Chestnut Ridge

Kershaw Ranch

I was halfway through settin’ a new corner post on the south fence when I heard Pa’s truck comin’ long before I saw it — that old diesel coughs like it’s dyin’ and rattles like it’s held together by prayer and duct tape.

He only drives it that hard when he’s mad.

Sure enough, he slid to a stop in my yard, dust boilin’ up behind him like a brush fire. Passenger door flew open and out stumbled Cody — twenty‑five, lookin’ guilty as sin, shirt crooked. Oh hell.

Pa slammed his door. “Jackson. Fix yer brother.”

I leaned on the post driver. “I ain’t no damn veterinarian, Pa.”

“Didn’t say he was sick,” Pa snapped. “Said he’s broke, in the head and the heart. Damn kid brother o’ yers done gone makin’ a damn mess and nobody knew it was comin’ till it done came down hard.”

“Why ya comin’ to me with that nonsense? I just barely fixed things with mah own daughter.”

“Yeah, ya fixed it. So fix him too.”

Cody didn’t argue. Didn’t even look up. Just kept starin’ at his hands, lips movin’ like he was tryin’ to remember his multiplication tables.

“Junior,” I said, “ya countin’ or prayin’?”

He swallowed. “Neither. I’m… I’m tryin’ to figure somethin’ out. Can’t be, but looks like it is.”

I sighed. “Well, ya oracle, spit it out before you combust.”

Cody took a shaky breath. “Tansy had a baby.”

I blinked. “A baby.”

“Yeah,” Cody said.

“What baby?” I asked.

“Well, a baby baby, Jackson,” Cody said, exasperated.

“How the hell did she get a baby? I just saw her a few months back and she ain’t been pregnant then,” I said.

“Somethin’ tells me yer maths is off now, kid,” Pa cut in. “I asked and nobody seen her ’cause she been outta town for the past five months. Travelin’ to eventin’, she told people. Thinkin’ if we were to check, there probably weren’t any eventin’ goin’ on in winter.”

“And yer… doin’ math.” I looked at Cody, then our father, and he knew the shoe had dropped with me.

Pa gave a grim nod.

Cody started explainin’, said it all went down last Fourth of July at the festival in town. They hadn’t been together in almost two years, mostly avoidin’ crossin’ paths best they could, but that night they kept catchin’ each other’s eyes across the crowd — once, twice, then every damn time they turned around. Fireworks were goin’ off overhead, music thumpin’, folks dancin’, and those two idiots just kept gravitatin’ like magnets that’d been fightin’ the pull too long. Next thing anyone knew, they’d slipped off down toward the riverbank behind the old cottonwoods and… well. No talkin’ needed. And no wonder the math works.

Pa rubbed a hand over his face like he was tryin’ to wipe the whole situation off it. “Hell,” he muttered. “Shoulda known somethin’ was off the second Earl opened his damn mouth.”

I frowned. “Earl?”

Pa sighed, the long‑sufferin’ kind. “We were in town this mornin’. Me, Izzy, and Cody. Stockin’ up for the cabin. Cody was loadin’ sweet feed, mindin’ his business, when Earl at the feed store leans over the counter like he’s announcin’ the Second Comin’.”

Pa pitched his voice higher, mockin’ Earl’s nosy twang:

“Y’all heard Miss Tansy’s back in town? With a child? A lil baby.”

Cody winced like he was relivin’ it.

Pa kept goin’. “Boy dropped a fifty‑pound sack of sweet feed right on his own damn foot. Didn’t even notice. Izzy just froze like she’d seen a ghost.”

He waved a hand, imitatin’ Earl’s gossip‑rooster enthusiasm:

“Yep, came back yesterday. Baby looks real new. Folks say she was gone all winter. Told everybody she was travelin’ for eventin’, but ain’t no winter eventin’ circuit I ever heard of…”

Pa looked at Cody then, real slow. “Kid went white as a sheet. That’s when I knew there was a strong possibility my idiot son made me a grandpa without even knowin’.”

He shook his head, still offended by the memory. “And that’s when Izzy started tremblin’ like a leaf in a windstorm. Had to take her home. Thought about givin’ her one of them little calm‑ya‑down pills Connor gave her back when our dingbat son went missin’ after crashin’ Tansy’s weddin’, but boy… that woman needed calmin’ of the liquid sort.”

Pa jabbed a thumb toward Cody. “Downed half a bottle of Crown in one sittin’. Half. And she was still nursin’ the damn bottle when yer brother and I left for yer ranch.”

He huffed, remembering. “Tried takin’ it from her too — reached right over, thought I’d tuck her in bed before she drank herself sideways.”

He shook his head like the memory still stung. “Woman near took my damn hand off. Told me—”

He dropped his voice into a rough, musical imitation of her Innisgreen lilt:

“Touch that bottle again, Jack Kershaw, an’ I’ll plant ya in the ground meself, so I will.”

Pa threw up a hand. “So I backed the hell off. Ain’t wrestlin’ no bottle outta that woman’s grip when she’s in a state. Figured the liquor’d calm her faster than I could.”

He pointed at Cody again. “And now here we are.”

Pa jerked his thumb toward the truck. “We’re gonna get some answers. I ain’t lettin’ him sit around wonderin’ himself sick and his mother drink herself into an early grave. And I sure as hell ain’t goin’ to the Wheeler Ranch by myself with this dingbat. Yer comin’.”

“I got work,” I said.

“Ya also got ears, ya heard me, son,” Pa shot back. “I ain’t askin’. Get in the truck.”

I sighed. “Fine. But we better make it quick. I got three kids and a ranch to run.”

“Ya got two kids and one adult son, who at twenty is more mature than my runt over yonder. Beau Wyatt don’t need ya watchin’ him, and yer wife got them two young’uns. Ya finally done found yerself a good woman, Jackson — she don’t need ya hoverin’. Just end up drivin’ her crazy, and might end up drivin’ her away if ya go interruptin’ her household. She got it runnin’ like a well‑oiled machine. If ya mess things up with Amy, I am keepin’ her and sendin’ you away! And yer doggone brother with ya!”

Pa muttered, “Should’ve stopped at one child. Would’ve saved me twenty‑five years of headaches.”

Cody mumbled, “Thanks, Pa.”

“Argh, shut yer mouth, Tweedledee. Get in the damn truck.”

We were a good hundred yards from the house, ’bout to head to Pa’s old truck, when I heard the screen door slap shut. I turned, and there was Amy already makin’ her way across the yard with Laney on her hip — that long, determined stride she gets when she can feel trouble brewin’ clear from the porch.

Her blond hair was pulled back, swingin’ behind her, sun catchin’ on it. And even from that far out, I could see the shape of her — the way her body never quite went back to how it was before Laney. And hell, I ain’t the kinda man to complain about that. Not once.

She finally reached us, breathin’ a little from the walk, eyes sharp as a tack. “Where do you think you are you off to?” she asked — clean voice, no drawl, never picked one up even livin’ out here.

Laney reached for me, so I took her, settlin’ her on my hip. I kissed her cheek, then leaned in and kissed Amy too — quick, warm, my hand slid to her waist like it always does.

Before I could say a damn thing, Pa stepped right in like he’d been waitin’ his turn.

“C’mere, sweetheart,” he said, and he plucked Laney right outta my arms like she was his kid, not mine. His whole face softened — that rare, melted look he only gets for his grandbabies. He kissed her cheek, nuzzled her neck till she giggled, then held her close like she was the only thing in the world that made sense.

“Hey there, darlin’ girl,” he murmured, smilin’ in that soft way he’d deny if you ever brought it up.

Then he handed her back to Amy, cleared his throat hard, and snapped right back into drill‑sergeant mode. “Alright. Here, take Laney, Jackson’s gotta come help me out for a minute. Won’t be long. I’ll bring him right back to ya.”

Amy’s gaze slid past me to Cody, who immediately tried to look innocent and damn near tripped over his own guilt. “What is going on? What did you do this time, Cody Kershaw?” she asked.

Cody sputtered. “I ain’t— it’s not— I didn’t—”

Pa cut him off with a bark. “That’s what we’re tryin’ to figure out. Look Amy, I ain’t draggin’ yer husband off to war. Just havin’ him help me figure out how much bullshit his brother got himself in again this time. You’ll get him right back, promise. Just a quick trip down to the Wheeler Ranch to see if he’s as big of a dumbass as his mother and I think he might be!”

Cody groaned. “Pa!”

Amy sighed, shiftin’ Laney on her hip. “Jackson, please don’t let them get you shot, arrested, or talked into something stupid. And Cody—whatever this is, don’t make it worse.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Cody muttered, lookin’ about twelve.

Pa didn’t give him a chance to stand there feelin’ sorry for himself. He reached out, grabbed a fistful of Cody’s sleeve, and yanked him toward the truck like he weighed nothin’. Gave him a shove for good measure. Amy’s eyes flicked to it — just a quick, sharp look — one eyebrow goin’ up like she was takin’ notes for later.

“Don’t worry, darlin’,” I told her, leanin’ in close. “Just a quick talk, that’s all. I’ll be back before ya know it.” I kissed her again, slower this time, then kissed Laney’s forehead. “Be back soon,” I murmured to both of ’em.

Pa clapped his hands once. “Alright, lovebirds, that’s enough. Git yer ass in the damn truck, Jackson! Ain’t got all day, can’t leave yer mother home alone in the state she’s in.”

He meant Izzy, of course. She ain’t my mother — never has been — and with her only seven years older’n me, I never called her “mother”; that would’ve been awkward for both of us. But she’s been with Pa damn near thirty years, and I love and respect her deeply, so I let it slide.

“Yes sir,” I said, already movin’.

Wheeler Ranch

Tansy’s ranch was quiet — too quiet for a place that used to echo with her yellin’ at Cody for leavin’ muddy bootprints everywhere back when he lived with her, before she kicked him out and they broke up for him bein’ a manchild. But neither had been datin’ since, at least not anything serious.

She opened the door before we even knocked. She looked tired — not rough, just new‑baby tired. Hair in a loose braid, shirt wrinkled, eyes sharp but soft around the edges.

She saw Cody. Then Pa. Then me. And she sighed like she’d been expectin’ this exact circus.

Pa tipped his hat first — that old, stiff‑brimmed gesture that said ma’am without needin’ the word.

“Afternoon, Miss Tansy,” I said, tippin’ mine too outta habit.

Cody didn’t tip his. Didn’t move. Just stood there starin’ at her like a confused beagle who’d seen a treat and forgotten what treats were.

“Y’all might as well come in.”

We stepped inside. All three of us took our hats off out of habit — Pa first, then me, then Cody a beat late like he’d forgotten the order of operations. We wiped our boots on the mat, same as we were raised, and hung our hats on the hooks by the door before followin’ her in.

The place smelled like hay, coffee, leather, horses and newborn — that warm, milky sweetness that hits you right in the chest. I knew it well, still fresh in my memory, even though my youngest, Laney, was walkin’ now.

There was a bassinet in the living room.

Cody froze.

Tansy followed his stare. “She’s sleepin’. Be quiet, y’all. Don’t wake her.”

“She,” Cody echoed, voice crackin’ as he stared into the crib from a few feet away.

Tansy nodded. “Her name’s Katie.”

Cody’s head snapped up so fast I heard his neck pop.

“Katie?”

“Yeah,” she drawled, swallowin’ hard. “Kinda a… a—” she waved her hand, searchin’ for the word, cheeks pinkin’ up— “a… homage… Is that how ya say it? Like… a nod. To her daddy.”

And right there, I swear, you could see the gears grindin’ in Cody’s head. Didn’t take no damn rocket scientist — Co-dy, Ka-tie… same rhythm, same vowels, same everything. Hell, a blind man coulda connected those dots. Yup, Cody had done gone makin’ me an uncle, alright. Oh boy. Weren’t we all in for one hell of a ride now. My eyes flicked to our father, worried good ole Jack might have himself a heart attack, but he didn’t seem all that surprised.

Cody’s voice came out low, certain, not a question at all.

“She’s mine, ain’t she.”

Tansy’s breath hitched. Pa went still. I felt the whole damn room shift.

Tansy crossed her arms, but her voice was soft. “Cody…”

He flinched like she’d slapped him. Then whispered, “Ya named her after our song.”

Tansy’s eyes filled, but she blinked it back. “Yeah. I did. The one we always danced to. After our song and after her daddy. Yeah, she’s yours.”

Cody swallowed hard. “Tansy… I wanna make this right. I wanna… date again. Do it proper this time. Hell, I wanna marry you. I always did.”

And there it was — the second obvious thing he blurted out today. Boy had all the subtlety of a bull in a glass shop. I loved him, but damn if he didn’t just say every thought that passed through his head like an eager parrot.

She froze.

Tansy lifted her chin, eyes flashin’. “Cody, this is why I didn’t tell ya. I knew you was gon’ react jus’ like this and say jus’ that. I ain’t marryin’ no man just ’cause of a baby!”

She pointed a finger at all of us like we were lined up for judgment. “And don’t none of ya even dare start comin’ after me for not tellin’ y’all. We tried this, Cody — us, livin’ together — and you wasn’t ready for no domestic life. You were a damn pet I had to take care of on top of everythin’ else. Instead o’ helpin’ me, ya made more work for me, and I couldn’t deal with that while bein’ pregnant.”

Her voice cracked, but she powered through it. “Ya know unwed mothers ain’t really somethin’ people just let slide in our neck o’ the woods. I can’t hide her forever. This is my home — our home — Katie’s and mine and the horses’. So I had to come back and face the music, but I wasn’t gon’ listen to everyone gossip ’bout me waddlin’ to the feed store pregnant and all.”

She swallowed hard, eyes dartin’ away. “I went elsewhere, rented a cabin for half a year, just till after I had her. Truth be told, I wasn’t even sure I was gon’ bring her back home with me. Thought maybe if I gave her up for adoption it’d be best for all of us. But once I held her after she was born, I jus’ couldn’t. I loved her the moment I laid eyes on her. She is a love child, if I ever known one. I love her daddy. Ain’t her fault her parents don’t know how to be adults.”

Cody stepped forward, voice raw. “Tansy, I never stopped lovin’ you. I can change — for you, for Katie. I just need another chance. I swear I’ll try my darndest. I know I ain’t got no good track record with ya ’bout bein’ mature and keepin’ promises, but I’m older now. I seen things, know things, realized things. And I love ya. I mean that. Never stopped. Not even when you were walkin’ down that aisle to somebody else.”

I remembered that day. Him bustin’ into that church like a damn tornado. Her turnin’ around like she’d been struck. Trace Tucker lookin’ like he wanted to fight God Himself.

Yeah. Cody never stopped lovin’ her. I believed that to be the truth too. But love wasn’t gon’ put food on the table or diapers on that baby.

Tansy whispered, “You can’t say things like that unless you mean ’em.”

“I do mean ’em,” he said. “Always did.”

Pa clapped his hands once. “Well, I heard ’bout ’nough. I’ll be in the truck. Jackson, ya stay. They need a referee. Figure this shit out, son.”

I blinked. “What the hell, Pa!”

Pa didn’t linger. He pushed off the doorframe, grabbed his hat from the hook, and settled it on his head with that final, no‑nonsense tug of the brim. “Yer the only one in this family here present with any sense,” he said, already headin’ out. “Don’t know how I did it, but I raised ya right. I’m too old for baby drama. Have a good day, Miss Tansy. I’ll meet my granddaughter some other day, when she’s awake and I know what to think ’bout all this mess.”

He pulled the door shut behind him, hat brim still low like he was ridin’ straight into a storm. And if I knew him at all, he went to sit in his truck — engine off, jaw set — waitin’. Thinkin’. Ponderin’.

Cody looked at me like he was drownin’. Tansy looked at me like she wasn’t sure if she wanted help or a witness.

I sighed. “All right. Let’s sort this out.”

I sat ’em both down at the kitchen table. With coffee.

“You two made a mess,” I said. “A big one. But messes can be cleaned. Just gotta do it right.”

Tansy stared at her hands. Cody stared at her.

“First thing: get a test. Not today. Not this minute. But soon. Y’all deserve to know.”

“Jackson, I don’t need no test. There ain’t been nobody else,” Tansy drawled.

“Miss Tansy, I believe ya,” I said, keepin’ my voice even, “but it’s been a long time since ya two split. If y’all wanna do things right, let’s do it right all the way. Get tested. I can call Connor, and he or Chris’ll have that done in no time for y’all.”

They nodded.

“Second: Cody, if she’s yours — which we can all safely assume she is — ya don’t get to run. You show up. No more dickin’ ’round. Ya helped make this mess, ya help be there for the baby. You be decent.”

He nodded again, eyes bright. “Yes sir.”

“Third: Tansy,” I said, turnin’ to her, “you don’t get to shut him out, no ma’am. A father ain’t optional just when ya want ’em in yer kid’s life and then shut him out when yer mad at him. He didn’t know before, but now he does, and my brother will be there. He’ll help, and I’ll make sure he does it right.”

Her jaw tightened, but she didn’t interrupt.

“And Katie’s got a set of grandparents too,” I went on. “Make no mistake — our Pa is gruff, but he’s a good father and an even better grandfather. Izzy’ll teach ya all ya need to know about babies, even the things they don’t teach ya elsewhere. And family ain’t optional with the Kershaws. We know now, so we’re gon’ wanna be there.”

Tansy’s throat bobbed. She nodded, small but real.

“And last thing,” I said, leanin’ back, “no more Fourth of July surprises. If y’all are gonna be idiots, at least be communicatin’ idiots. And the next pregnancy, ya better be there all the way, Cody Kershaw — and you better let him,” I added, lookin’ at Tansy. “And don’t ya go tellin’ me now there won’t be any more. Nobody planned for this here baby, but she happened, and she sure as hell didn’t rain down from the sky. So unless ya keep yer hands and body parts far away from each other — which we all know ya can’t — there is always a chance. No more secret babies.”

“Yes sir,” they said at the same time.

I blinked. Well, I’ll be damned. Look at ’em, already agreein’ on somethin’.

That got the smallest smile outta both of ’em.

“Oh, one additional thing — we gotta figure out how to get Cody on her birth certificate if she’s his.”

“Jackson, he’s already on there,” Tansy said quietly. “I live alone, on a horse ranch, and I ride barrel and eventin’. Things can happen, and I got nobody else. I had to have him on there in case somethin’ happened to me, so she’d have someone to take care of her.”

Ooh, that one hit home for me.

See, my parents both died when I was a kid. Went through the system, bounced from house to house, until at fourteen the man I hadn’t seen in years — the man I knew as Uncle Jack — showed up and I found out he wasn’t my uncle at all, but my father. And the man who raised me until his untimely death, the one I called Dad, was actually my uncle.

So yeah… orphaned kids with secret relations? That struck me like lightning every damn time. Let’s just say I was never in favor, and that’s puttin’ it mildly.

Did I think my brother was fit to be a dad right now? Nope. Not even close. But he made that damn baby, and so help me God, he was gon’ learn how to be a good father — even if it killed me.

When we finally left, Cody and I — and mind ya, Cody wanted to stay, kept talkin’ about the damn couch — I wasn’t hearin’ it.

“Say yer goodbyes nice,” I muttered, already reachin’ for his hat off the hook by the door. I slapped it onto his head before he could protest, grabbed him by the back of his shirt like he was six years old again, and hauled him toward the porch.

“Jackson! I can walk!”

“Yeah? Funny, ’cause ya ain’t doin’ it,” I grunted, draggin’ him anyway. “Move yer feet, Romeo.”

Cody twisted around mid‑drag, tryin’ to look back into the living room.

“Bye, Katie‑girl!” he whisper‑yelled, wavin’ one floppy hand in the general direction of the bassinet. “Daddy loves ya! Daddy’ll be back! Daddy ain’t leavin’ forever, he’s just bein’—”

I yanked him harder. “She’s asleep, dumbass, and she don’t know who the hell ya are yet.”

“I’m her daddy, and she can sense that — and I am bein’ gentle,” he hissed.

“You’re bein’ loud and a damn fool.”

Tansy snorted behind us, tryin’ not to smile.

“There was one big baby in that house,” I said, haulin’ him through the doorframe. “And it ain’t the one in the crib. Jesus Christ, kid, ya got a lotta growin’ up in front of ya. My damn two‑year‑old is more mature than yer dumb ass.”

I shoved him out onto the porch. “There. Goodbye said. Now get.”

Cody stumbled along, lookin’ back at her like a kicked puppy. “Bye, Tans… bye, Katie… bye, everybody…”

Then he suddenly twisted, tryin’ to storm right back inside. “The hell—? I need to tell ’em I’ll be back!”

I stepped in front of the door like a damn cattle gate. “No ya don’t. That was implied. Git.”

He tried to duck under my arm. “Jackson, move! I gotta—”

I planted a hand on his chest and shoved him back. “You gotta leave, dumbass. They know you’ll be back. Now git before you wake that baby.”

I grabbed his arm and dragged him toward Pa’s truck. Opened the cab door and tried to guide him inside. He jerked out of my grip like a wet cat, but I didn’t move till he finally climbed in, then I slammed the door shut.

I opened the passenger side door and right then I heard the child lock click.

Pa.

Made me smirk and shake my head. Makin’ sure his Junior didn’t make a dash for it like some hero in a schmaltzy chick flick. Usin’ a child lock on a twenty‑five‑year‑old freshly baked father. Man… you can’t make this stuff up.

Cody sat on the rear bench, starin’ blankly out the window like someone’d unplugged him.

Pa didn’t start the engine right away — just sat there, lookin’ at Cody through the rearview like he was inspectin’ a horse he wasn’t sure was sound.

Finally he grunted, “Seatbelts. Both of ya. I ain’t explainin’ to nobody how I killed two grown men in one afternoon.”

Cody clicked his in with shaky hands. I followed suit.

“I am a daddy,” he murmured. “I got a daughter.”

Pa snorted. “Congratulations. Took ya twenty‑five years to do somethin’ useful with yer life, and ya done gone messed that up purdy damn good too.”

“Yeah,” I said, ignorin’ our father’s doomsday tone. “Looks like yer a daddy now.”

“What do I do now?”

Before I could answer, Pa cut in. “Hell if I know, but ya don’t do what ya usually do — run around like a rooster with its head cut off. And for the love of baby Jesus, don’t go draggin’ that poor girl off into the next church! What yer gon’ do is listen to yer brother. He’s the only one in this truck with a functional brain.”

I ignored him. “Cody, ya do the only thing ya can do. Same thing I do. Be there, love ’em, and try yer best. Whatever ya do, fifty percent chance ya screw it up, but in the end, all that counts is how hard ya love ’em.”

Pa muttered, “And ya git down on yer knees and pray that baby ends up with her mama’s sense.”

Cody didn’t rise to it. He was too busy thinkin’.

“Jackson… can’t believe ya were invited to a palace by yer daughter and didn’t go,” Cody said. “Yer not curious? If Katie ever marries a prince, I will definitely go.”

Pa made a sound halfway between a snort and a choke. “Boy, don’t you worry ’bout that. Ain’t many princes go wife‑shoppin’ in Chestnut Ridge. Closest thing we got to royalty ’round here is old man Jenkins — man was older’n dirt back when I was knee‑high to a grasshopper — gotta be pushin’ a hundred and twenty now. Him and that fool goat he keeps winnin’ ribbons with. Old man can’t barely crawl, but keeps livestock.”

Cody opened his mouth like he wanted to argue, then shut it again.

Pa wasn’t done.

“A palace,” he spat, like the word tasted bad. “We all was invited, and we didn’t go ’cause we all know we ain’t got no damn business in no palaces. Ain’t nothin’ in a palace but cold floors, cold people, and rules ’bout how ya can’t sneeze without askin’ permission.”

His jaw tightened, old hurt flickerin’ behind his eyes. “I spent years tryin’ to see my own damn daughter — yer sister — grow up in that gilded prison. I hate that whole aristocracy nonsense with a passion that could melt steel.”

Man wasn’t lyin’, either. He once went to read Laney a bedtime story, grabbed a princess book by accident, took one look at the cover, and tossed the damn thing straight in the trash. Amy found it later and asked me why her brand‑new hardcover was in the bin. Had to go ask Pa, and he just shrugged and said he wasn’t “fillin’ the kid’s head with royal garbage,” then made up some story about a cowgirl and a runaway calf instead.

Laney was just over a year old then. At that age she didn’t give a damn about princesses — she just wanted a warm lap and a calm voice. She sure as hell wasn’t sittin’ there plannin’ her future wedding to some prince.

Jack shook his head, jaw working. “And hell, yer sister Vivienne at least married a decent young man. Liam’s a good kid. Former stableboy, loves horses and the land. Worked hard, kept his head down, never acted like he was owed a damn thing. They was doin’ just fine as Viv and Liam.”

His lip curled. “But no — goddamn King Max had to play big daddy and go elevate ’em. Make ’em nobility ’cause it fit his agenda better. I done told him that was a pile of bullcrap, but no, he wouldn’t listen — even though I’m her real father and I told him no. I know he loves her too, and he did a fine job raisin’ her, but when I say no, it oughta mean somethin’.”

He waved a hand, disgusted. “But he just kept dronin’ on — lineage this, legacy that. Buncha nonsense. I got legacy and lineage too. Don’t need no damn castles and palaces and titles.”

He shook his head again, deeper this time. “Vivienne and Liam sure as hell didn’t need titles neither, nor did their lil boy. They was perfectly fine just bein’ Viv and Liam and RJ. Good kids. Hard‑workin’. Didn’t ask for none of that royal BS hangin’ off their names.”

His voice dropped into a bitter mutter. “I swear Max only did that ’cause he’s still sore they named their son after me. Rory Jack — not Rory Max. Bitter old man, that’s what he is.”

I had to look out the window so he wouldn’t see me roll my eyes. Jack and Max get along just fine — thick as thieves when they’re in the same room. But the second they’re apart, they start bitchin’ and moanin’ about each other like it’s a competitive sport. Always have, always will. Pair of grumpy old men, the both of ’em.

He snorted, bitter and tired. “Damn shame yer Briony ran off with some prince now too, Jackson. Hopefully she’ll see the light and leave him before he gets to put a ring on her finger.”

Agh, here we go again. I knew this was gon’ come up again.

I shrugged. “Pa, Briony’s always taken after her mother, and I can definitely see Briar Rose livin’ in a palace. Briony’s just a younger version of Bri, so I know for a fact she’s fine there. But it ain’t for me. Been to a palace — so have you, Cody. The one in Henfordshire. Ain’t my playground. I got no business there, I don’t belong, and I don’t wanna see where that French kid dragged my lil girl off to.”

I blew out a breath. “Thinkin’ on that would just make me madder’n a bobcat with his balls caught in an electric fence again, so I ain’t touchin’ that subject with a ten‑foot pole.”

I looked out the windshield, jaw tight. “Makes it too real. Right now I can still pretend she’s just a few hours away in San Sequoia… or that her mother dragged her off somewhere fancy again.”

“Yeah, but Briony’s in Bellacorde. Ain’t none of us ever been there. Y’all ain’t curious?”

“Cody, we seen it on TV — that coronation. Ya really think all of us should’ve sat there with all them hoity‑toities?”

“Briar Rose was there. With Brad!”

“Yeah, ’cause Bri and Brad belong there. That’s not far from how they’re used to livin’. Cody, you were invited too. If ya were that damn curious, ya coulda went. Don’t need me for that!”

“Briony ain’t my daughter! That would’ve looked funny if I was the only one showin’ up there.”

“Cody, it don’t matter if it’s one or all of us showin’ up — it’s gon’ look goofy,” I said, waving a hand. “Ya can take the man outta Chestnut Ridge and stick him in a suit, but ya can’t take Chestnut Ridge outta the man. We ain’t got no business in no palaces, and that’s that.”

Pa grunted approval. “Smartest thing ya ever said. Leave royalty to the royals. We’re ranch folk. We don’t bow to nobody.”

Cody nodded slow. “I kinda liked the fancy life, ya know, when I went to Sulani with Briony, but I think y’all are right — I couldn’t do that all the time. Too pretentious. I need somethin’ real. We ain’t that fancy. And now I ain’t goin’ nowhere. I got a kid. I am a damn daddy now and I don’t even know how all that happened. I mean, I do know how that happened, but damn, I had no idea. That baby means somethin’. That’s a sign. And I gotta figure out how to make things right with her mama. Don’t wanna repeat yer mistakes.”

“Only sign that baby is, is that I failed teachin’ ya birth control, that’s what!” Pa barked, lookin’ at my kid brother in the rearview again.

“The hell yer talkin’ ’bout?” I asked, half‑turnin’ to Cody.

“You and Bri. Fallin’ in and out of love over and over, and now y’all are like cats and dogs.”

Pa barked a laugh. “Cats and dogs? Son, they’re more like two wet bobcats in a burlap sack. Thank the Lord above for Amy. That woman saved this family from another twenty years of you and Bri tearin’ each other up one minute and fallin’ back into bed the next.”

He shook his head, snorting. “Now y’all can’t be in the same room without bickerin’ like old mules, and I’ll take that any day. Long as you’re fightin’, you ain’t fallin’ into them old patterns. Last thing this family needs is you two screwin’ up two perfectly good marriages ’cause you couldn’t keep off each other like back in the day.”

I shot him a look. “Pa.”

“What? I’m right. Amy’s the best thing that ever happened to ya. I care for Bri, still. Bri’s a good woman, but she ain’t yer woman. Amy is. She’s proof you can make a decent country girl outta a former city slicker. And she’s got more sense than the rest of us combined. Same as Izzy. That’s the kind of women us country‑folk men need. We know everything ’bout horses and ranchin’ and survivin’ and a whole lotta nothin’ ’bout livin’ and lovin’. We need our women to keep teachin’ us.”

He tapped the steering wheel. “That’s why I thank the Lord I married a girl much younger than me — ’cause I ain’t never gon’ find out how to try and live without her again. Tellin’ ya I can’t. When I close my eyes for good one day, Izzy’ll still be spry enough to lean back and sigh a sigh of relief she’s finally done takin’ care of me, and just sit there on that rockin’ chair on our porch and rest up till she comes to be with me again. Amy’s like that too, Jackson. Bri’s the type of woman who needs to be taken care of. That ain’t for us. Leave that to them rich men like that doctor husband of hers.”

I sighed. “Yeah, well, listen, kid — Bri and I never fell out of love. None of this has to do with love. We just finally pulled our heads outta our asses and realized some things just ain’t meant to be, and we’re one of ’em. I never had no business married to a girl like her, and she sure as heck don’t need no horse‑rancher husband.”

I rubbed my jaw. “I’ll always love her in that special place of my heart, and she me — that’s a fact. But the other parts of our hearts now love the right people, the ones we were meant to be with. Bri and I bicker to make sure we don’t fall back into old patterns. Pa got that part right.”

Pa nodded, satisfied. “Damn right I did. I know a thing or two about a thing or two. You and Bri were two dumbasses tryin’ to outsmart each other — blind leadin’ the blind. And I also know Amy don’t let ya get away with nothin’. Moment you’re bein’ a dumbass, that girl’ll call ya right out on it. That’s why she’s perfect for ya.”

I ignored him. “Take that as advice to know that together ain’t always the best way to show true love. And lemme give ya another piece of unsolicited advice.”

“What’s that?” Cody asked.

“You do what’s best for the kid now. Even when you’re scared. Especially then. Not what ya think everyone wants ya to do, not what ya think is cute or romantic — ya gotta be a dad first now. So don’t ya go draggin’ Tansy off to get married until y’all are damn well ready for it!”

He nodded slow.

“Jackson?”

“What.”

“Ya think I can be a good dad?”

Before I could answer, Pa spoke up, voice low, rare soft. “Boy… ya got more heart than sense. That’s the start of every good father I ever knew.”

I looked at Cody — a young man, determined and scared. I patted his leg.

“I think yer gonna be one hell of a dad, kid.”

Pa grunted. “Long as he don’t name the next kid after a damn country song. And quit fuckin’ on riverbanks. Yer supposed to be a grown man, not a horny teenager. Take her to a bed, goddamn it!”

Cody’s ears went red so fast I thought he might combust. “Pa! Jesus—can we not—”

Pa waved him off. “If you’re old enough to make a baby, you’re old enough to hear plain talk about how ya made her.”

Cody sank down in the seat, hands over his face. “I swear y’all tryin’ to kill me.”

I just shook my head, lookin’ at my kid brother in the rearview — scared, hopeful, holdin’ on with both hands — and I figured maybe that’s all any of us ever do. Just try like hell, love ’em hard, and pray we don’t mess up the parts that matter.

“Cody,” I said, softer, “you’re gonna be fine. You ain’t alone in this.”

He peeked over his fingers, eyes shiny. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” I said. “We got you.”

Pa grunted again, but this time it was the kind that meant agreement, not judgment. “Damn right we do. Yer an idiot, kid, but yer our idiot. Yer baby’s ours too. Family’s family.”

Cody couldn’t help but chuckle now, neither could I. Yeah, this was an ungodly mess but we’d figure it out. We always did.