Page 33 of Solitude

Rolling acres of beautiful green countryside greet me as I drive down the bumpy road that runs parallel to the property and admire the new sign that hangs from the welcoming archway. It’s steel, clearly handmade and intricate in design. The sign itself is circular. At the top sits a trio of birds that I know to be the bluebirds that inspiredthe name for this ranch, and underneath it, in big, block letters, isBluebird Ranch.

If I had to bet money, I’d say Matt probably made it himself.

He’s a handy bastard.

My red pickup truck jerks and bounces down the dirt driveway, and when the road splits into two paths, I go right toward the farmhouse instead of left towards the barns like I usually would.

The Fletchers built their two-story farmhouse years and years ago when materials and labor were cheaper. They’re genuinely good people, so most of the town wanted to help for no cost at all. Even my dad talks about working for Calvin Fletcher part-time on the ranch like it was the best job he’d ever had. (“It was hard work, for sure, but Calvin and Beth are the best type of people. We should be grateful they’re here providing the Hollow with so many jobs and farm-to-table food.”)

My dad might be Calvin’s biggest fan.

The wraparound porch with the big swing was a thirtieth wedding anniversary gift from Cole and Matt last year, actually. My parents had sent pictures in our family group chat with demands that we step up our gift giving.

Stella, my older sister, just sent an eye roll emoji. Andy didn’t even respond, but she’s apparently somewhere in Europe living out her dreams with some Italian man that feeds her crepes and strawberries. (I sent back a vomit emoji to that message when it came through.) Benand I just liked the message and tried not to feeling insulted.

My feet have barely hit the dirt when the screen door slams open.

Beth Fletcher stands on the porch with her hands fisted on her hips. Her dark, graying hair is in a pile on top of her head, and her apron covered in flour and other various stains drapes over her sundress flatteringly. She’s grinning down the steps at me, exuding that maternal air about her that makes me feel like this place is my second home.

“Beckett Wesley Hale,” she hollers, drawing others from the house to the door behind her. “You get your ass up here and let me look at you!”

She doesn’t have to ask me twice.

I’m on the porch and wrapping her tall frame in a bear hug within seconds. I lift her and give her a twirl just because I enjoy seeing her smile. I knew in the back of my head she’d be happy to see me, but I didn’t realize just how much I truly missed this family.

“My goodness, boy,” she beams when I set her back on her feet. She holds me by the shoulders and looks me over. “You’ve filled out, Beck. What’re they feeding you down there? The whole cow?”

By “down there”, she means the University of Texas, where Ben, Gus, and I were recruited out of high school. It’s been a whirlwind, if I’m honest, and if I hadn’t been able to go with my brother and best friend, I probably would’ve stayed right here in Magnolia Hollow.

Calvin, Beth’s husband and owner of Bluebird Ranch, appears behind her, sporting his own grin. “Damn, kid. Matt said you weren’t a scrawny boy anymore, but I guess I didn’t really believe him.”

“It was a choice between putting on some muscle so I could check some dudes on the ice, or get my scrawny ass handed to me all season.” I shrug and bring my hand up to my hair, a habit of mine, but stop when I remember I threw on a ball cap before I left.

I need a haircut soon.

Beth pats my chest softly. “Well, I’d rather you beat the shit out of someone else, that’s for sure.”

“Mama,” Cole leans against the doorframe, his masculine build taking up an intimidating amount of space, and shoots me a smirk. “Are you out here flirtin’?”

Beth scoffs, turning on her son and smacking him across the arm. He grabs at the spot dramatically, wincing through a laugh. “Weren’t you helping Winnie peel potatoes?”

Cole pouts. “She kicked me out. Said I was just in the way.”

“She’s irritated at you,” Beth says. “Don’t know what possessed you to eat six cupcakes last night. Have some self-control, Cole.”

“We both know that’s not really my strong suit.”

Calvin scoffs. “You’re one of the most disciplined people I know.”

Cole scrunches his nose. “I guess. I still struggle,though. Stop putting me on a pedestal. You know I hate that shit.”

“Oh, so Betty Rigby can worship the ground you walk on, but I can’t?”

“Pretty much.” Cole scoops Beth’s hand up and squeezes it. “You’re supposed to keep me humble, mama.”

“I’ll keep you locked out of the kitchen if you don’t leave Winnie and her cupcakes alone. You hear me?”

“Yes ma’am.”

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