Page 16 of Rodeo Cowboy
Chapter Four
SAMMY
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MY DUSTY TRUCK RUMBLESup the winding path to the house I left behind. My insides twist with unease.
When I drove up this path in October, I had my future mapped out. With a baby on the way, me and my best friend planning to raise the baby together—here. I’d seen the life I wanted for the first time in years. A big family. A full house. Love and laughter. But when that dream was stripped away from me, I broke. I broke into a bazillion pieces from which I don’t know if I’ll ever recover. Or if I even deserve to recover. I deceived the people I love most—my family and best friend.
“Welcome to the Walker Ranch.” I cut the engine.
The house is black, with no lights on and no sign of life inside.
“Why is it called the Walker Ranch?” Willow asks from the back seat. She’s wedged between Bode and McKenna, who both zonked out within minutes of being in the car.
“Charley Walker used to run a rodeo camp here. Silver and I attended every summer. Some of my best childhood memories are on this ranch.”
All my worst adult memories are on the ranch.
“That’s lame.” Willow slumps back in her seat.
I’m glad I didn’t mention that I bought the place intending to reopen the camp.
The kids are still deep in their slumber, so I scoop up McKenna, and Ayla carries Bode.
The front door creaks as I push it open. With a flip of a switch, the darkness is chased away by the warm glow of light. A sense of sadness washes over me. This was supposed to be my home, but it feels empty and lifeless.
“This way.” My voice comes out gruff and cold. I try to soften it. “Don’t worry about your shoes.”
I lead them through the open-concept main area to the far hallway.
“The room on the right was just renovated, Willow.” I nod to the bedroom that had been Elsie’s.
With little more than a shrug of her shoulder and goodnight, she trudges past us and shuts the bedroom door.
We continue to the next door. My heart speeds up before I step inside and flip on a dim light. Still, the stuffed animals I chose for Elsie’s baby sit on the dresser and hints of her designer perfume linger. I hired a local handyman two days ago to replace the crib with two twin beds for Bode and McKenna.
Ayla carefully places her sleeping nephew on one of the beds, tucking the blankets around him. I follow suit and step back as Ayla pulls the blanket over McKenna and kisses her forehead.
I point to the right door. “Willow’s bedroom is through that door, and this door connects to the master bedroom.”
I turn on a nightlight for the kids before I stalk to the master bedroom.
Ayla stops in the doorway. She scans the room, taking in every detail before her eyes linger on my log king-size bed.
I grab a pillow off the bed. “I’m going to crash on the couch. You can have the bed to yourself.”
My guess is from the distant way she looks at me, who gets the bed wasn’t on her mind.
