Page 83 of Lost in the Reins

"Told you," Emma says without looking up. "Thunder's been practicing his smoldering look all year."

"Wonder where he learned that from," I murmur, catching Wes's eye over my mug. His expression softens in that way that still makes my heart skip, even after a year of moments just like this. The crinkles around his eyes deepen when he smiles like that—little markers of happiness that weren't there when I first arrived.

Emma snorts, still focused on her homework. "That's because he's a method actor, obviously."

"Obviously." I hide my smile in my coffee cup. "It's not like he lives with the world's broodiest cowboy or anything."

Wes's eyebrow arches. "I don't brood."

"You're brooding right now," all four of us say in unison, causing Trouble the cat to startle from his perch on the windowsill.

A chorus of excited squeals erupts from outside as one of the lead actors rides past the viewing area, waving with that perfect movie-star charm. The sound barely registers anymore—it's become as much a part of ranch life as Bernard's tantrums and Kevin's theatrical performances.

Jake peers out the window, assessing the crowd. "Martha's selling out of those special Whispering Pines cookies again. She's going to need another batch by noon."

"I still can't believe people are buying cookies shaped like Bernard," Wes says, shaking his head. "The man stole my wallet three times last month."

"The goose," I correct automatically, considering we've had this argument at least fifty times. "Bernard is a goose, not a man."

"A goose wouldn't have the strategic planning capabilities to target my wallet specifically," Wes argues, as passionate about this as he is about proper fence maintenance. "He's clearly a criminal mastermind trapped in a goose's body."

"Or," Colt suggests reasonably, "you keep your wallet in your back pocket where it's easy for a goose to grab."

Emma flips her pencil between her fingers, eyes narrowed in deep concentration—not on math, but something else entirely. The afternoon sun catches in her hair, highlighting the auburn strands that remind me so much of Sarah in the photos around the house.

"Uncle Wes?" she finally asks, her voice hesitant in a way that immediately catches my attention. "Is it weird that we're millionaires now but still eat mac and cheese for dinner sometimes?"

Wes chokes on his coffee, sputtering while Jake unhelpfully slaps him too hard on the back. "Who told you we're millionaires?"

"Sarah Beth." Emma shrugs, as if discussing something as mundane as the weather. "She saw the article about the movie rights and did the math." She pauses. "Which, by the way, was way easier than this algebra stuff."

"Algebra is important," Wes starts automatically, launching into his standard education speech.

I reach over to squeeze his hand before he can get properly wound up about the value of hard work and not letting money change us. "Some things are worth keeping the same," I tell Emma, interrupting what would surely be a fifteen-minute lecture. "Like family dinner. And your uncle's terrible jokes."

"My jokes aren't terrible."

"They really are," Emma and I say in unison, while Jake and Colt nod solemnly in the background.

"Remember the one about the cow and the calculator?" Colt says, wincing. "I think I lost actual brain cells."

"It's called 'cow-culations,'" Jake adds, making air quotes with his fingers. "Get it? Because cows... and calculations..."

Wes sighs dramatically, but I catch the twitch of his lips. "You people wouldn't know quality humor if it herded you across the pasture."

"Case in point," I murmur, earning myself a playful swat on the arm.

Outside, Dana, our producer-turned-friend, is in yet another losing battle with Bernard. It's a familiar routine by now—she arrives with organic treats, Bernard pretends to consider her offerings, then proceeds to reject them with as much flair as possible. Today, she's wearing a wide-brimmed fedora that seems designed specifically to tempt our kleptomaniac goose.

"Five bucks says he steals her clipboard," Emma says, still not looking up from her math.

"Ten says he goes for her hat instead," I counter. "He's been eyeing that fedora all week."

"Twenty says he takes both, then honks at the cameras like he planned it all along," Jake adds, pulling out his wallet.

Wes exhales like a man shouldering great burdens, but his eyes are full of quiet amusement. "You two are terrible influences on each other."

"Three," Jake corrects, looking wounded. "I'm part of this corruption, too."

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