Page 22 of Sweet Beloved

“You really believe that?” I whisper.

“I really do, sweetheart.”

He kisses my forehead, and we go back inside, letting the door shut beneath the worn wooden sign that readsRyder Ranch.

EPILOGUE

DEACON

THREE YEARS LATER

I’m on the porch, back to the wall. There’s a bench made of a long plank, two thick logs underneath me. Andy built it years ago, and it has sat on the western facing side of the house since then. Now, I’m sitting with my back against the wall, a cup of coffee in my hand. It’s empty. I already had two cups, but I might go in through the open screen door and grab another from the kitchen.

We put in a new barn and a paddock on the western side of the yard. There’s a new batch of foals from last year grazing. Their tails swish, their coats gleaming in the sun. A few years ago, Gage started taking a real interest in the horses. Now, he and River Quinn spend a lot of time working in the new barn. This year, we have a handful of fully trained barrel racers, alreadysold, ready to be shipped to their new homes, all thanks to their efforts.

I shift, stretching my legs out. It aches where I got stabbed way back when, but otherwise, I’m still feeling good.

Inside the house, I can hear the dull roar of chatter. Ginny and Andy are long since retired. Two years ago, I convinced Bittern and Janie to move back and take on their positions that had sat empty for a while. I sold some of the land I purchased when I married Freya and had Jensen put a new farmhouse on it. They’ve lived out there since, coming up to the ranch house every day for work. Their kids are close with mine.

The world is good, life running as I hoped it would.

I fix my eyes on the road, waiting. Today, anytime, my eldest son and his girlfriend, Hazel, will come up that drive.

They’ve been in Billings for three years, only visiting for a day or two here and there. Slate met Hazel his first week at college, and they really hit it off. We met her that summer. Freya was a big fan. Then, we had one of the coldest winters in a while, and they stayed in the city. Slate is a triple major, so he takes classes in the summer. This is the first time we’ll see them both in a year.

I hear bare feet on the porch. My wife comes around the corner, a third mug of coffee in her hand. My dick twitches at the sight of her, dressed down in linen shorts, a blouse fluttering around her pretty figure. Her feet are bare, just as they always are in the summer. You can take a girl out of Appalachia, but you’ll never take Appalachia out of the girl.

She bends down, kissing my forehead. I accept the cup she offers and let her take my empty mug.

“They should be here any minute,” she says, voice husky.

She’s been waiting on this for weeks. Last night, I had to force her to stop cleaning the kitchen and rearranging the flowers on the table so she could get some rest. I wrap my arm around her waist, pulling her to sit on my knee.

“Yeah, just a while longer,” I agree.

“Aunt Freya!”

Bittern’s daughter, Lady, comes around the corner. She’s about Slate’s age, already married to a boy from Knifely. Both Bittern’s children came out blond with brown eyes, just like their father. Otherwise, I think they look a lot like a good mix of Andy and Ginny.

“Yeah?” Freya leans around to look back.

“Is that bread in the oven ready to go?” Lady asks, hand on her hip. “It’s about near falling from the pans.”

“You can start it. Don’t punch it down though,” Freya says.

There’s a faint rumble from the woods. Then, a plume of pale gray smoke rises. Freya’s up off my knee, running to the edge of the porch. The window behind me flies open, and Remington pokes his head out, leaning on his elbows.

Out of all my sons, Remington turned out the most like me in the end. He’s the broadest of the boys, his hair always shaved to his head like mine, and he’s got the most bullish personality of the lot.

A few months after his eighteenth birthday this year, to Freya’s shock, he went and got a sleeve of tattoos, the whole thing in one go. He just walked in and sat down for dinner with his whole damn arm done up and started eating. I just about kicked him out to sleep in the barn. But I don’t have a leg to stand on in that department, so I let Freya scold him and nodded where appropriate.

In the distance, Slate’s truck appears around the corner, kicking up dust. It’s early spring, but we’ve been in a heat wave for the last week. Everything is dryer than dry. Slowly, I get up, setting aside my cup.

The truck makes its way up the drive and pulls in. I see Slate lean over to say something to Hazel. She smiles, but I can tell she’s nervous. Then, he opens the door and jumps out.

All at once, everybody is surging down the walkway, dogs yapping. Remington jumps out the window and skirts around me. Red and Gage come tearing through the front. The boys are all yelling, wrestling each other to the ground. Instead of a proper greeting, they start beating the shit out of each other. That’s pretty normal.

I stand with my arm around Freya, waiting. She’s got her hands over her mouth, eyes wet. I bend to kiss her temple, and she gives me a watery smile.

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