Page 5 of Simply Yours

The rain came down in a steady, merciless rhythm, soaking into the earth and dampening the scent of fresh-turned soil. It dripped from the brim of Jason Baird’s hat, slid down the back of his collar, and clung to his skin like a weight he couldn’t shake. He barely noticed it. All he could do was stare at the open grave, at the coffin that held the last remaining link to his childhood, his family, his very foundation.

A knot so tight it felt like it might choke him sat heavy in his chest, and his fingers curled into fists at his sides. He couldn't breathe past it. He couldn't think past it.

Mom’s death had been a shock. Breast cancer had stolen her away too soon, and he’d thought nothing could hurt more than that. But he’d been wrong. Because there was no preparation for the moment he found his father collapsed on the floor—gone before Jason could even shake him awake.

A ragged breath shuddered out of him as he clenched his jaw and fought the instinct to drop to his knees. He couldn’t break. Not here. Not now.

He forced himself to look up, past the coffin, past the rain-soaked mourners, and into the faces of his siblings. Luke, the youngest, barely seventeen, stood rigid, gripping his umbrella so tight his knuckles had gone white. He was trying to hold it together, trying to be strong, but his watery eyes betrayed him.

Beside him, Becca wept openly, her twenty-year-old heart breaking in a way no young woman should ever have to endure. Jason smirked bitterly, the thought crossing his mind that, at this moment, no one should be denied a drink to numb the pain—not even a girl barely past the legal age.

Toni, always the toughest of them, stood with her lips pressed so tightly together she might as well have been biting back a scream. Her arms were folded, her fingers digging into her sleeves as if she could hold herself together by force alone.

And then there was Matthew.

Wild, reckless, untamed Matthew, who—for the first time in Jason’s memory—was completely still. The cocky, carefree light in his eyes was gone, replaced by a pale, stricken look that made Jason’s gut twist.

They had no idea.

No idea what was coming. No idea what Jason had to do to keep their world from crumbling even more than it already had. And he’d keep it that way. Because grief wasn’t the only thing weighing him down.

The moment they lowered his father into the ground, Jason had stopped being just a man who loved riding horses and working the land. In an instant, he had become a boss, a guardian, the only thing standing between his family and complete ruin. The first time he sat behind his father’s desk—his desk now—he’d had his first panic attack, his lungs refusing to work as he poured over the farm’s finances. The second time, he’d thrown up in the wastebasket after speaking to the bank.

A second mortgage.

Months behind on payments.

If he didn’t fix it, they’d lose everything.

He couldn’t lose their home, not after losing their parents.

So, he did the only thing he could—he started selling. His truck. His father’s old Chevelle, the one he used to sneak into the barn to sit in as a kid, pretending he was old enough to drive. Anything that could buy him time, buythemtime. He even chose to bury his father here, on the land beside Mom, not because it was sentimental, but because he couldn’t afford a plot in Yonder Cemetery.

The ache in his chest burned hotter at the thought, but he shoved it down. There was no room for weakness now.

The funeral had become a blur of faces, indistinct and fleeting, hands gripping his, voices murmuring condolences that barely registered past the weight pressing down on his chest. People spoke of grief as something sharp, something that cut deep, but Jason found it was more like drowning—slow, suffocating, impossible to escape.

But one presence stood out amid the sea of well-wishers and mourners—Ruby Yonder, the town’s matriarch, a woman as sharp as she was kind. When she approached, people instinctively stepped aside, giving her room. Her eyes, still keen despite the years that had carved lines into her face, met his with something unshakable, something steady.

Yonder, Texas.

A town so small it barely warranted a mention on a map, just a nameless stretch of road between here and somewhere bigger. It wasn’t a place people passed through; you had to begoingto Yonder to end up there. And that was exactly how Jason liked it.

It washome.

The kind of home where old pecan trees stretched their branches wide, offering shade to front porches lined with rocking chairs. Where Main Street boasted a handful of stubbornly independent shops, their owners keeping the square alive even as most folks drove out to Tyler for a chain restaurant or made the trek to Ember Creek for groceries at the aging I.G.A. Yonder wasn’t big enough to have its own police force or fire department—those came from Ember Creek in emergencies—but what it lacked in resources, it made up for in heart.

This land had shaped him. It was where he had been born, where he had run wild through fields of tall grass, his jeans stained with dirt, his boots scuffed from chasing dreams he hadn’t yet understood. The creek at the back of the property had been his refuge, its waters feeding into Ember Creek, the namesake of the neighboring town. He had spent endless summer afternoons there, skipping stones, cooling off, learning how to fish at his father’s side.

And now, it would flow near to where he buried him.

The thought settled in his chest like an anchor, pulling him further beneath the weight of everything he had lost.

Ruby’s hand came to rest on his arm, her touch cool against his skin. There was no hesitation in her grip, no fumbling for the right words. Just presence. Strength.

“You did a good thing,” she told him, her voice like a steady wind against the storm inside him. “You need anything, just say the word. Lots of people loved your mama and daddy. This is a tough time, but don’t you fret, Jason. You’re made of sterner stuff and will handle it all.”

Jason swallowed hard, his throat thick. He wanted to believe her. He let out a breath that felt like sandpaper in his throat. “I’m not so sure.”

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