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)
“Banana bread,” I say, a little self-conscious now that they’re watching. “Your bananas were about to give up on life.”
Mason huffs a quiet laugh. “That so?”
Brookes moves closer, leaning one hip against the counter as he looks at the bowl, the ingredients, the way I’ve taken over their kitchen without asking. “They usually give up on life and go in the trash.”
“That’s sacrilege," I say. “Tossing out perfectly delicious fruit because it looks a little sad.”
“You didn’t have to do that,” Mason says. “You should be sitting down. On the porch. With a cup of herbal tea.”
“I know,” I reply, sliding the pan into the oven. “But I wanted to.”
Mason moves to the sink, washing his hands after Brookes, who grabs a couple of beers from the fridge.
“What are you drinking, Janey? We have juice. Or soda.”
The normality of it catches me off guard.
“I’ll take a soda. You got anything fruity?”
He passes me a can of lemon soda and a glass.
“What do you feel like for dinner?” Mason asks, drying his hands.
I glance at the fridge, then back at them. “You trust me?”
Mason grins. “You want to cook dinner, too?”
“I can.”
“You planning to poison us?”
“Only if you deserve it.”
Brookes’s mouth curves slightly. “We’ll take our chances.”
“Go shower,” I order, enjoying being bossy, and they do, nudging each other as they leave the room like the little boys they used to be, leaving me to rustle up my first meal for two hungry cowboys.
I opt for pan-fried chicken, potatoes, and whatever vegetables I can find. Mason and Brookes return to the kitchen with damp hair and clean faces and hover, moving around me easily, passing things when I need them, staying out of the way when I don’t.
It feels so natural to bustle around between them. So normal to be in this other world, so different from my real life. I smile as they snatch pieces of the warm banana bread, contrary to my warning that they’ll spoil their dinner.
“We should eat on the porch,” Brookes says. “Catch the sunset.”
I pass him his almost overflowing plate and follow him and Mason outside.
Conversation comes easily. Mason tells me about a ranch hand who nearly backed a truck into the water trough, exaggerating enough to make me laugh. Brookes fills in the details Mason leaves out, his dry tone cutting through the embellishment, making it even better. They groan and sigh over my cooking like it’s a Michelin-starred plate, not ranch-house kitchen cuisine.
The sun dips below the horizon like a glowing penny dipping into the ocean, and I find myself sinking back into the chair, my limbs loose, without realizing it’s happening.
After dinner, I clear the plates before they can stop me, washing them in the sink while Mason dries and Brookes puts things away. Buck scratches at the door, and I glance over.
“I’ve got him,” I say, shaking my hands and grabbing my boots.
Outside, the air has cooled, the sky stretching wide and starlit above me. Buck lumbers out beside me, taking his time as he sniffs around the yard.
I lean against the porch rail, so taken by the quiet and the freshness all around me. It’s beautiful, but more than that, it’s the kind of peace I didn’t realize I needed.
The screen door creaks again.
I don’t turn because I can sense Mason and Brookes behind me. Their energy shifts the air subtly but in a way that I’m growing used to. Mason settles against the post to my right, Brookes on my left. We stand like that for a while, in comfortable silence that carries comfort and hope in its warm confines.
My hand drifts, almost unconsciously, to my stomach again.
This place.
This land.
These men.
I glance between them, taking them in properly in the low light bleeding from the house windows. A strange, unexpected thought settles in my chest.
This is the kind of place where a child could grow up.
Room to run. Space to breathe. Animals to nurture. People who show up when it matters.
My throat tightens slightly because they’re the kind of men who would show up. They’ve shown up for me, a virtual stranger.
They’re the kind of men who would love fiercely and protect without hesitation.
But as the idea begins to take shape, another crowds it out. One of them might convince my mother of his worthiness, but two never will.
Chapter 13
Janey
The guest room feels too big and empty. I’ve been staring at the ceiling for what feels like hours, watching the shadows from the ceiling fan slowly rotate above me. The bed is comfortable, the sheets smell like lavender detergent, but no matter how many times I fluff the pillow or adjust the comforter, sleep refuses to come.
There’s an ache in my chest that I can’t wish away. It’s a hollow feeling that’s risen up slowly from the place I packed it after Joelle and Caleb moved out.