Page 21 of Dust Storm

Gone in seconds.

And just like that, I became a single father. A widower.

The place I had always looked at as my haven had become my altar.

I prayed for weeks, pleading for whatever higher power was out there to bring her back.

I had seen the mangled station wagon.

I had held her lifeless hand when the cop took me to her body.

Then I went home to my baby girls, who looked to me for answers. For strength. For stability.

And I had to swallow it all down for them.

Ray, the next youngest of the Griffith boys, had just started out on the rodeo circuit when it happened. He stepped into the role of the fun uncle, helping with Bree and Gracie while I dealt with funeral arrangements and stole brief moments to grieve.

When he wasn’t traveling on the circuit, his home base was in Colorado. I missed him like hell and always looked forward to the rodeo coming to town.

Mom always set a place at the table for him, even if she knew damn well that he wouldn’t be here. Today, Cassandra was sitting in Ray’s seat.

Carson James—the youngest and only one of us who got in trouble enough to be regularly called by his firstandmiddle names—had only been seventeen when Gretchen passed. It seemed like a far cry from the twenty-seven-year-old man who was sitting across from me now.

I didn’t know how my parents did it. Four unruly boys had turned into slightly less feral men.

I had my hands full with just two. I couldn’t imagine doubling that.

“I’m just saying,” CJ cut in again. “We’re finally out of the red. Shouldn’t we be upgrading the equipment or something? Not spending money on labor?” He cut his eyes to Cassandra. “No offense.”

“None taken,” she said without a care as she discreetly studied the table, taking in every breath and micro-expression.

Becks set her fork down and groaned, closing her eyes.

Nate nearly jumped out of his skin. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” she choked out, waving him off. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Don’t tell me not to worry about it, Red,” Nate growled.

“Braxon-Hicks?” I guessed.

Becks nodded. “They suck.”

I gave her a sympathetic nod. “I remember Gretchen hating them. Gracie gave her a time of it.”

Becks pursed her lips, fighting against making a sound as she worked through another practice contraction.

“That’s it.” Nate wiped his mouth and tossed his napkin down. “We’re going to the hospital.”

Becks rolled her eyes and turned to Cassandra. “He threatens to take me to the hospital at least four times a day.”

Nate pinched the bridge of his nose. “Because you’re high risk.”

“Because I’m forty,” Becks countered. “Everything else is normal. I’m not going to explode. Now, will you calm down?”

Bree, Gracie, and my mom giggled. Nate looked like he was strangling his glass.

Cassandra was unfazed.

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