Chestnut Ridge
Kershaw Ranch

Mornin’ light was just spillin’ over the ridge when the day really started movin’. Out here, dawn don’t creep in gentle — it stretches its arms wide, yawns across the pasture, and tells every livin’ thing to get its hide in gear.

I’d gotten used to wakin’ up with Amy tucked against me, warm and soft and breathin’ steady. A few weeks since the proposal, and she was startin’ to look like herself again — or maybe like the woman she’d never been allowed to be. Color back in her cheeks. Shoulders not so tight. Laugh comin’ easier. Folks in town greetin’ her with that respectful nod they save for people they’ve decided belong.

“Mornin’, Miss Amy,” they’d say, and she’d blush every damn time. Especially when some would tip their hats and go, “Mrs. Kershaw, ma’am.”

Technically, she was still very much Miss Mercer, but to everyone in this town she was already my wife. And she was — just about to be. Date was already set for late summer. We’d do it sooner, but the pastor was off visitin’ family. It’d be small, just immediate kin, plus Bri’s folks and her siblings and their broods. The little chapel sat right off the main road, so the rest of town would see us anyhow, and everyone was welcome to wander over to the barn next door for the celebration after.

Just the way things were here — simple, open‑door, and full of folks who’d show up with a casserole whether you asked ’em to or not. Good part was, ya didn’t have to buy nothing but the cake.

I was in the kitchen now, workin’ on breakfast — eggs, biscuits, bacon, the usual. The cabin ain’t big, so the smell filled the whole place. Amy was helpin’ me. Her cookin’ had come a long way, learnin’ from me and Izzy and my dad. She was a smart one, patient with herself, takin’ on the house and a few simple ranch chores. And she was learnin’ to ride. Even my dad commented on her turnin’ into a decent ranch woman quicker than a jackrabbit on a hot griddle tryin’ to save its own tail.

Outside, I heard Beau hollerin’ at Savannah to quit chasin’ the chickens, Cody laughin’ at both of ’em. Mornin’ chores always sounded the same — boots in the dirt, gates clankin’, horses snortin’, my brother complainin’ about somethin’ he caused himself. It was the kind of noise that made a man feel steady.

The back door swung open and the kids piled in, dusty and loud, sniffin’ the air like hounds. I jerked my chin toward the stove.

“Plates’re on the counter. Y’all help yourselves.”

They didn’t need tellin’ twice. Beau loaded up, Savannah grabbed a biscuit bigger’n her hand, Cody stole bacon straight off the pan.

Then a car crunched up the drive.

Didn’t expect nobody. Didn’t like surprises before coffee.

I stepped toward the window — and my heart damn near stopped.

Briony.

My girl was outta the car before it even fully stopped, door slammin’ behind her. She was runnin’ — full‑tilt, wild‑eyed, hair a mess, face blotchy like she’d been cryin’ for hours. I barely got the door open before she hit me.

“Daddy—” was all she managed before her voice broke clean in half.

She slammed into my chest, arms lockin’ around me like she was drownin’ and I was the only thing keepin’ her above water. I wrapped her up without thinkin’, one hand on the back of her head, the other around her shoulders, holdin’ her tight while she sobbed into my shirt.

“Hey now,” I murmured, feelin’ my own throat tighten. “Hey, sweetheart… I got you. I got you.”

She shook like a leaf in a storm, breath hitchin’, fingers clutchin’ at my jacket like she was afraid I’d disappear if she let go.

Behind me, the kids froze mid‑chew. Amy took one look, read the whole situation in a heartbeat, and touched my arm lightly.

I gave her a quick, sharp gesture — privacy, now.

She nodded, gathered Beau, Cody, and Savannah with a soft, “Come on, let’s take breakfast outside, give them a minute,” and ushered them out the door to the chairs around the firepit out front, leavin’ the cabin quiet except for Briony’s sobs.

I eased her inside, kickin’ the door shut behind us, and settled onto the couch with her still clingin’ to me like she was five years old and scared of thunder.

“Daddy… he’s leaving,” she choked out, voice raw and shaking. “Becks is leaving. And he dumped me!”

My stomach dropped.

“His mom—” she tried again, swallowin’ hard. “She met someone. Some guy from Newcrest. I’ve met him. He’s… ugh.” She shook her head, furious tears welling. “He’s one of those men who thinks he’s charming because he talks loud and smiles too much. He kept calling me ‘kiddo’ and telling Becks he should ‘loosen up’ and ‘be a man.’ I swear, Daddy, he gives me the creeps.”

Her breath hitched.

“They’ve only been dating a few months and now she’s talking about selling the house and moving there. That guy has kids, I swear she just wants to start over with a new family or something. Across the country. Just—just starting over like none of this matters. And Becks hates him and his kids. Says the guy’s fake and pushy, the kids are annoying brats and he doesn’t wanna live with them, but Mrs. Ashby just doesn’t care, isn’t listening and everything’s changing again and he can’t—he just can’t deal with it.”

She sucked in a sharp breath, tears spillin’ fresh.

“So, Beck’s dad offered him to stay with him. In San Myshuno. Said he could live with him, finish school early, go to SMU. I swear he brainwashed him or something. And Becks already got accepted there somehow. Why would he want to go to San Myshuno Uni all of a sudden? We were both gonna go to UBrite! And after we graduated we’d come back to San Sequoia. Suddenly he’s movin’ across the damn country with a whole new plan and everything we planned is just—gone. Obsolete. I am obsolete!”

Her voice cracked.

“The plan always was Britchester. Both of us. We were gonna get an apartment together. We talked about it ever since we first got together. And now he’s just… leavin’ me and doin’ his own thing from one day to the next?! And he said he can’t do long‑distance. That it’s not fair to either of us. That he loves me but—” She shook her head, furious and devastated all at once. “But he’s still goin’. He decided our entire future without even asking me. I got no say in any of it. I hate him, Daddy! I hate him so much!”

She broke then — full, body‑shakin’ sobs that tore somethin’ clean outta my chest.

I closed my eyes for a second, feelin’ that old familiar ache — the one a father gets when his kid’s heart breaks and he can’t fix it with duct tape or a stern talkin’‑to. And hell if it didn’t feel familiar. Her momma had once decided for the both of us too. Then again, I’d made choices Briar Rose never wanted. Love’s a finicky thing. Especially at my girl’s age. Very few high‑school sweethearts make it all the way to the altar. Honestly, both her mother and I, and probably her grandparents and even Brad would have been a helluva lot more surprised if their puppy love would have lasted through all those big plans.

I didn’t know how I felt about it. Not really surprised — they were both so young — but I’d grown to like him. Good kid. Tried hard. Heart in the right place. And I knew this wasn’t his fault, not really. Just life bein’ life, throwin’ curveballs nobody asked for. And when you are seventeen, some hurdles just seem unsurmountable.

But I sure as hell wasn’t gonna tell my little girl that. Not when she was sittin’ here hurtin’ because of him. If she needed to hate him now, she was gonna.

“I couldn’t stay in San Sequoia,” she whispered. “Every street, every corner… everything reminds me of him. He kept calling and texting and even showed up a couple times. I just really cannot see him now, nor do I want to talk to him. And I couldn’t go to Mom’s either — Brindleton Bay’s too close to San Myshuno and Newcrest. He and his Dad like sailing and the best place for that over on that side is Brindleton Bay. So, I’d probably run into him there too, and I cannot deal with him now. I just… I had to get away. I didn’t know where else to go.”

She finally looked up at me, eyes red and desperate.

“So I came home.”

I kissed the top of her head, holdin’ her tighter. First time in eleven years she’d called my ranch home.

Briony’s always loved me — I never doubted that — but I was the every‑other‑weekend parent. The summer‑break parent. The “stop by the ranch for a few hours” parent. She grew up takin’ her questions, her worries, her crushes, her tears, all of it, straight to her momma. They had their routines, they knew each other backwards, and I always felt like I was showin’ up late to the party with Briony. That was the rhythm of her life. I was Daddy, but I wasn’t the one she leaned on when the world cracked.

And truth be told, she’d always taken to Brad. Bonded with his oldest girl, Lauren, even before Briar Rose married him again. I knew she’d gone to him for fatherly advice more than once. Won’t pretend that didn’t sting — a man feels that kind of thing in places he don’t talk about — but I never held it against her. She was just lookin’ for steady ground wherever she could find it.

And this? This was her first real heartbreak. First love fallin’ apart in her hands.

But instead of runnin’ to her momma like she always had, or Brad, or even her grandparents, she ran here. To me. To this place she’d never once called home until right now, with her whole world splinterin’ and her heart in pieces.

I held her a little tighter, hopin’ she couldn’t feel how much that meant to me.

“Baby girl,” I said softly, “you did exactly right.”

Outside, the ranch kept movin’ — horses callin’, Beau shoutin’, Cody laughin’, Savannah gigglin’ — life goin’ on like it always does.

Briony was so exhausted she fell asleep right there in my arms. I had ranch duties pilin’ up higher than hay in a drought, but I didn’t give a damn — no ten horses could’ve dragged me away while my girl slept against me, curled up just like she used to when storms scared her as a tiny toddler. When she finally stirred, she wiped her face with her sleeve and sat up slow, like every movement hurt clear down to the bone.

“Can I stay here, Daddy?” she asked, snifflin’, quieter this time. “Just… for a while, please Daddy. A couple weeks maybe? I brought my stuff. And I’m gettin’ my allergy shots every month now. I’ve got my inhaler. My meds. My EpiPens. I’ll be careful. I just… I can’t be anywhere else right now.”

I looked at her — really looked — and saw the same little girl who’d twice nearly died in my arms from anaphylaxis before Briar Rose finally had enough and packed her up for San Sequoia. She was gonna take Beau too, but even at six years old he wasn’t havin’ it. Threw a fit from hell. Twins or not, those two kids couldn’t be more opposite if they tried.

And now here she was — the girl I’d carried to the ER in the middle of the night after a careflight, twice; the girl I’d had to let go of so she could breathe, so she could live — sittin’ in my arms askin’ to come home. Even if just for a little while.

There wasn’t a universe where I could say no.

I made a mental note to call her grandparents and her momma, maybe her uncle Connor too, just in case things with her allergies went sideways. Old habits die hard.

But right now? Right now she was askin’ to come back.

“You stay as long as you need,” I said, no hesitation, no second thoughts.

She nodded, eyes glassy again, but she didn’t cry. She was past cryin’. She was sittin’ in that hollow place heartbreak leaves behind. Then she folded back into me, holdin’ on so tight it squeezed the wind clean outta my lungs.

And I held her right back, like I’d been waitin’ eleven years for her to ask me that question.

Slow Road To Recovery

For the next few days, she barely spoke. Barely ate. Barely moved. I hardly recognized her. My girl’s usually all spark and motion — comin’ in hot, goin’ out hotter — but now she just drifted around like she’d misplaced her soul somewhere.

She sat on the porch swing with a book open but never turned a page. Just rockin’ slow, starin’ past the yard like she was waitin’ on somethin’ that wasn’t comin’. Her phone stayed face‑down on the kitchen counter, buzzin’ every few minutes like a pissed‑off hornet. Every time it lit up, she jumped like the damn thing was hooked to a cattle prod.

Last time I checked it, she had over two hundred messages. Two hundred. I ain’t had two hundred messages in my whole life, and that’s includin’ spam, wrong numbers, and Beau sendin’ me pictures of horses we can’t afford. And now Bri was blowin’ up my phone too, checkin’ on our girl. At least she took over keeping the rest of her family informed so they wouldn’t all blow up my phone as well and knew to leave Briony alone. Unlike her many friends. And Beckett, probably. I really doubt he wanted to break up with her, and if, he probably didn’t want it to end on such a rough note. Almost felt sorry for the kid. Almost.

Beau and Cody watched her from the yard like she was a wounded doe — skittish, fragile, liable to bolt if you breathed wrong. Beau’s always been protective of his sisters, but he didn’t know what to do with this kind of hurt. He circled her like a cat starin’ down a full tub of water — curious, worried, and wantin’ no part of touchin’ it wrong.

Then one afternoon, they exchanged a look.

That look.

The “we’re fixin’ to do somethin’ stupid” look teen boys get.

And I knew right then they’d hit their limit watchin’ her fall apart.

Yeah, Cody’s twenty‑two, but mentally he’s ridin’ the same bus as my seventeen‑year‑old. Maybe sittin’ a row behind him. And that’s me bein’ generous.

“We’re goin’ out.” Cody informed Briony.

“Enjoy.”

Beau hooked his thumb between the three of ’em. “Nah. We are goin’ out.”

Briony blinked at him like he’d just recited scripture in Klingon. “Since when do we go anywhere together?”

“Since today,” Beau said, jaw set like he was draggin’ a stubborn calf. “Get up.”

“No.” Flat. Dead. Like she’d unplugged herself.

Cody leaned his shoulder against the doorframe, grinnin’ that grin that meant trouble was already halfway loaded in the truck. “C’mon, princess. Honkytonk night. Live band. Cold beer. Bad decisions. Whole town’s goin’. You need somethin’ that ain’t this porch swing.”

She stared at him like he’d asked her to lick a tractor tire. “I’m not going to some country bar with you two.”

“Oh, hell yeah, t’night ya are,” Cody said, all confidence and no sense. Beau nodded like this was a legally bindin’ agreement.

I watched from a distance, arms crossed. Whatever this was fixin’ to turn into, it sure as hell wasn’t gonna be boring.

Cody pushed off the doorframe. “Up. Now. Ya’ll gon’ go get dressed, or I will dress ya. Nobody wants that, but it’s what’s gon’ happen.”

“No.”

He came over and started messin’ with her clothes — nothin’ serious, just tuggin’ at her sleeves and tryin’ to haul her upright like she was a sack of feed. She slapped his hands off, sharp and mean, and for the first time in days I saw a little fire in her. Normally Beau or I would’ve stepped in if anyone were messin’ with her clothing — but we knew Cody wasn’t that type of freak, and damn if that spark wasn’t good to see.

She groaned — long, dramatic, city‑girl misery — but stomped off toward the bedroom anyway, shovin’ Cody so hard he stumbled into Beau, who caught him with a grunt.

“Briony, if you don’t come back, we’ll come gitcha!” Beau hollered after her.

No finger salutes, no snappy comeback — but ten minutes later she came out in jeans and a tank top, hair in a messy bun, eyes still swollen but with a little makeup on.

Well, I’ll be damned.

I watched from the porch as they headed toward my daddy’s old truck. Cody fell in step beside her, slung an arm around her shoulders like he’d been doin’ it her whole life, and took off his Stetson just long enough to drop it right over her eyes.

Normally she’d pitch a fit about dirt, sweat, and “cowboy germs,” swattin’ him like he’d set her hair on fire.

But today she just huffed, shoved the brim up with two fingers, and leaned into him a little — not much, just enough to stay steady while she walked.

Cody tugged the hat back down again, just to be a pest, and she pushed it up again without even lookin’ at him.

By the time they climbed into the truck, she was still wearin’ it, brim crooked, hair stickin’ out everywhere, lookin’ more like one of us than she ever had.

They drove off in a cloud of dust, and I snorted. “Well, hell. My dumbass little brother might be good for somethin’ yet.”

The Honkytonk

I didn’t go with ’em — figured they needed space to be dumb kids without me breathin’ down their necks. But I heard the whole story later, and I could picture every damn second of it.

The place was packed — boots stompin’, neon flickerin’, the air thick with beer, sweat, and cheap perfume. Briony walked in like she’d stepped into a foreign country she had no intention of immigratin’ to.

Arms crossed. Chin high. Eyes narrowed like she was judgin’ the décor, the clientele, and the concept of country music itself.

But then the band kicked into a fast line‑dance number.

And somethin’ in her cracked open.

Music’s in her blood — her mama’s, her granddaddy’s, half her damn family tree. Rhythm finds her even when she don’t want to be found.

She watched the dancers for maybe ten seconds before mutterin’, “Oh my God, that’s so easy,” and slid right into the line like she’d been doin’ it since birth.

And she killed it.
Perfect steps. Perfect timing. Hair bouncin’. Eyes bright for the first time in days.
People noticed.
Boys noticed.

Cody noticed too — mostly because she stole his beer again when she danced passed his table.

“Hey—!” he yelped.

She downed half of it, wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, and said, “Relax, you’re twenty‑two, you can buy more. I can’t. Go buy more.”

Then she spun back into the line dance like she owned the place.

The more she danced, the more she drank — not from her own glass, but from whatever she could swipe off a table while the owner wasn’t lookin’.

Beau was busy with Cheyenne. Cody was busy flirtin’ with any purdy girl that didn’t run off fast enough. And Briony was busy self‑destructin’ with a smile on her face.

She laughed too loud. Danced too hard. Flirted without meanin’ to.

And every time the music stopped, she froze — just for a heartbeat — like the silence reminded her she was heartbroken.

Then she grabbed another beer and jumped back in.

By the time the boys realized she was lit, she was already pressed against the back wall with some young cowboy kissin’ her like he’d struck oil.

The second Beau saw that, he didn’t think — he just moved.

He shoved through the crowd, grabbed the guy by the back of the shirt, and yanked him off her hard enough to make the loverboy stumble.

“Back off,” Beau said, voice low and sharp.

The cowboy blinked, confused and breathless. “What the hell, kid? I was talkin’ to her first.”

Beau didn’t even blink. “And now yer done talkin’ to her.”

“Says who? You her boyfriend or somethin’?”

Beau’s jaw tightened. “Nah, I ain’t her boyfriend.” Briony tried to grab his arm, but he pulled her behind him with one hand. “Get on over to Cheyenne. Go.”

The cowboy squared up, all false confidence and cheap beer. “Look, I don’t know who you think you are, kid, but she’s leavin’ with me tonight. You need to back the hell up.”

“Like hell I will. Was fixin’ to tell you the same damn thing,” Beau growled.

Cody, halfway across the bar, muttered, “Aw, hell,” and started pushin’ his way over.

The cowboy snorted. “What’s your problem, man? She ain’t wearin’ no ring. She ain’t complainin’. You don’t get to claim her just ’cause you feel like it.”

Beau stepped in closer, eyes gone cold. “Hell yeah, I do. She’s my twin sister.”

The cowboy froze, eyes goin’ wide. “Your— what? No. Bullshit. She don’t look nothin’ like you.”

Beau didn’t bother explainin’. “You ain’t gonna look nothin’ like yourself for much longer if you don’t get goin’.”

The cowboy shoved him — sloppy, off‑balance, but enough.

Beau shoved back harder.

The cowboy swung first — wild and stupid.

Beau ducked and cracked him across the jaw so clean the guy’s boots skidded on the floor.

Cody whooped, “NOW it’s a party! We gon’ brawl tonight!” and let out a loud yee‑haw as he jumped in the second someone else swung at Beau.

Then the whole thing went sideways.

Chairs scraped. A bottle rolled. Somebody yelled. Somebody cheered. The band didn’t even stop — just played louder like they’d been waitin’ all damn night for a fight.

Briony slid down the wall, dizzy, mascara smudged, muttering, “Oh my God, I hate this place,” while two idiots defended her honor like it was the Alamo.

The Truck Ride Home

I got the call from the bar owner.

I was already in the truck before he finished explainin’.

When I pulled up, the four of them were outside sittin’ on the curb. Beau had a split lip and a bloody nose — and in his honor, I should mention this was truly a ya should see the other guy moment. I did see the other guy and — whoo — slap yer momma, that fella was rememberin’ all his life’s choices. I didn’t even know my boy could fight like that. I know I shouldn’t be proud, but hell, I was.

Cody had a mighty shiner and a bruise bloomin’ across his cheekbone and jaw.

And Briony was sittin’ on the curb lookin’ like a drunk, miserable kitten. I had never seen my lil girl drunk, and I sure as heck never wanted to see that again.

Cheyenne hovered over Beau like he’d been shot.

“Get up,” I said, not even raisin’ my voice. “All of ya. Now.”

Nobody argued.

I hauled Beau up by the arm, checked his pupils, wiped the blood off his chin with my sleeve. “You hit first?”

“No, sir.”

“You hit last?”

“…yes, sir.”

I nodded. There were rules here, some of ya’ll might not understand, but we all followed them.

Cody tried to stand on his own, wobbled, and I grabbed the back of his shirt before he face‑planted. “You’re a damn fool,” I told him.

“Yes, sir,” he said, cheerful as a drunk Labrador.

Briony reached for me, eyes glassy. “Daddy, I—”

“Save it,” I said, softer than I meant to. “We’ll talk when you ain’t smellin’ like a brewery.”

I herded them toward the truck like cattle that’d forgotten how legs work. Beau climbed in slow, Cody fell in, Briony curled up against the door like she wanted to disappear. Cheyenne tried to climb in after Beau.

“Nope,” I said, blocking her with one hand. “You ride in the back seat. And quit hoverin’. He ain’t dyin’. He’s just stupid.”

She pouted, but did as she was told.

I didn’t get in the truck right away. I went back inside, found the bar owner, apologized, paid for the busted chair, the broken glass, and whatever else my brood had destroyed. Then I dragged the other cowboy out from behind the pool table, made sure he was breathin’, and told him if he ever touched my daughter again, I’d finish what Beau started.

Then I got in the truck.

The ride home was dead silent except for Briony hiccupin’ and Cody mutterin’, “We was jus’ defendin’ ourselves,” which nobody had to tell me was a lie.

Cheyenne kept fussin’ over Beau until I snapped, “Cheyenne, sit back and quit crawlin’ all over him. He ain’t dyin’. He shouldn’t’ve done what he done gone did.”

She shot me a glare and sat back.

I dropped her off at her daddy’s ranch. Chayton Greywolf came out on the porch, took one look at Beau’s face, and laughed.

“Well damn, Jackson. Like father, like son… and son’s son. Ya took after yer daddy and yer boy takes after you. And yer lil brother, well, ’nuff said.”

I didn’t have the patience. Told him somethin’ off‑color about what he could go do with his wisdom.

He just laughed harder, pulled his daughter outta the truck, and walked her toward the house with an arm around her shoulders. At least his kid wasn’t drunk. One of my seventeen‑year‑olds was, and that was a big damn problem.

Briar Rose and I were finally in a good place — no more awkward lingerin’, no more old wounds pokin’ through — and now she’d be ridin’ me like a wild bronco about Briony showin’ up drunk and Beau throwin’ fists on my watch.

I wasn’t lookin’ forward to that talk. Not. One. Lil. Bit.

Made me crave a stiff drink. Or a dozen.

The Mornin’ After

Sun wasn’t even all the way up when I heard retchin’ in the bathroom.

Not dainty, polite retchin’. The violent, soul‑leavin’-the-body kind.

Briony’s first hangover.

I leaned against the back of the couch, arms crossed, listenin’ to her gag like she was tryin’ to cough up every bad choice she’d ever made. Beau sat at the kitchen table with an ice pack on his face, lookin’ like he’d gone twelve rounds with a fence post. Savannah was perched on the arm of the couch, starin’ at that bathroom door like it might sprout teeth.

“Daddy… is she dyin’?”

“Naw,” I said. “But yer sister’s gon’ wish she was. And you remember that when you get thirteen goin’ on thirty thinkin’ booze is somethin’ cute to try.”

Amy came out of our bedroom, hair tied up, already in mom‑mode. She slid a hand across my back and murmured, “Go easy on her.”

“Not today,” I muttered.

The toilet flushed. The bathroom door cracked open. Briony stumbled out, pale as a ghost, hair lookin’ like she’d fought a tornado and lost, mascara smudged halfway to her chin. She squinted at the kitchen light like it’d slapped her.

“Oh my God,” she croaked. “Everything hurts. I have never been so sick.”

“Good,” I said. “Means somethin’s finally sinkin’ in.”

She winced. “Daddy, please don’t yell.”

“I ain’t yellin’. This is my mornin’ voice. You don’t wanna hear my yellin’ voice. ’Member that next time you get it in yer head to play grown‑up when ya ain’t.”

She groaned and braced herself on the wall beside the bathroom door — which, in this cabin, is about three feet from the couch, the kitchen table, and every witness to her poor decisions.

Amy stepped forward, gentle. “Sweetheart, sit down before you fall down.”

Briony slid down along the wall to the floor, head in her hands. “I’m never drinking again.”

“Damn right you ain’t,” I said. “Not on my watch. Not at seventeen. Not stealin’ beers off strangers’ tables like some feral raccoon with no raisin’.”

Beau snorted, then hissed and grabbed his nose.

I turned on him. “Don’t ya dare laugh, boy. You ain’t off the hook.”

He straightened up fast. “Yes, sir.”

“Yer sober,” I said, “which is the only reason ya ain’t gettin’ sentenced to chores from now till Christmas. But you still threw fists in a bar. In this town. Where folks talk more than they breathe. You know how stupid that is? Ev’rybody and their dog knows us here!”

“Yes, sir.”

“You know how stupid it looks when your sister’s drunk and you’re out there swingin’ like you’re auditionin’ for the damn rodeo brawl team? What you shoulda done was keep her from doin’ somethin’ crazy in the first place.”

“Yes, sir.”

“You know how stu—”

“Daddy,” Briony groaned, “please stop sayin’ stupid.”

“Then stop bein’ stupid. Both o’ ya.” I roared.

Savannah raised her hand. “Daddy, what’s a feral raccoon?”

“Savannah,” Amy said, “come help me check the horses’ water. Can you show me again what to look for?”

They both left. Bless Amy for knowin’ when to clear the room. Made this a helluva lot easier.

Briony buried her face in her knees. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I didn’t mean to… I just… everything hurt and I didn’t wanna think and—”

I crouched down in front of her, not soft, but not cruel either.

“Look at me.”

She lifted her head, eyes red, face blotchy.

“You scared me,” I said, voice low. “You hear me? You scared the hell clean outta me. You’re lucky your brother and Cody were with you, or God knows where that night woulda ended. Had you gone home with that cowboy and I’d had to go find ya in the back of his truck or some motel room, I’d be sittin’ in a jail cell right now. I don’t give a damn about the bar. I don’t give a damn about the fight. I care that you were drunk, alone, and lettin’ some stranger put his hands on ya.”

Her lip trembled. “I didn’t mean—”

“I know you didn’t. But it happened. And it ain’t happenin’ again. It can’t, Briony.”

She nodded, tears spillin’.

I sighed, rubbed a hand over my face. “Alright. Get up. Go wash the sin off. You smell like regret and cheap beer, and look worse. I’ll make you somethin’ bland so you don’t puke on my floor, but you’re eatin’ somethin’. Then you and me are gonna have us a long talk about heartbreak, alcohol, and how one bad night’ll reroute your whole damn life if you ain’t careful. I figured my own story woulda been enough of a warnin’, but maybe you need to hear about me and Savannah’s momma again. I got plenty o’ stories ’bout drinkin’ and even more ’bout bad decisions. I done it all, kids. So when I tell ya not to do somethin’, trust me — I know for a fact it ain’t no good idea.”

Briony groaned. “No, Daddy, please not stories from the crypt today. Have mercy.”

“Nope,” I said, pushin’ myself up slow. “You’re hearin’ it. Yer brother too. And you’re rememberin’ it. And you’re grounded. Only way you’re leavin’ this property is with me or with all of us. That’s it.”

Beau swallowed hard. “Am I grounded too?”

“Oh, absolutely. But you won’t even feel it, ’cause I’m fixin’ to work you so hard you’ll forget what free time tastes like.”

Briony moaned. Beau sighed “Ah hell!”.

And me?

I finally exhaled.

My kids were idiots — ’cause they were teens, not adults.

But they were safe. And my boy? He’d stood up for his sister like a man oughta.

Which was why I was mostly blowin’ smoke at him, lettin’ him stew a bit longer. His chores weren’t changin’ much. Deep down, I was damn proud of that kid — and of that damn kid brother of mine.

The Summer Fest

The whole damn county turned out for the Summer Stampede — that’s what they called it, even though there hadn’t been an actual stampede since before my granddaddy’s granddaddy was knee‑high to a grasshopper. Didn’t matter. Folks around here’ll hang onto a tradition long after the reason for it’s gone. And they’ll hang onto any excuse to drink beer in the heat, too.

And Lord, that heat was sittin’ on us like a wet saddle blanket. Chestnut Ridge summers don’t play fair — it bakes you from above, steams you from below, and somehow still finds a way to slap you from the side.

By noon the fairgrounds were packed — food stalls fryin’ everything that’d hold still long enough, live music driftin’ from the stage, kids runnin’ wild like somebody left the gate open, and enough dust in the air to season your lungs. Sweat rolled down the back of my neck, stickin’ my shirt to me, and the smell of hot dirt and funnel cakes mixed into that familiar Ridge County perfume.

Amy walked beside me, hand in mine, her fingers laced through mine like she’d been doin’ it her whole life. Sunlight caught in her hair, warm breeze tugged at her shirt, and every time she looked up at me with that soft little smile, somethin’ in my chest unclenched.

Heat or no heat, I swear the whole world felt easier with her right there.

I’d forgotten what it felt like not to be alone.

Even when Bri and I were together, she was always gone — tours, rehearsals, studio sessions, charity events, interviews, and we was livin’ in two different towns for the most of it. Our whole relationship had been built on stolen moments and borrowed time. Good ones, sure. Amazin’ even. But stolen all the same.

Amy wasn’t stolen. Amy was here. Amy was stayin’.
Amy was mine. And I was hers. And that was all there was to it.

And that felt so damn good I could’ve floated.

She squeezed my hand. “This is… really cute,” she said, takin’ in the hay bales, the booths, the kids with face paint, the old men sittin’ in lawn chairs judgin’ everybody. “Like something out of a movie.”

“Yeah, welcome to Ridge County,” I said. “We don’t do subtle round these parts. We do loud, dusty, and fried.”

She laughed — that soft, breathy laugh she only ever used with me — and leaned her head against my shoulder as we walked. Damn if I wasn’t in heaven. My sweet Amy here, all my kids with me, my dad, my stepmomma, my kid brother. This — THIS — was the secret of life, I tell ya what.

Behind us, the kids were already in full chaos mode.

Beau, Briony, Cheyenne, her identical twin Winona, and Cody moved like a pack — loud, restless, and lookin’ for trouble like it was on clearance. Briony had sunglasses on even though the sun was droppin’, pushin’ them up her nose every few seconds like she was hidin’ behind ’em. But she was out of the house, and that was somethin’.

Cody, meanwhile, was on the hunt. He stepped away from the group, prowlin’. Again.

He spotted a pretty girl by the lemonade stand — blond hair, denim shorts, dressed a lil’ fancier than most folks ’round here, but wearin’ boots that’d seen real work, not the boutique kind. Looked about his age, maybe a year younger.

Beau elbowed me. “Hey Dad, ain’t that Tansy Lou Wheeler?”

“Yup,” I called back, recognizin’ her as one of the Ridge’s best barrel racers. Ya see, we got boys and girls racin’ barrels with the best of ’em, and we got boys and girls doin’ rodeo and every other fool thing you can think of on horseback. But somehow it always shook out that barrel racin’ was the girls’ domain and rodeo was the guys’. Couldn’t tell ya why — just the way it’d always been.

Taylor, my ex, had been one of the best barrel racers for a long time, but Tansy was part of the new generation. She did trick ridin’ too, sometimes with a rope, for the tourists. If I remembered right, her parents died in a bad accident when she was about ten. Her great‑uncle came to stay with her, run the small ranch, take care of the girl and the horses. Couple years back he got real sick and went into hospice. Never saw him again till the funeral. Been just Tansy on her own since.

She reminded me of a mix between my Briony and Beau, just older. Somewhere between them and Cody’s age — eighteen, nineteen, maybe twenty. Couldn’t tell ya for sure. But what I did know was that for the last couple summers my kid brother came to stay with me, he and Tansy were sweet on each other. Something must’ve happened that stopped it, ’cause it’d been months since he and Pa and Izzy came back, and I hadn’t seen him with her or heard him talkin’ ’bout her. And my brother? He’s a talker. Loud. If he’d been moonin’ over her, I’d’ve heard it clear as a church bell.

“Think she remembers him?” Beau asked.

I was about to shrug when Tansy turned around, looked up at Cody’s grinnin’ face — and slapped him so hard it echoed across the fairgrounds.

Cody staggered back, hand to his cheek. “Ow! What the hell—?!”

Briony burst out laughin’ — real laughin’, the first I’d heard from her in days. “Oh my God,” she said, wipin’ her eyes. “Yeah. She definitely remembered him.” The others joined in.

Even I couldn’t help it — I laughed too.

Cody stood there, lookin’ stunned, rubbin’ his cheek like he couldn’t believe it, mutterin’ to himself, trailin’ after her like a confused puppy as she stormed off.

“Wonder what that was all about,” Beau said.

Winona snorted. “Well, if I had to guess… ain’t nothin’ I’d care to say in front of his family.”

Cheyenne giggled. “Yup.”

“Yup,” I said, slippin’ my arm around Amy’s waist. “Boy’s got less sense than a blind mule in a briar patch. I don’t reckon I wanna know.”

“As long as he didn’t get that girl pregnant, I don’t even care,” my dad muttered — and Izzy shot him one of those looks that could stop a stampede. She wasn’t my momma, but she sure as hell was Cody’s.

Amy leaned into me, warm and steady. “Your family is… something else.”

“Yeah,” I said, watchin’ Beau tease Briony, watchin’ Cody get chewed out, watchin’ Cheyenne and Winona braid each other’s and Savannah’s hair while they walked. “They’re a whole damn rodeo, that bunch. And ya know what else, darlin’? They’re your family now too. Just about.”

Amy smiled up at me. “I can’t wait. I mean it. As crazy as it is, and as heart‑wrenching as some of it was and is… I love it. I really do. I always wanted to be someone’s mom, and while I know Briony and Beau don’t need one and they already have one, Savannah seems to like it. And you look happy.”

“’Cos I am,” I said, and meant it down to the bone. “Happier’n I’ve been in a long damn time. Maybe ever. Truth is, I don’t remember ever feelin’ quite like this. You walked in and turned my whole world right‑side up without even tryin’.”

She blushed, lookin’ down at her feet. “Straight back at you, too.”

And I wasn’t lyin’. I’d loved Briar Rose hard and long, but most of that time we weren’t really together. Boone was a mistake from the start — we all knew it, Boone knew it. She was there, but she wasn’t the right kind of woman for me. Amy was. The best of both worlds. Now I just had to make damn sure I never gave her a single reason to wanna leave. My heart couldn’t take that again.

I kissed her, my eyes catchin’ the old chapel in town. I turned her in my arms so she’d see it, kissed the side of her face, wrapped my arms around her from behind, whisperin’ in her ear:

“Soon.”

“Yes,” she breathed. “I’m so excited. I still can’t believe it.”

And for a moment — just a moment — the world felt easy.

The music, the laughter, the smell of funnel cakes, the kids runnin’ wild, Amy’s hand in mine… it all settled into place like it’d been waitin’ for us.

But I knew my family. And peace never sticks around long.

Not with a heartbroken daughter. Not with a lovesick son whose entire world was that Cheyenne. Not with Cody on the loose.

Trouble was comin’. It always had and always would. I could feel it in my bones — same way an old horse knows a storm’s rollin’ in.

But for now?

For now, I held Amy’s hand and let myself breathe.