University of Britchester,
Island Kingdom of Henfordshire
I’ll tell ya right now, that Range Rover limousine looked real outta place rollin’ up to Britchester’s ivy‑covered quad — and I felt just as outta place sittin’ in it. Thing was big enough to haul a small herd, courtesy of Brad and his “my stepdaughter and her family will arrive in style” nonsense. We’d flown in an hour earlier on his private jet — which was a whole ’nother thing entirely — and the whole drive through Henfordshire looked like somebody built a kingdom outta stone that looked edible and old money.
Soon as the locks clicked open, Briony shot outta that car like a bottle rocket.
Girl hit the cobblestones in her faded jeans, that crop tee with Well, isn’t this fucking peachy plastered across it, patterned Keds, messy bun bouncin’ like she was the damn mayor of the place. She spun around like she was filmin’ a music video with her mother.
“Oh my GOD, it’s so cute here! Look at it, guys! It’s like Hogwarts but with better lighting!”
I muttered, “Lord help us,” stretchin’ my back. Felt like I’d been folded into that backseat like a damn pretzel. Not ’cause it was small — hell no — but ’cause I was way outta my element. Y’all go get divorced and then take a luxury road trip with your ex, her new husband, yer new wife, yer new baby, and three loudmouthed young adults who ain’t got a filter between ’em, and then tell me you wouldn’t tense up too.
Speakin’ of exes, mine was already tearin’ up, dabbin’ at her eyes like she was in a perfume commercial.
“Jeeze, Bri…” I muttered — and earned myself the wife glare from both her and my wife. Yeah. Real peachy.
Brad stepped out next, lookin’ like he was about to give a TED Talk. He turned and gallantly helped out his wife and then mine — steadying the door with his shoulder, offering his forearm, one hand hovering near the baby like it was second nature. Amy came out with the little one tucked against her, and both she and Bri were cooin’ over him for it.
Jeezes H. Christ.
We ain’t had that baby just since last night, and she’s gotten outta trucks, trailers, and a damn hay wagon just fine without a whole concierge service. But that’s Brindleton Bay for ya — folks born polished.
Then came us cowboys.
Me, Beau, and Cody unfolded ourselves from the back like we’d been shipped in from a different universe — and we looked it, too. Boots, worn‑in faded blue jeans, Stetsons in hand, each of us slappin’ ’em on our heads the minute we exited that fancy ride. Farmer tans, scruffy compared to Brad and the women, stickin’ out like three bulls in a china shop — and that’s exactly how we felt.
Some Britchester students slowed down to stare. One girl whispered, “Are they filming something?”
Briony beamed and answered — ’cause it’s Briony. “Nope. That’s just my family.”
We headed toward the administration building, which looked like a cathedral had swallowed a library. Tall arches, stained glass, carved stone, and a sign that read FRESHERS REGISTRATION — INTERNATIONAL & OUT‑OF‑KINGDOM STUDENTS in a font older than sin.
Briony practically skipped up the steps ahead of us. That girl couldn’t wait. Me, I didn’t have that problem.
And if y’all are wonderin’ why Beau and I were even here, if we hated it that much, lemme tell ya: Briony is, with a very high likelihood, gonna be the only one of my current and any future kids me and Amy may or may not have who’ll ever go to college — let alone one like this. And if you couldn’t already tell, this is big for her. So, if you’re a father worth anythin’ and your little girl invites you to drop her off for somethin’ like this, I sure hope y’all go too.
Same reason Beau went.
Cody… I ain’t entirely sure. I got the feelin’ he liked that vacation he went on with Briony a little too much. Caught him tryin’ on them fancy clothes she bought him with her momma’s credit card a couple times — and those ain’t no ranch wear. I ain’t even sure if anyone really invited him or if he just tagged along and nobody said nothin’.
Anyway.
Inside smelled like old books and wood polish. Behind the desk sat a woman in a navy blazer, posture so stiff I thought she might snap in half. Her accent was crisp, clipped, Henfordian‑proper — the kind that made my eyebrows twitch.
She didn’t look up till Briony got close.
“May I help you?”
“Briony Cameron, checking in,” my daughter chirped — bright, confident, like a normal person announcing her own name.
The woman stiffened. “This is an esteemed university, Miss Cameron, not a hotel. One does not ‘check in.’ One announces one’s arrival for registration.”
Briony blinked. “Right. Okay. Sorry. I’m… announcing my arrival for registration. Briony Cameron.”
The woman’s eyes narrowed. “Young lady. How old are you? Eighteen? Nineteen?”
Briony nodded, unsure why that mattered.
“Then you should know,” the woman continued, voice clipped and schoolmaster‑precise, “that the proper form upon first arrival is: ‘I present myself for registration: full name, place of origin, and course of study.’ Kindly try again.”
Briony inhaled, regrouped. “I present myself for registration: Briony Cameron. Business.”
The woman’s lips tightened. “Accuracy and completion are important, Miss Cameron — as is paying attention to what you are asked, not merely part of it. Full name and full origin. There may be several Briony Camerons. This is a large and highly coveted institution, and your name is not particularly rare.”
Behind her, three low mutters rose in perfect unison — me, Briar Rose, and Beau.
“For heaven’s sake, then ask the birthday — or do they all have the same too?!” Bri hissed, voice low and lethal.
Brad touched her elbow lightly, the way only he can, that soft doctor‑calm that could settle a stampede. “Bri,” he murmured, “deep breath. She’s just doing her job. Preparing your daughter for what lies ahead. And she isn’t wrong — you know that. You went through all this too. So did I, back when I was here for pre‑med.”
Briar Rose did not breathe, but she did stop herself from marching around the desk and giving the woman a vocabulary lesson.
Briony tried again, cheeks pink but chin high. “I present myself for registration: Briony Rose Cameron. From San Sequoia in United Simdonia. Business.”
The woman gave a single, prim nod — the kind that said barely acceptable.
Jeezes H. Christ, I was already over this place twice over and then some.
If that lady kept on like that, we’d end up with another Briony tantrum — and since she could do no wrong in her mother’s book, that woman would have her ridin’ her somethin’ fierce too. And Brad? Brad wouldn’t stand for anyone talkin’ sideways to his Bri, even if he did think she was overreactin’. Man’s gentle, not blind — and he sure as hell ain’t someone you wanna cross.
Oh, heaven help us.
I looked over at Beau and Cody, who were fingerin’ some old‑lookin’ books, so I slapped their paws off ’em, givin’ them a glare. Damn kids. And those two weren’t even really kids anymore. One was supposed to be my adult brother.
Damn Pa and Izzy for spoilin’ that lil brat.
The woman typed like the keyboard deserved punishment. “Very well. As you are from abroad, we shall require two emergency contacts, please.”
Brad stepped forward, handin’ over a business card like he was closin’ a deal.
“Dr. Bradford Cunningham. Chief Surgical Consultant, Cunningham Medical Group. Chairman of Cunningham Industries. My mobile is listed. Day or night.”
Her eyebrows twitched upward — her version of faintin’ — as she took the card, lookin’ at it like it was an autograph.
“Of course. Dr. Cunningham. Father’s number on file then.”
My head snapped up. “Ma’am, that ain’t her daddy. Wait a minute now!”
Briony cut me off. “Excuse me. He’s my stepdad. This is my dad.” She pointed first at Brad, then at me.
The woman turned to me, takin’ in the boots, the hat, the rancher build — and her face did that polite, horrified freeze I’ve seen city folks do when they realize beef doesn’t grow in plastic wrap. Then she shot a pitiful look at Briony and Brad.
“Oh,” she said. “I… see.”
She did not see. Or if she did, what she saw wasn’t good.
Her gaze drifted past me to Beau and Cody, standin’ shoulder‑to‑shoulder in their hats and boots, same sun, same dust, same Kershaw stamped all over ’em.
She pointed her pen between them.
“And these fine gents would be your brothers then, Miss Cameron? Will you be enrolling as well?”
Beau frowned, then shook his head. “No, ma’am, I am not thirsty.”
Cody elbowed him. “She asked if we’re her brothers and if we’re signin’ in, you fool!”
“Why the hell’d y’all be ’er brother!? Ma’am, he’s our daddy’s brother. Where we come from, ma’am, that makes him ’er uncle. And mine. And like hell would I stay in a place like this fresh hell!”
“I am sorry, pardon me? I am afraid I didn’t understand you, young man,” the administrator blinked.
Briony burst out laughin’. “Oh my GOD, no. Nobody else is enrolling. Only one is my brother.” She jabbed a thumb at Beau. “My twin brother.”
The woman blinked. “Ah. Yes. I can see the resemblance.”
She couldn’t. Nobody could. They barely shared a damn eyelash. Beau took after me but had his momma’s eyes, and Briony was a carbon copy of their momma but had my eyes and my chin.
“And he,” Briony added, pointin’ at Cody, “is our uncle. Our dad’s younger brother.”
The administrator stared at Cody. Then at me. Then back at Cody.
“Your… uncle.”
Silence.
The administrator looked like her brain was about to self‑destruct. “But you look awfully young, lad. How old are you, if you don’t mind me being so bold?”
“Twenty‑three,” Cody said.
“And how old would you be?” she turned to Beau.
“Eighteen,” Beau said. “I am ’er twin brother, lady, how old ya think I would be, kinda dumbass question is that now?!”
I clapped my hand over his mouth and gave him my dad glare till he pulled away and pretended to care about some posters.
Let me translate his mood for ya: he hated the idea of his sister bein’ so far away. Hated not bein’ able to see her every other weekend. Maybe he even missed goin’ to that fancy mansion every other weekend. Either way, he was in some sour way.
“Sorry ’bout him, ma’am. Long flight,” I muttered.
The woman’s face went through three stages of grief.
“What? I’m afraid I couldn’t understand you, young man. Or you, Mr… ahem… Kershaw.”
“Oh, he just said he is eighteen,” Briony said sweetly. “Because we’re twins, ya know. Same age and all.”
“Oh. Right. Of course.”
She looked at me. Then Cody. Then Beau. Then Briony. Then back at me.
Her expression said: This family tree needs a diagram and a stiff drink. I could tell she couldn’t wait to have us gone.
She cleared her throat. “Very well. Since Dr. Cunningham is so kind to present as in loco parentis, we would still need a blood relation not living in the same home, if possible. Would that be you presumably, Mr… ahem… Kershaw?”
“In what now?” I asked.
Beau frowned. “Ma’am, that ain’t English.”
“It is perfectly standard Henfordian terminology,” she snapped.
We stared at her like she’d spoken in tongues.
Cody stepped forward, still ranch. “She’s sayin’ one of y’all gotta be the backup person if somethin’ happens. Other than Brad or Bri.”
“Well, ’course that’s me. Who she think it would be? Maverick?! I am her father, dagnammit,” I muttered.
Then she pointed at Amy.
“And you must be Miss Cameron’s mother then.”
Amy startled. “Oh! No, I—”
Briar Rose stepped forward, smilin’ with the kind of grace that could cut glass. “That would be me. This is Amy, Jackson’s current wife, and their kid in her arms. I am his ex‑wife, and this is my husband. Remember, Dr. Cunningham is Briony’s stepfather? We already established that, so how could Jackson’s current wife be her mother? Seriously, lady. Keep up, it’s not so damn hard. I am her mother, and you can put my number down too. Chances are Jackson won’t have reception up on his ranch out at the ass of the world anyway.”
Then she snatched the pen right outta the lady’s hand, grabbed some random paper off her desk, and started scribblin’.
Now ya know where our daughter gets that behavior from. Yup. Ya guessed it. Wasn’t me.
“Bri…” Brad murmured, shakin’ his head while rubbin’ her back all gentle. That guy.
The administrator stared at her. Then stared harder. Then harder.
Her expression said: You are far too young and far too beautiful for this to be respectable.
And honestly? I couldn’t blame her for thinkin’ it. Briar Rose always looked youthful, but after she got turned into a vamp last year, it took a few more years off her. She was three years younger than me, and I’m a well‑preserved forty‑three, but now she looked mid‑twenties, maybe late‑twenties on a tired day. Either way, young enough for anybody with eyes to think I’d robbed the cradle — and Brad too, even though he didn’t have two eighteen‑year‑olds with her.
Briar Rose’s smile tightened. “It’s… complicated and complex.”
The administrator nodded stiffly, clearly thinkin’ golddiggin’ lolita hussy with no manners. I didn’t think she even made the connection who Briar Rose actually was — and that she needed no golddiggin’ to be wealthy.
Brad gave the lady a polite smile that said the subject was done.
The administrator cleared her throat. She looked at me, Amy, our baby daughter. Then at Cody. Then at Beau. Then at Briony. Then back at Bri and Brad.
Her face said: This family tree is a crime scene.
Great minds think alike, ’cause Briar Rose leaned in sweetly and said, “We’re a blended family.”
The administrator nodded like she’d just been handed a bomb. “Yes. So I… gathered.”
She finished the paperwork with the speed of someone desperate to get us out of her office.
“Welcome to Britchester, Miss Cameron. Do enjoy your studies.”
Translation: Please remove your cowboy and hussy circus from my building.
The moment we stepped outside — the literal second Brad pulled the office door shut — Briar Rose exploded.
“That bitch! Did you all see how she looked me up and down? I know I look younger, but she clearly decided I was some teenage homewrecker. Like I had a cowboy fetish at eight, got myself knocked up at ten, married the doctor at twelve — I swear you could practically read the thought bubbles over her head. Prejudiced much? And that witch is part of the village shaping the next generation. Well. Good night, world.”
Then she spun on me, eyes blazing.
“And you! You just stood there like a stuffed animal! You couldn’t have said something?!”
Before I could remind her she ain’t my wife no more and it ain’t exactly my place to jump in swingin’ for her honor — however ridiculous the whole thing was — Brad stepped in, calm as ever.
“Darling,” he said, touching her back, “what was he supposed to say? Forget her. She thinks anyone under fifty is a delinquent. Don’t take it personally. Take the compliment. You look way too young and beautiful to have two children old enough to enroll in college.”
I grumbled, “Yeah. Woman’s got a stick so far up her spine she could hang coats on it.”
Amy laughed. “Jackson! Oh, baby…” She kissed me, giggling — best thing all day. Then she turned to Briar Rose. “And apparently, I do look old enough to be the mother, which is impressive math, considering I’m still thirty‑two, at least for a few more weeks. Beau and Briony are eighteen — I’d have had to have them at fourteen. So I can’t tell if she thought I was some teenage scandal or just prematurely aging.”
“Nah,” I told her, kissin’ her cheek, “she just figured all the women in this family look too young, and you’ve got that kind, steady way about ya. Folks take one look at you and think ‘good mama’ without even meanin’ to.”
I heard Bri puff up beside us — absolutely about to complain that I’d just implied she wasn’t sweet — but Brad must’ve leaned in and kissed her too, because she went quiet. I didn’t look. Didn’t care. I was busy with my own beautiful wife.
Meanwhile, Briony, Beau, and Cody had already wandered to the information stands.
Beau held up a pamphlet, squintin’ at it like it was speakin’ a foreign language. “What in the hell’s a ‘Fresher’s Fayre’?”
Briony was already hangin’ off his arm, chin hooked over his shoulder, readin’ the pamphlet right along with him. “It sounds Henfordian,” she declared. “I am intrigued! I wanna go to that, just because of the name.”
“It’s stupid,” Beau replied, still in that rank mood he’d been carryin’ since we landed.
Briony swatted his bicep without lettin’ go. “You don’t even know what it is yet!”
“I don’t gotta,” he muttered. “It’s got ‘fresher’ in it. Sounds like somethin’ they’d make ya scrub toilets for.”
“I think it just means ‘freshman’ but in Henfordian, or something. I think it’s cool and exciting.”
Briony rolled her eyes — but she stayed glued to him anyway, readin’ every line like it was a treasure map.
Cody was flippin’ through a brochure titled STUDENT SOCIETIES & CLUBS, soundin’ pure ranch.
“Hey, Briony,” he said, eyes wide. “They got a cheese‑tastin’ club. Nice! Can ya enroll in that and send me all them fancy cheeses yer tastin’?”
Briony snorted. “That would be a hearty hell no!”
“Why not?”
“’Cause I don’t care about cheese!”
“That’s not the point! Take one for the team, Briony. Throw some scraps to the ones you left behind.”
Briony shoved him playfully, still hangin’ off her brother’s arm like he was her personal emotional support twin. “Shut up, Cody. Come on, boys, let’s see what other cool stuff they have. I want some free merch! I want stuff that says Britchester on it, so I can look like one of those douches on my uni breaks home! I want everyone to know I am at college and this one in particular!”
They drifted toward a board plastered with posters — rowing team tryouts, theatre auditions, campus jobs, and a giant sign that read:
BRITCHESTER WELCOME PARTY — TONIGHT
Briony gasped. “Oh my GOD, BOYS, we’re going.”
Beau shook his head. “Nope.”
“Beau-Beau!” she said, shovin’ him.
“Don’t call me that, sounds like a clown.”
“You ARE a clown. Go dancing with me. Please!”
“I’ll go,” Cody said.
Both froze, starin’ at him. “Whaddya want at a college party? Ya can’t even walk and chew gum at the same time, ya dingbat!” Beau grumbled.
Cody leaned in, eyes scanning the crowd. “Lotta pretty girls here. Beggin’ to meet themselves some cowboy.”
Briony elbowed him. “Cody!”
“What? I’m just observin’.”
“You’re drooling. Probably with both heads, by the looks of it.”
“Goddamn girl, where’d ya get that guttermind and mouth on ya from?! I’m appreciatin’, that’s all.”
She rolled her eyes — but she was smilin’.
Beau eventually drifted back toward me and Amy, leavin’ Briony and Cody standin’ there together. And without even thinkin’ about it, Briony leaned right into him — shoulder pressed to his side, her head just below his chin. Cody wrapped an arm around her shoulders like it was the most natural thing in the world.
They stood like that, lookin’ out at the campus like it was a whole new world.
“Big place,” Cody murmured.
“Yeah,” she said softly, her voice all city‑smooth. “But I think I’m gonna love it here. I’m so excited.”
Cody smiled — small, warm, proud — the kind of smile he didn’t give to just anybody.
And Briony felt that island‑bond settle between them again, quiet and steady.
Britchester had no idea what had just arrived.
Back Home
Well, we stayed two days, and when it was time to leave, I swear I ain’t never felt so torn in my whole damn life. Half relieved, half heartbroken, half wantin’ to throw Briony over my shoulder and haul her back home like she was still five years old. Her momma was off worse. Gawd, Bri completely lost it — snifflin’ and sobbin’ herself into a real frenzy. Ya’d think someone handed Briony a death sentence instead of a dorm key. Got so bad Brad had to give her somethin’ to calm her down.
I ain’t ashamed to admit I weren’t far behind her.
When that plane took off and that island kingdom — the one now holdin’ my sweet girl — got smaller and smaller out the window, somethin’ in my chest near cracked. Felt like panic, if I’m honest. Like leavin’ her there was wrong in my bones, even though I knew it was right.
By the time we landed in San Sequoia — after droppin’ Bri and Brad in San Myshuno so they could head home to Brindleton Bay — I was fixin’ to kiss the ground. Briar Rose had sobbed into my shoulder so hard I even started cryin’ myself. Ain’t proud of it, but hell… exes or not, that’s our baby girl we left behind.
We still had a three‑hour drive ahead, but I was ready to go home.
About three months later was Amy’s and my first anniversary. Yup. Can y’all believe it? Been married a whole year. So, we dropped Savannah off with friends, the baby with Pa and Izzy, Beau was at his place anyway, and I took my beautiful wife out to a real dinner over in San Sequoia. Yes I did.
We both got dressed up real nice — her in that black dress that oughta be illegal, me clean‑shaven in my suit — and we had ourselves a ball. After dinner I gave her a horseshoe necklace, a long‑stemmed red rose, and some chocolates — the good kind, not the cheap ones from the general store — and we went strollin’ by the bay like we were in some romance movie.
And it got better when I leaned in to kiss her. After some makin’ out that got me all hot ’n bothered, my sweet woman whispers in my ear that she wants me to take her home now.
I ain’t never moved so fast in my life.
I think I broke a land‑speed record gettin’ us home. Parked the truck wherever it stopped, hopped out, ran around to her side before she could even touch the handle, lifted her out, kicked the door shut, kicked our front door open, carryin’ her into the dark livin’ room while she giggled and I was about ready to commit sins.
We were headin’ toward our bedroom when the spare room door opened and a man stepped out.
I set Amy down so fast she wobbled. Flipped the light on and hollered, ready to beat this sucker into the next millennium — and then I realized he didn’t have a stitch of fabric on him.
I threw an arm out to shield my wife, blinkin’ like my brain had short‑circuited.
“CODY?!”
“Stop!” he yelped.
“The hell you think you’re doin’ in my home!?”
“I’m sorry! I thought y’all wouldn’t be home till tomorrow, ’cause ya gave yer baby to Ma and Pa until tomorrow!”
“Yes, because tonight was supposed to be just us! It’s our fuckin’ anniversary, you lump! So why the hell did that sound like an invite into MY home to ya?!”
“I live with my parents!!!” he hollered back like that explained anything.
Then the obvious hit me, and I about blew another gasket.
“What the— Cody, why the hell are you nekkid!? The hell’s wrong with you!?”
Right then a woman appeared in the doorway — equally nekkid, equally drunk, swayin’ like a newborn calf.
Sweet baby Jesus.
I looked away, grabbed Cody by the arm to shake some sense into him, then realized my poor Amy was still standin’ there, horrified.
“Get yer ass dressed so I can kick it into next week!” I barked, just as someone knocked on the front door.
At that point I was too angry to think, so I tore the door open.
“WHO THE HELL ARE YOU NOW?!”
Some stranger stood there — red‑faced, breathin’ hard, lookin’ like he’d run a mile with murder on his mind.
“My husband…” the drunk woman slurred behind me.
And then everything snapped into place.
Cody. Tourist chick. Watering hole. Too much whiskey. Thought we’d be gone till tomorrow. Brought her here. Didn’t know — or didn’t care — she was married. And now the damn husband had followed the trail right to my front door.
Next part happened fast.
“Aw hell!” Cody hollered, snatching up his boots and shirt off the floor like a man grabbin’ evidence. He bolted back into the spare room.
The stranger charged inside after him, shovin’ his cheatin’ wife straight at me. I stumbled catchin’ her — still bare as the good Lord made her — while from down the hall I heard a window slam open.
Then a truck engine roared to life outside, tires spittin’ gravel as Cody floored it up the road like the devil himself was after him.
The man stormed back inside, grabbin’ his wife and tryin’ to holler at me, but I shut that down real quick.
“I think you wanna leave my house right about now, Mister. I don’t know you from Adam, and if your wife forgets who she’s married to, that ain’t none of my concern. My wife and I just walked in the damn door ourselves.”
“I’m waitin’ here for that guy to come back!”
“Like hell ya are! That guy don’t live here any more than you two do. If you know what’s good for you, you can wait anywhere that ain’t my property. Now take your cheatin’ Jolene and GIT before I get you gone.”
He finally realized I was a head taller, twice as strong, and ten times angrier, so he grabbed his wife and hauled ass.
I slammed the door and leaned against it, lookin’ at Amy — who no longer had that raunchy look about her.
DAMN CODY.
“Goddamn brother of mine!” I hollered.
Amy giggled. Then laughed. Then folded over snortin’. It was contagious — even I started laughin’.
She came to me, stroked my cheek, kissed me soft.
“Hey, cowboy… how about a shower — together? And we’ll see where the night takes us…”
I’ll leave y’all with the knowledge that I ain’t never gotten outta my breeches that fast.
Breakin’ Point
Down the prairie, Cody was sittin’ in his truck, breathin’ heavy, heart poundin’ like a jackrabbit in a snare.
He’d peeled out so fast he didn’t even know where he was goin’. Just… away. Anywhere but there. By the time the adrenaline wore off and he circled back toward home, he saw the drunk wife’s husband parked at the end of his parents’ long dirt drive.
Sittin’ on the hood of his truck. Arms crossed. Waitin’ like a rattler in the grass.
Cody muttered, “Aw hell no,” threw the truck in reverse, and tore off into the prairie.
He drove until the lights disappeared behind him, until the desert swallowed him whole. Parked under the stars. Cracked the last beer he had. Drank it slow. Then leaned back in the seat and closed his eyes.
He didn’t mean to fall asleep.
But he did.
His phone buzzed loud enough to wake the dead.
He jolted upright, heart hammerin’, sand stuck to his cheek.
BRIONY CALLING
Half a world away, Briony had been starin’ at her phone for hours, thumb hoverin’ over her parents’ contact. Then her grandparents. Then Beau. Even Brad. She couldn’t do it. If she called any of them — cryin’ like she had been and couldn’t stop — they’d tell her to come home. She didn’t want to quit. Didn’t want to admit she couldn’t do this. And she sure as hell didn’t want to hear the disappointment in their voices.
Cody might tease her. But he wouldn’t judge her. Not ever.
She just didn’t want to be alone. So she scrolled to Cody. And pressed call.
He blinked hard. “Briony? Sugar, what’s wrong?”
Her voice came through small, shaky — homesick as a foal separated from the herd.
“Cody… I miss you. I miss home. I miss everything. I don’t wanna be alone here. Can you… can you come? Please? Pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease?!”
Normally, Cody would’ve hesitated. Thought it through. Worried about money, distance, responsibility. Tried to be the grown‑up he never quite managed to be.
But tonight?
Tonight he’d been caught nekkid with a married woman. Chased off his brother’s property. Nearly jumped by an angry husband who somehow figured out where Cody lived. And if that man showed up at his parents’ door? Yeah — that’d be the end of Cody’s hide.
He was already halfway gone.
“Yeah,” he said instantly. “Yeah, baby girl. I’ll come.”
“You will?!” she squealed, thrilled outta her mind. “Oh my GOD, okay, how fast can you be at the airport? There’s a plane leaving in four and a half hours — can you make it?”
Cody opened his mouth — then froze.
Airport. International. Passport.
“Aw, hell…” he muttered, popping open the glove box and diggin’ through the disaster inside — old receipts, a broken belt buckle, two melted cough drops, a half‑dead flashlight, a crumpled rodeo program — until his fingers hit something stiff and blue.
He yanked it out.
His passport.
He stared at it like it was a sign from above.
“Yeah,” he breathed. “Yeah, I can make it. Hey, Briony, I ain’t home right now, I can’t pack …”
“You don’t need clothes!” Briony babbled. “We’ll figure it out. Please, Cody — I need you here today or I swear I will lose my goddamn mind!”
“Alright, alright.”
“Okay, don’t hang up, I’m booking your ticket RIGHT NOW—”
“Briony, I ain’t got no money—”
DING.
Email notification.
E‑TICKET: Cody Kershaw SAN SEQUOIA → HENFORD‑ON‑BAGLEY
Cody stared at it.
“Well damn.”
“CODY — DRIVE!”
He hung up, threw the truck into gear, and hauled ass toward San Sequoia airport like the devil himself was chasin’ him.
And maybe he was.
But for the first time in months, Cody wasn’t runnin’ from somethin’.
He was runnin’ toward someone.
So that’s where I’ll leave y’all for now. Feels like we been ridin’ hard for a long stretch, and this here’s a good place to water the horses and catch our breath.
This is gonna be a temporary pause on the Wild Country arc — don’t you worry, I ain’t done raisin’ hell, raisin’ horses or raisin’ kids — but the story’s fixin’ to take a turn for a hot minute. A soft one. A fancy one. A whole different world than dust, fences, and stubborn Kershaw men. But no worries, there’s a dose of Kershaw in it.
We’re switchin’ over to a new arc.
Cashmere & Cameron.
Now… I reckon y’all can guess who’s standin’ right in the center of that one.
EchoesOfLegacy 