Page 14 of And Forever
"Happy Day, Mama!" It's jumbled but adorable, and Win's face is alight with pride for saying it. I feel Ada step away before she takes to picking up a couple of abandoned stuffies in the living room. I snuggle my girl and thank her for the card as Wilder folds the blanket neatly over the back of the couch.
He nods at Ada before eating up the distance between us in a handful of strides. I can't tear my eyes away from him, and my heart rate kicks up when he gives me a lopsided smile. Carefully, he leans close, his lips brushing the softest kiss against my cheek before pulling back.
"Happy birthday." He glances at Winona, giving her a friendly tug at the end of one pigtail before saying goodbye and exiting through the front door.
9
WILDER
EVERS RIDGE, MONTANA — JUNE
The downtown of Evers Ridge is a perfect blend of tourist destination and sleepy country village. There are modern conveniences—like a chain coffee shop and a pharmacy—but they blend seamlessly with the small businesses frequented by visitors and residents alike. I usually only come to the feed store to retrieve orders, but today I’m also going into Wonderfully Western, the fancy clothing store, for a new shirt.
Arrowroot Hills officially opens for the season this weekend, and ranch tradition dictates there will be a barn dance. The ranch has a beautiful old barn reserved on the property specifically for these types of occasions. I’ve learned from Mitch that it’s perfect for weddings, parties, and sometimes it’s the location of the high school prom. I’ve had a few employees give it a thorough cleaning, and I was finishing up securing the stage for the band when Bex showed up yesterday to check on the preparations. She announced her expectation thatallemployees make an appearance, her green eyes boring into mine to emphasize that no one would be excused from the party.
I gave her a curt nod of acknowledgment before she left. Charlotte’s mother knows me too well already. Being a part of acrowd isn’t really for me anymore. Since starting at the ranch, I’ve mostly kept to myself. I join the other employees in the communal dining room, but it’s only out of necessity. I swore off eating Cup O’Noodles over the sink alone years ago. Then I go back to my bunkhouse for a shower and bed.
It’s only since learning about Winona that I don’t immediately hide in the eight-by-sixteen-foot outbuilding. Time with her and Charlotte is precious, and I take every opportunity I can to be around them.
Charlotte’s birthday was an exceptionally lucky experience. I didn’t expect the front door to open and expose my secret delivery, but it worked out for me to spend an uninterrupted morning with my daughter. Ada’s presence was a silent support: she was there to help with things I’m still learning, but she faded into the background to let me parent. I’m not sure she knows how important that was to me. Eating pancakes, watching cartoons, and helping with all the mundane tasks made me feel needed.Important. It was the briefest glimpse into fatherhood, and I relished every second of it, even if I hated leaving when Charlotte came home.
I didn’t want to overstay my welcome, especially on her birthday. Things between us are good. We see each other almost every day, and topics of discussion like the weather, chores, and Winona are all safe. Superficial and stilted at times, but safe nonetheless.
It’s been difficult to know when—orif—I should try to push things forward. The moment she connected the braids in Winona’s hair to the ones I had practiced in Rooney’s mane had the part of me that’s still hopelessly in love with her roaring with pride. Her eyes were glassy, but she smiled. When I took the chance to brush a kiss to her cheek, I felt the flush of heat from the blush setting in there when I pulled back. The most adorable sigh escaped her, and she subconsciously leaned forward after me.
It all felt so right.
Now, as I enter the store packed with shirts, bedazzled jeans, and boots that would be ruined the minute they touch dirt, I can’t help but think of Charlotte. Undoubtedly, she’ll be at the party, and I don’t feel uncertain about what I want with her. Not anymore. Showing up in a new, clean shirt won’t exactly broadcast “I love you, be with me forever,” but it can’t hurt.
My fingers trace over the display of Western shirts, catching on the tags and groaning at the ridiculous prices. If the cost wasn’t off-putting enough, every shirt has a pattern more visually assaulting than the last.
“You know, if you don’t want to pay a small fortune, Threads over on Second probably has what you’re looking for.” As if conjured up by my thoughts, Charlotte stands across the clothing rack wearing a smile.
“Are you saying I can’t pull off purple rhinestones and a matching fringe?” Smirking back, I lift an atrocious button-down and wave it at her. Charlotte’s head tips back as she laughs. The full, joyful sound hits me square in the chest, and I join with a soft chuckle.
“I always thought a chocolate brown was more of your color. It brings out the blue of your eyes.” Charlotte’s whole body jolts and stills, like she can’t believe she just admitted that out loud, but she giggles to cover it up. “At least, that’s what all of your fans used to say as they tripped over themselves to get to you.”
“They tripped because they bought their boots in their shoe size, so they didn’t fit right.” I do my best impression of a baby giraffe, walking like I’m going to fall as I round the rack toward her. “That’s what happens when you onlydressthe part. I liked cowgirls who wanted their boots dirty.”
The confession sits between us, light but true, as we both glance down at our dust-covered footwear. Charlotte hums for a beat before her arm loops around mine, and she pulls me from the store. I try not to stiffen at her touch, even if I’m giddy from the contact. We hit the sunny sidewalk together, then she guides us to cross the street, heading toward Second Avenue, beforedropping her hold. I try not to miss the connection too much, but this is our most normal conversation that hasn’t revolved around our daughter, so I take a casual approach.
“What are you doing in town today?” I pull down on the bill of my baseball cap.
“We have a raffle at the kick-off party.” Charlotte lifts the bags she has in her other hand. “Mom sent me to pick out the prizes. You coming tonight?”
“Bex made it clear it wasn’t optional.” I grimace. Charlotte’s eyebrows lift in silent question, probably thinking of how many times I would drag her to an event like this after a rodeo. “I don’t really like these kinds of things anymore. It’s a lot of noise. A lot of people. It’s a lot of… memories.”
“It is,” she acknowledges, slowing our pace. “But maybe this is the chance to build new ones? At least, it wouldn’t hurt to try.”
The barn is nearly overflowing with people. It’s an all-ages event, so there are children playing bean bag toss in the corner and parents keeping a keen watch from the bar at the back of the room. This barn is the largest on the property, and has a loft that covers half the space. The crew put out tables and catering up there before the guests arrived, so that people had somewhere to sit and eat away from the hustle and bustle of the dancefloor. Twinkle lights crisscross the rafters, dosing the space in a healthy, warm glow accented by the LEDs the band brought with their setup. The five-man group is on a stage halfway down the south wall, playing a mix of old and new country.
The official start of summer doesn’t happen until next week, but the level of revelry here might as well signal the first night of the season.
I tug at the collar of my brown shirt as I step through the open double doors. Coupled with the smaller doors andwindows open throughout, they keep the barn from becoming too warm with the mix of bodies dancing and entertaining themselves. It’s a loud, energetic crowd of the season’s first guests, friends and neighbors of the Strykers, and various employees I’ve come to know over the last couple of months. I send polite nods and smiles to people as I head to the stairs leading to the loft, a singular goal in mind: be seen and then pass the evening as far removed from the hubbub as I can get away with.
I make it up the stairs and secure a bottle of water before finding an empty table in the far corner that overlooks the dance floor. I can be seen from below, but it’s the farthest seat from the food and the stairs, a place the enthusiastic attendees will likely avoid. I twist the folding chair to put my back to guests at the other tables, content to watch the line dancing for an hour and then head to my bunkhouse.
“This seat taken, Cowboy?”
