Total pages in book: 57
Estimated words: 55305 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 277(@200wpm)___ 221(@250wpm)___ 184(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 55305 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 277(@200wpm)___ 221(@250wpm)___ 184(@300wpm)
“You’re not drowning,” Mason says firmly. “You’ve got two big, stubborn cowboys who aren’t going anywhere. We’re in this with you, Janey. All the way.”
Brookes presses a soft kiss to my temple. “One day at a time. Right now, you need to rest. Have you thought about what we said? Could you take some time off work? Give yourself a chance to breathe.”
I let out a shaky breath and nod slowly.
They’re right.
I’ve been trying to pretend everything is normal, but it isn’t.
Maybe it’s time I accept that I can’t handle this upheaval, and I need some time to deal with my emotions away from everyday life.
By the time the worst of the nausea finally passes, and I’m sipping small mouthfuls of water, the decision feels clear.
“I’m going to call my boss today,” I say quietly. “I have two weeks of vacation saved up. I think… I need to take it now.”
Mason’s hand strokes gently over my hair. “Good girl. That’s a smart move.”
Brookes nods in agreement. “And you’ll come stay with us?”
I look between them—these two strong, patient men crouched on my bathroom floor at five a.m., caring for me like I’m already their responsibility. It terrifies me how easy it is and how good they make me feel.
For the first time since those two pink lines appeared, the days ahead don’t feel muddled and confused. I can do this. I can take some time out to decide.
One night can turn into two weeks.
I know I’m deferring the inevitable. I know I’m using their welcoming offer to put off the truth that I’m going to have to face at some point.
But I need this now. I need them to help me keep myself together.
Who knows what’ll happen after that?
Chapter 11
Brookes
I watch the familiar landscape roll by as we turn onto the long dirt road leading home. Mason drives the truck ahead with most of Janey’s things, while I ride beside her in her car. Even though we’ve been talking most of the way, I can sense her nerves. Her hands keep shifting on the steering wheel, her thumbs brushing over the leather like she’s trying to smooth her thoughts flat.
I speak gently, giving her an honest picture of what she’s about to walk into.
“You’ll meet a couple of the ranch hands today,” I tell her. “They’re solid guys. They’ve already handled the morning dairy chores, so the barn should be quiet.” I glance over at her. “The house… well, it’s lived-in. We didn’t have time to clean before we left yesterday. I’m a little mortified about that, but I’d rather you see us as we really are.”
Janey glances over at me with a small smile. “I don’t expect perfection, Brookes.”
“Good.” I rub the back of my neck. “Because you won’t get it. We want you to see the real version of our life here. The good and the messy. If you’re ever going to consider staying with us, it has to be because you love the real thing, not some cleaned-up fantasy.”
She nods. “I don’t want you to get your hopes up.”
Despite what happened last night, she’s still as wary as she was when we were texting. Even though so much has changed, she’s still holding herself back. I don’t know what it’ll take to get her to change her mind.
I let the silence settle again as the main house comes into view.
We pull up beside the truck. Mason’s already waiting, leaning against the hood, trying to look casual and failing because he keeps watching Janey like he’s afraid she might change her mind and drive away.
The house stands solid and familiar, a two-story white clapboard with a deep wraparound porch. The paint is fading in places, and one shutter hangs slightly crooked, but it’s sturdy and reliable. There are boots lined up by the steps, and two rocking chairs angled toward the pasture where they’ve been keeping watch on the same spot for years.
I climb out and round the vehicle to open Janey’s door for her. She steps out slowly, taking everything in.
“Welcome to Fletcher Ranch,” I say.
Mason joins us, carrying one of her smaller bags. “It’s not fancy, but it’s ours.”
She lingers to take in the house, pivoting to view the surrounding land and buildings. I wish I could hear what she’s thinking. I hope it’s positive.
We lead her inside.
The moment we step through the front door, the familiar scent of home hits me: coffee, old leather, woodsmoke, and that faint trace of hay that never quite leaves, no matter how strict we are about taking our boots off outside. The living room is comfortable but cluttered. Worn leather couches face the big stone fireplace. Bookshelves overflow with ranch manuals and dog-eared novels. One of my flannel shirts is tossed over the back of a chair.
“Sorry about the mess,” I mutter, feeling a flicker of embarrassment. “We’re not used to having female company over.”