Page 1 of Owned By The Cowboy
One
Reggie
We’ve arrived, but I sit in the driveway for another minute, engine running, air conditioning blasting against the heat. My parents’ home looks exactly the same as it did during our last visit. The same white farmhouse with the wraparound porch, the same oak tree I used to climb as a child, the same wooden swing hanging from its lowest branch.
But this time is different. This time, I’m not just here for a week or two. This time, I’m staying.
“Mom, are we getting out or what?” my son Jaylen asks from the backseat, his voice carrying that edge of irritation that’s become his default setting since his dad and I’s divorce papers were signed.
“Yeah, Mama, I’m hot,” my daughter Annalise chimes in, her six-year-old patience officially expired.
Only my second oldest, Nia, stays quiet, earbuds in, staring out the window with the same guarded expression she’s worn for months. My fourteen-year-old daughter, who used to tell meeverything, now treats me like I’m a stranger who happened to give birth to her.
“Okay, okay,” I say, turning off the engine. “Let’s do this.”
The front door flies open before we’re even out of the car, and there’s Mama, practically bouncing down the porch steps in her yellow sundress. Behind her comes Daddy, moving slower but with the same warm smile that’s gotten me through every crisis of my life.
“My babies!” Mama throws her arms around me first, then immediately starts fussing over the kids. “Look at you, Jaylen. You’re even taller than you were last time. And Nia, sweetheart, you’re so beautiful. And my little Annalise!”
Annalise, thank God, lights up under the attention. She’s always been the social butterfly of the family, the one who can charm anyone within five minutes of meeting them. Right now, I need her to work her magic because Jaylen is standing there looking like he’d rather be anywhere else, and Nia has only removed one earbud.
“How was the drive?” Daddy asks, pulling me into one of his bear hugs. He still smells of Old Spice and the workshop behind the house.
“Long,” I reply, which is an understatement. Hours in a car with three kids who are processing their parents’ divorce in three completely different ways is its own special kind of hell.
“Well, you’re home now,” Mama states, and something in my chest unclenches a little. “Come on, let’s get you inside. I’ve got lunch ready.”
The house smells like cornbread and whatever magic Mama’s been working in the kitchen. It’s the smell of my childhood, but also the smell of every holiday visit, and summer vacation when I’d bring the kids to stay for a while. My children have their routine. Annalise heads straight for the toy box Mama keeps inthe living room for her, Jaylen claims the couch, Nia finds a corner where she can pretend the rest of us don’t exist.
But this time, their suitcases aren’t going back to the city in a few days.
“Sit,” my mom orders, pointing to the kitchen table. “You look tired.”
“I am tired, Mama.” More tired than I’ve ever been in my life, but I don’t want to get into all that right now. I just want to sit in my mother’s kitchen and figure out how to start over.
“The cottage is all ready for you,” Daddy says, settling into his chair across from me. “Fresh sheets, groceries in the fridge, everything you need.”
Through the window, I can see the little house where he said we could stay for as long as we need. It’s been empty since Mrs. Henderson, their former tenant, moved to a nursing home, but it looks like someone’s been taking care of it. New shutters, fresh paint on the porch.
“Who’s been keeping it up?” I ask, though I have a feeling I know the answer.
“Blayne’s been working on it,” my dad replies. “New roof, updated the plumbing, made sure it was perfect for you and the kids.”
My stomach does something weird at the mention of his name. Blayne Madison. The man who’s managed to disappear whenever I’ve visited over the years. Oh, he’d be polite enough if we ran into each other. A nod, a brief hello, but he always seemed to have somewhere else to be whenever I was around.
“That’s nice of him,” I say, aiming for casual.
“He’s a good man,” Mama chimes in, bustling around the kitchen. “Took real good care of everything after your daddy started stepping back. The business is doing better than ever.”
“And he’s still single,” my father adds with a grin that makes me want to hide under the table.
“Daddy.”
“What? I’m just saying. You’ve been divorced for months. Might be time to start thinking about…”
“I’m not thinking about anything except getting my kids settled,” I interrupt. “And figuring out what I’m going to do with my life.”
“Course not,” Mama says, but she’s got that look in her eyes. The matchmaking one.
