Page 63 of The Cowboy Who Looked Again

Mitch waved, his version of Hey.

I caught you in bed. Link smiled at him. Lucky. He ducked down and heaved up a golden retriever. Honor says hi, he signed with one hand. Then he waved one of Honor’s paws. How’s the new dog?

Mitch grinned and grinned at the dog he’d left behind in Texas. He’d bought the dog outright, and he didn’t have to put her back into hearing service. He’d made the trip to Willowbrook with his daddy and Honor, and his father had driven the dog home again once Mitch had his small, century-old house set up the way he wanted it.

He’d gotten a new hearing dog to train, and as he sat up on the edge of the bed, his dog—a pretty, burnished red cockapoo—jumped down to the ground, his smile absolutely adorable.

He’s learning, Mitch said. Here he is. His name’s Beacon. He turned his phone, so the camera showed the curly-haired dog. When he faced the phone back to him, Link had dropped Honor back to the ground. His phone sat propped up on his dining room table, and he had a plate of sausage and eggs in front of him.

I’m calling to see how the first day was, he signed. You said you’d call, and you didn’t. Link kept his gaze down, and Mitch appreciated that. He wasn’t trying to be accusatory, which was why he’d dropped eye contact.

Mitch knew Link though, and his heart grew two sizes, banging against his ribcage. When Link looked back up, Mitch started talking. First day was really great, actually. I’m teaching college, Link. I was scared out of my mind when I walked into that first class.

He tipped his head back and let laughter come out of his mouth. Ninety percent of the people who lived and worked at Whispering Paws were either completely deaf, legally deaf, or hard of hearing. Had he opted to live on campus, he wouldn’t have had to worry about disturbing his neighbor by laughing too loudly too early in the morning.

The advanced students are first thing in the morning, he said. So the day got easier from there.

I can’t imagine there’s a sign you don’t know, Link said. Especially ranch vocabulary.

Probably not, Mitch agreed. It was still terrifying.

But you did it. Link smiled at him. And it’s the weekend now. What are you doing?

Training Beacon, he said. He’s got lessons every afternoon, and a long session on the weekend. You?

Misty’s moving today, Link said. Back to town.

Mitch watched his best friend and cousin, trying to read how Link felt about his girlfriend moving off the ranch after being there for months. Link, as usual, gave nothing away. Mitch longed to be more like that. More level-headed. Less smiley. Less “happy hands” and blurting out whatever came into his head.

When he couldn’t decipher his cousin’s mood, he asked, How do you feel about that?

It’s time, Link said.

Are things still serious?

Link nodded. Pretty serious, yeah. I’ve—we’ve talked about her moving here permanently after her job with the state finishes up.

Mitch was surprised and unsurprised at the same time. Definitely sounds serious then.

Maybe more for me than her, Link said. But I’m trying to be patient.

Mitch smiled, but it didn’t hold a whole heap of happiness. Ah, our favorite word.

Link’s smile opened his mouth, which indicated that he was probably laughing. He once again dropped his head as he signed, Right? I’m sick of hearing it. He looked up at Mitch again. Too bad it’s the only message I’m getting from God. It’s like it’s on repeat.

Mitch’s stomach growled, and he ignored it. At least you get something from God. He couldn’t believe he’d said the words, but his hands dropped back to his lap, the signs out. Done.

Link blinked, but his gaze didn’t waver one bit. Do you think you’re in the right place, Mitch?

Yeah, Mitch said. Yep. I do.

Then you are, Link said. He didn’t ask anything more. He didn’t start lecturing Mitch about his lack of a testimony in Jesus Christ. He simply sat with him for another moment, and then said, I miss you around here.

I miss you too, Mitch said. You don’t talk to my parents, do you?

Sure, Link said. I do. Not about you, though. They haven’t said anything to me about you. Why?

No reason, Mitch said, though he hadn’t talked to his parents as much as Link since moving here. He reasoned he was twenty-eight years old, and he didn’t have to call his mommy every day to check in. He hadn’t done that when he lived at Shiloh Ridge, and just because Willowbrook and Whispering Pines was further from her didn’t mean he had to start now.

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