Page 8 of Darling Bride

I turn, looking down at River. It used to bother me that he looks like my father. But now I see he’ll look just like me.

I think that means I’ve healed.

“Yeah?” I say.

River hooks his hands over the edge of the door, peering at his prize. “Can I name him Captain?”

I glance down. “Where’d you get that?”

“From a book,” he says. “He looks like a captain. His forelock kinda looks like the brim of a hat.”

His logic is rock solid. “You name him whatever you want.”

“Is Captain a good name?” His brow creases.

“Is it the name you want?”

He nods, eyes still glued to the colt.

“Well, that’s good enough then,” I say. “I reckon we should let Captain sleep for a while. He’s had a big day and I know your mother’s about done with dinner.”

He sighs, stepping out of the way so I can shut the top half of the door. We walk in silence to the porch. Overhead, the stars are out. Little glimmers of light in a velvety rich sky. Hemmed in by the great shadows of the mountains and the green hills. Carter Ranch is slowly crawling its way through a tepid spring. I’m glad summer is almost here and I can get a read on the harvest soon.

The front hall smells like dinner. The minute we set foot in the door, River gives a hoarse yell and pelts down the hall. I cock my head and hear it—my mother’s voice.

She’s sitting at the table, her husband Matthew at her side. River gives her a hug, nearly knocking her off the chair. Allison sends him a disapproving look across the room.

“What’s all this?” I ask.

Diane appears behind me, slipping around my body to wash her hands in the sink. “Eve wants to take the kids tonight. There’s a bull rider visiting Ryder Ranch and everybody’s going up to see him tomorrow.”

River starts hopping from one foot to the other. “I want to go! Dad, can I please go?”

Over his head, I lock eyes with my wife. Her face stays the same, but I know that look.

Goddamn, do I know that look.

“You go right ahead,” I say.

Allison is less excited, but still looks interested. They both drop what they’re doing and run upstairs to pack their overnight bags. Matthew shakes his head, smiling. Slowly, he gets up from his chair and crosses the room.

“I’ll be right back,” he says. “The truck’s full of chicken feed so I need to move it so the kids can sit there.”

“Let me,” I say, following him down the hall.

The man’s tough as nails, despite being a banker by trade. He shakes his head, walking carefully down the steps. Two years ago he got kicked in the thigh by a horse and it has slowed him down since. My mother has him in physical therapy, but it’s his determination that keeps him moving.

I pull the tailgate down and circle the truck. “You tell Deacon I said to fuck himself,” I say, hauling a bag of feed out.

Matthew laughs. “Yeah, alright, I will.”

My mother appears at my shoulder. “Oh, you two love each other,” she scolds. “Stop being so mean. You’re worse to him than anybody.”

“That’s the only language he speaks,” I say, hefting the bags into the back and shutting the tailgate.

The door opens and my son and daughter tumble out, my wife at their heels. My mother goes to the porch steps to say goodbye to Diane and I hang back. Matthew crosses his arms, watching with a faraway expression.

He was a widower, without children, when my mother met him. After River was born, he pulled me aside and thanked me for treating him like a stepfather and a member of my family. I didn’t have words to tell him I’m just as grateful that he’s the man my children have for a grandfather.