Page 14 of Sweet Beloved

The boys head over to Carter Farms to start work. Westin pays everybody who helps with the haying well, so they’re always fine with the extra work. At the last minute, I get a text from Jensen asking me to come with him to the auction in South Platte. One of his wranglers fell and broke his ankle last night, leaving him without anybody to help load up his purchases.

“You go on ahead, Dad,” says Slate, leaning out of the truck window. “I think the four of us can handle this.”

I’m standing in the driveway, sweat already dripping down my forehead. Honestly, I’d rather be at Carter Farms than in the auction barn. It’ll be blistering hot, nothing but manure and dead air to breathe in all day. But Slate is right: they can easily get through the haying this morning without my help.

That throws me for a loop. My boys are getting pretty damn independent.

“Yeah, that’s fine,” I say. “Make sure you’re drinking water and break for lunch.”

Slate shakes his head. “You know Diane won’t let us starve.”

I watch them drive off, a hollow in the pit of my stomach. The front door opens, and Freya appears. She’s in jean shorts that hug her pretty ass perfectly and a gray t-shirt with the café logo on it. She was up late last night, tossing and turning as she thought about her next move. To me, taking on the café seems like a natural step for her, but I think it’s weighing on her differently.

I whistle. She smiles, coming out to the driveway. I slip my arm around her waist and kiss her head.

“You’re not going?” she asks.

“Jensen asked me to go to auction with him,” I say. “Slate took the boys.”

She tilts her head, chewing her lower lip. There was a little catch in my voice I tried to hide, but I think she heard it.

“You okay?” she asks softly.

I nod. “Yeah, it’s just weird that they’re doing shit all on their own.”

Her mouth curves into a smile. Her arm slips around my waist, and I hold her close.

“Everybody is growing up,” she whispers.

“Yeah, they are, sweetheart.”

There’s a long silence. A soft breeze comes down off the hills. The mountains are a white and gray line across the northern horizon. In the fields, summer flowers dot the scrubby grass and dirt. Freya gathers them as they go in and out of season and presses them in her books. Sometimes, when I’m up in the attic with her, I’ll open a book, and they cascade down onto the floor.

This house, this home, is everything to me, just as it is to her.

“I get it,” I say quietly. “Stepping into a new phase is a big deal.”

She nods, looking away. Her dark lashes brush her cheek. “I’ve been thinking about the café, about what I want the next ten years to look like. And what I envision… I think I like it.”

I stroke over her curls. “It’d be good for you.”

“Maybe I can find somebody to help the way Tracy took me in,” she muses.

“I think you’ll find your Freya Hatfield.”

She smiles, leaning up to kiss me. Hand in hand, we go inside. Jensen isn’t leaving for another hour to meet me in town, so I have a minute to spend with my wife. The house is quiet for once. I sink down at the table and watch Freya start making coffee.

“You remember when you danced with me in this kitchen?” she asks.

The coffee machine sputters and starts dripping.

“I remember everything,” I say.

“Except the parts where you were behaving badly,” she teases.

I rub the back of my neck, shrugging. “Yeah, I do not recall misbehaving at any point.”

She laughs, and I’m taken right back to that moment. She was scared then. It’s amazing to see the way she blossomed into peace, into confidence, now that she’s safe. It’s amazing what giving her autonomy and a safe place to live did to her. She glows now.

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