Page 222 of Ride the Sky

A small giggle catches my ear, and I spot Duke edging out from behind a chair, a water pistol in his hand. I grin and gesture at him to get Ford.

Grinning back, Duke aims and fires. Water arcs across the room and drills Ford right between the eyes.

Ruby gasps.

Fallon and I snicker.

“Fuck,” Ford blasts, jerking back and wiping his face.

Reese lets out a scream of laughter and hangs on to her belly for dear life.

Ford lunges over the island, grabbing the sprayer from the sink. “Oh, you’re goin’ down, kid.”

“Not the pie, Duke,” Dakota squeals, lunging in front of the table as her son takes aim.

“Here, Dad!”

Davis, kicking over into GI Joe mode, catches the water pistol his son tosses him.

Ford cackles, grabbing a bottle of water from Ruby. “Now it’s fuckin’ on.”

Meadow and Ellis shriek, their faces jubilant as Charlie growls and chases after them. Lainie, looking as bossy as Davis, stands guard in front of the twins.

And through it all, Ada sleeps.

Taking advantage of the chaos, I grab Fallon’s hand and pull her out onto the front porch that offers a prime view of Runway Ranch. Our trusty rocking swing blows in the light breeze. The bold red sunset dances in the air like a campfire.

We watch the water fight through the window. Listen to the squeals of laughter from our family. Fallon lifts her arms. “Well, this is it,” she proclaims, her eyes misty. “The best we’ll ever fucking have.”

I pull her into my arms. “It’ll get better.”

She tilts her head, her messy caramel braid falling over her shoulder. “You think?”

“Trouble, I know,” I husk. “Long as I got you and your love, I’m a happy man.”

The life I’ve made with Fallon can only get better.

Horses and bonfires and ranch work. Bullshitting with my brothers in the Bullshit Box. Chasing rodeos for fun. Showing our daughters how to ride and how to be menaces. Whatever Fallon and I do, we do it together.

Tears fill her hazel eyes. I grin. Hormones always have her raging or tearing up. “Damn you, Wyatt.”

I frame her face with my hands, kiss her pouty lips. “You fuckin’ love it.”

“I loveyou, you idiot,” she whispers, and I fall in love with her for about the millionth time all over again. My beautiful girl. My trouble. Her moods and her heart are as changing as the wind, but Fallon, my cowgirl, is as certain and as steady as the sky.

She’s the best part of my life. The only part that has ever mattered.

I run a thumb over my wife’s tattooed wedding band. Still as dark, as perfect, as the day she got it. “I love you, Trouble,” I tell her, pulling her close. “For the rest of my damn days, it’ll always be you.”

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