Page 63 of The Cowboy Who Came Home

Because it wasn’t the gently rolling landscape with lush fields growing on both sides of the lane. The alfalfa waved in the breeze, and she bet they harvested four or five cycles of it here.

“Not many trees,” he said.

“It’s the Texas Panhandle,” she said back. “And you can plant trees.”

“They take generations to grow.” He shot her a look that half teased and half didn’t. He sighed and added, “I suppose I’m not going to find something perfect, am I?”

“Depends on your definition of perfect.”

“My momma and daddy said it doesn’t exist. That I might love the house, but the land will need a lot of work. Or the barn will be falling down. Or the land will be amazing, but the house will be a shack. Or everything will be about half of what I want.”

“That’s what they said?”

“My momma hates her master closet,” he said with a smile. “Daddy thinks the kitchen is drafty. They both want a bigger garage.” He looked over to her. “You know, that kind of stuff.”

“But they live there,” Edith said, really thinking about how there was no one perfect place to live. “They work there. They’ve made it home.”

“Right,” Finn said quietly, and Edith wondered what lived in his head. “They made it their home. That’s what I want. A place and a chance to make something my home.”

Edith squeezed his hand, because she wanted that for him too. “Do you think a man can do that by himself?”

“Make a ranch his home?”

“Yeah,” she said.

Finn kept his eye out the windshield as a copse of trees came into view. “I think so,” he said. “But it’s easier if he has a dream. Something to work for.”

Edith nodded, his words in her mind. “Someone to work for,” she said. “When I’m writing, I think of the little girls who will read my books. I think of the escape they need, and their love for dogs and horses, and match the work to them. Then it’s not such hard work.”

Finn pulled up to the farmhouse, which stood two stories tall and had a stone first level with cement-colored stucco above it. The trees did shade it, and Edith smiled at the porch. “It wraps around,” she said.

Finn faced her. “You work on Alex’s ranch because you love him.”

“Yes,” Edith whispered, tearing her eyes from the lovely porch, where she’d just spotted a rocking chair beside a small table. “It’s not such hard work when I’m doing it for someone I love.”

He nodded and said, “I need something like that. Something outside myself. I think that’s why I did so well in the Army. I was part of something bigger than myself.”

“You have your family.”

Finn almost scoffed as he turned away. “In my family, Edith, I’m the least of them all.” He slid from the truck and went to the front bumper as he took in the house. Edith got out of the truck to join him, her heart beating in a strange rhythm.

“Finn, you are not the least of anything.” She took his hand. “The door is green. I don’t like that.”

“Doors can be painted, sweetheart.” He led her toward the porch and up the steps. “They said no one would be home today, and we could just wander around as we saw fit.”

Something chirped on the porch, and then a male voice said, “Finn, hey!” from a speaker somewhere.

Edith looked around for it, as did Finn. “Hey,” he said, waving to the doorbell, which Edith realized had a camera on it. “We’re just going to look around for a bit. That’s still okay?”

“Let me unlock the front door for you,” the man said. “I just ask that if you open a door or gate out on the ranch that you close it behind you.”

“Of course,” Finn said. “That’s the first law of being a cowboy.”

The man laughed and said, “The door’s open, son. I’ll see you when you leave.”

That felt a little creepy to Edith, but Finn grinned and said, “Thanks, Mister Jenkins.” He reached for the doorknob, and sure enough, the door was open. Finn looked up as he entered, and Edith followed him, ready to see this place for what it currently was—and what it could be.

“Wow,” she said as she joined Finn in the foyer. A legit farmhouse foyer.

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