk. Real serious like. The town might break out the pitchforks.
She doesn't reply right away. I tuck the phone into my pocket and sip my beer, watching the firelight flicker off familiar faces. I take it in. The glow of the lanterns, the sound of boots on gravel, the way kids are starting to fall asleep in chairs while their parents talk quietly beside them.
If they knew who I was texting, they'd look at me differently. Finn would give me hell, Zach would laugh, Mom would probably hope, and Dad... he'd just nod that heavy nod like he does. But my brothers—losing their trust? That thought burns hotter than the fire.
These nights don't come around often. And when they do, I hold them tight.
Not just because of the laughter or the food, but because it reminds me that some things stay.
Even when life changes, and people leave, and the land gets threatened, there's still this.
Family. Fire. A few magnificent horses grazing in the dark.
It's a kind of hope I don't talk about much, but I feel it deep.
My phone buzzes again.
Sunshine: Tell me more. About your family. About what this feels like.
I lean back in my chair and let the words come slowly.
Me: Feels like breathing. Something older than all of us. People who show up even when you don't ask. And food so good you think maybe today wasn't such a bad day after all.
There's a long pause. Then:
Sunshine: I think I'd like that. Not just the food. The rest of it, too. It's what I always wanted growing up, what I want for Emma.
Me: I think you'd fit right in.
Sunshine: Even with my big city shoes?
Me: We might have to get you some boots, but we could use some balance around here.
Sunshine: I'm starting to believe that.
From across the fire, Dad catches my eye, lifts his beer, and nods once.
No words, just a silent kind of approval that means more than anything.
Between him and Mom, between all of them, I realize what she's asking me in her texts isn't just about family dinners.
It's about belonging. And I want her to have it.
I watch the fire die down, flames turning to embers, and wonder if maybe she already has it in her. That feeling. That want. Maybe she's been looking for home the same way I have. And maybe, just maybe, we're both a little closer than we think. And if not, maybe this time we won't stop looking.