Page 2 of His Tenth Dance

Granddad’s words further buoyed him, and Mission released the tension in his hands in an attempt to find a better way to deal with his nerves. His grandfather had always believed in him, even when Mission himself didn’t. Even when his past mistakes haunted him, threatening to drag him back down.

The June first breeze carried the scent of alfalfa, wildflowers, and something barbecued through the air. As he started down the fences between two pastures, the distant sound of music came from the direction of the big red barn.

His steps slowed as he approached, the knot in his stomach tightening. Only the width of the barn, and the turning of a corner, and Mission would arrive at his own party. Or rather, Matt’s party.

He fully committed by striding over the remaining distance and turning the corner before allowing himself to stop. Tents had been erected, with strings of twinkling lights crisscrossing through the rafters. Tables adorned with checkered cloths filled the space, and a long row of tables holding more food than Mission had ever seen stood against the far wall of the tent.

The Hammonds had gone all out for this celebration, and the thought only added to Mission’s anxiety. No one had seen him yet, and he took the moment to collect himself. Deacon stood with Hunter and Mike, two of the most powerful men Mission had ever met. Both Hunt and Mike had stood at the helm of a multi-billion-dollar company, with thousands and thousandsof employees, and somehow knowing they’d done that and now stood wearing cowboy hats and laughing with loved ones gave Mission confidence that he could do this job.

Travis Thatcher had brought his whole family, and Tucker, Bobbie Jo, and Tarr had come from the farm where they’d been living and working for the past six months.

Gerty Hammond walked super-slowly beside her toddler, who bent down every other step to exclaim over something, and she chatted with Opal and Taggart Crow, whose clasped hands only reminded Mission of how alone he stood.

Boone and Cosette Whettstein stood with Gloria, but Mission didn’t see Matt anywhere. His eyes landed on the other cowboys and cowgirls who worked the farm, as well as several of the counselors at Pony Power.

And then the lovely Kristie Higgins. She wore a pair of blue jeans and a short-sleeved sweater the color of bright purple grapes. Very sensible shoes for a farm, too.

Mission’s mouth watered slightly, and he told himself it was because he’d loved his grandmother’s grape juice growing up.

Not because of Kristie’s curves in those clothes.

“You can’t go in either?”

The familiar voice made Mission turn. Matt, his mentor and soon-to-be predecessor, stood a few feet away, a knowing smile on his weathered face. The older man was dressed similarly to Mission, though his jacket was made of crushed brown corduroy.

“Just taking it all in,” Mission said, working to keep his voice steady.

Matt moved to stand beside him. “It’s a lot, isn’t it? All this fuss.”

“Yeah.” Mission let out a breath that had felt trapped. “Matt, I don’t know?—”

“Don’t you dare try to back out now,” Matt interrupted, his tone light but with an underlying firmness. “You’re ready for this, Mission. More than ready.”

Mission met the older man’s gaze, seeing the confidence there that he wished he felt himself. “Yeah.” He nodded, trying to switch his thoughts again. Why was it so hard to think good things about himself? Other people didn’t seem to have the same struggles he did when it came to self-confidence. “You’re right.”

“I sure am.” Matt clapped him on the shoulder. “Now come on. Let’s get this show on the road before Deacon sends out a search party.”

With a nod, Mission walked with Matt further under the tent and into the party. The noise level increased tenfold as they entered, and it seemed like every eye turned toward them. Mission resisted the urge to rip his jacket off, despite the added heat it brought, and he forced a smile to his face as he approached Deac, Hunt, and Mike.

“Hey,” he said.

“There you are.” Deacon flashed a quick smile at him, and thankfully, Deacon wasn’t one to wear smiles for miles either.

“Hey, Mish.” Hunter pulled him into a quick hug, and Mission did the same with Mike, who’d once worked the farm before becoming a CEO and moving to the place he’d bought for his wife. “You ready for this?”

“Ready,” Mission said, because he’d been given this role, this promotion. People assumed he deserved it, because it had been given to him. He didn’t have to make excuses or be self-depreciating. He was the foreman.

“Hey, man.” Tuck arrived and shook his hand, pulling him into a hug as he laughed. “You’re going to be so amazing at this.”

“Thank you,” Mission said, starting to feel a little robotic in his movements and what he said. “Have you seen my granddad?”

“Yeah, I saw him,” Tuck said as he turned to survey the crowd gathered under the tent. “I think he asked Cosette for something to drink.”

Concern spiked through Mission, but he told himself worrying over his grandfather wouldn’t make anyone happy. Granddad didn’t need Mission to come pick him up; he could still drive himself. Granddad didn’t want to order his groceries online and have them delivered; he wanted to pick out his own bananas and pork chops.

Mission couldn’t help worrying over him as he aged, so he looked around, hoping he’d come out of the barn with Cosette, something cold to drink in his hand.

“I could use something to drink too.”

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