Page 17 of Sweet Beloved

I shake my head, smiling. “If we still were, I’d be winning by a longshot.”

It’s true. Technically, my ranch is the only one that rivals Sovereign Mountain in size, but it’s been more beneficial for us both to work together, not against each other. And over the years, Sovereign, Westin, and I have formed a close bond after some of the things we’ve been through together. I hope we all stay close, and that our sons and daughters keep on with that legacy.

“You eat?” Westin says.

I shake my head.

“Diane’s got food on the table,” he says. He waves a hand at everybody in the yard. “Come on, lunch time.”

I leave the paddock, clapping Gage and Slate on the shoulders as I go by. They stay behind for a few minutes, all the boys talking together. Then, we all head into the kitchen of the Carter farmhouse.

Diane stands in the kitchen, cutting flowers. She’s a slight woman with long, golden hair, streaked with a bit of gray. Her brows rise as she sees us all come in, and her eyes dart down to our boots. That’s all it takes for everybody to stop short and take their boots off, lining them up all down the hall.

We all sit down together at the table. There’s a lot of good natured joking, and the room is loud enough that I can barely get a word in edgewise.

I don’t mind. This is another part of my life I never thought I’d have—friends and a community. And now that I’m here, I’m going to soak it all in.

Diane’s cooking is wonderful, as usual. I make sure the boys thank her after Westin pays them. Then, we talk for a bit in the yard as we make our way to the trucks. Apparently, Sovereign is bringing a pretty big head of cattle through his western pastures, down via Carter Farms, and housing them in the lower area, where the water is more accessible. Westin says he’s going to help next Monday. I offer to come over so we can make quick work of it. Then, we part ways, and I follow Slate’s truck down the highway towards home.

It’s quiet alone in my truck. I hit the radio button and turn the music up. It takes me a moment to realize, but it’s that same damn song I danced to in the kitchen with Freya all those years ago.

I flip it up a little higher, and I can’t keep the smile off my face all the way home.

CHAPTER EIGHT

FREYA

I know Deacon is aware my head is still stirring with thoughts all through dinner. He eats with his hand on my thigh under the table, like he’s trying to settle me. Then, he helps get the kitchen cleaned up and does chores with the boys. I go upstairs to shower and sink down at my vanity to braid my hair.

My eyes fall on the little things laid out on the vanity. My face cream, my hair ties, my silver comb Deacon bought me in Billings years ago. Someday, maybe Slate’s great granddaughter will hold that comb and wonder who I was, what I was like. She’ll know her past, her present, her future in a way I never did. Maybe my picture will be in their family album, the one of Deacon and I on our wedding day, standing in front of the fireplace.

Maybe that picture we have of me standing in front of the café will be there too.

Something clicks into place deep inside.

No matter how scary change can be, I want to be brave enough to face it head on and say my life was well lived. On my terms.

Freya Hatfield Ryder. That’s a name I hope my great-great granddaughters will be proud of in a distant future I won’t see, a future I laid the foundation for.

I clear my throat. Why am I feeling sad? This is one of the happiest times of my life.

The front door opens and shuts. Deacon’s steps move up the stairs, and he’s here, filling the room with his virile presence. I don’t turn around, I just listen to him take his boots off. He sinks down to a crouch beside me, reaching for my hand.

“You alright, sweetheart?” he asks.

I keep my eyes ahead. “I’m going to do it. You’re right—it’s time for a change. The boys are independent already.”

His fingers, rough from work, tighten in mine. “Good.”

“You’re sure you can manage with me being gone at work most days?”

“We’ll be just fine,” he assures me. “All the little details and shit, we’ll figure those out.”

I smile, and for a second, I look like a portrait, framed by the mirror. He lifts my hand to his lips and kisses my knuckles. Then, his mouth moves up a little higher, and he nips me gently. I glance over, blushing. The immense relief of having made a decision has me feeling like air.

“A little horny?” I tease.

He looks up at me, midnight gaze glittering. “Maybe I like the thought of fucking the boss of one of Knifely’s biggest businesses.”

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