Page 23 of Dirty Ginger

Leaving him utterly speechless now, she exited the back door and made her way back to Sullivan and Mason. He processed what she’d told him. He had no idea that she wanted them to reunite. Or what he should do with that information.

Damn. He always thought Clara would want better for Amelia. He screwed up once before, and he’d never amounted to much since then— never competed professionally like he had planned or become wealthy. Though he supposed he should have realized that between Luka and him, Beckett was definitely a better match in every way that mattered.

When Beckett followed Amelia outside, Clara and Sullivan were saying their goodbyes with Mason giving Amelia a big squeeze.

“Bye, buddy,” Beckett said to him as Mason approached. He gave him a high five. “Kick butt at your game this weekend.”

Mason did a ninja move and yelled incoherent words before running toward the front of the house.

Clara shook her head at her retreating son. “I swear sometimes he’s living in a world entirely his own.”

“Not a bad thing,” Beckett said with a smile.

“No, it’s not,” Clara replied, then shocking him again, she hugged him. “Thanks again for your help today. We really appreciate it and won’t forget it anytime soon.”

“I’m glad to help,” he said, hugging her back.

He remained in a state of shock until Sullivan grinned at him, cupping his shoulder. “Let’s get a beer and wings before I head back to Boston.”

“Just let me know when,” Beckett said.

“Done,” Sullivan said.

By the time Sullivan left the backyard, Nash’s cowboys started to leave too. They laughed as they made their way to their trucks, their bellies full from the dinner Amelia and Clara cooked for them, as well as the couple beers as a thank you. Of course, Amelia sent them all home with a case of Foxy Diva too.

“Stay for a fire?”

Beckett turned around, finding Amelia smiling behind him. “Sure thing,” he said. He grabbed another beer from the cooler, his last one for the evening. After a long sip, he set his bottle on the bench, then grabbed the axe, cutting up some wood while Amelia gathered the kindling and started the fire.

“I heard about your dad,” she said, as the kindling began to burn.

“Not much of a surprise. I’m sure the whole town is talking about it.” Beckett knelt next to her and placed three logs in a teepee formation around the kindling.

Her gaze met his, understanding there. “Days connected to your mom always seem so hard on him.”

It surprised him Amelia remembered his mother’s birthday. “They are,” he agreed, moving to the Adirondack chair and stretching out his legs as smoke bellowed from the logs. “Luckily he didn’t cause too much trouble. Just passed out in the park.”

“That’s good,” she said, taking the seat next to him. “He never could find his way home, huh?”

Beckett took a long sip of his beer before placing it on the armrest. “Nope, never could.” Sometimes he wondered what went through his dad’s head, but he didn’t like being in that space long. He’d lost Amelia, he knew what that felt like, but he was only looking toward the future now.

“Besides that,” said Amelia, drawing his attention back to her. “How’s your dad doing?”

Beckett shrugged. “He’s existing.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“He’s not really living,” Beckett explained as the fire crackled, the logs finally catching. “All he does is wake up, work and then watch television.”

Amelia slowly shook her head, obvious disappoint on her expression. “The whole thing is still so sad. So much loss.”

Beckett nodded agreement, looking into the blazing fire. “It’s sad, yes, but it’s also a battle you can’t win.” He tried for years to get his father help with his all-consuming grief, but when Beckett realized he’d lost everything that mattered, that his father wanted to stay under that dark cloud of despair, he had to stop trying to help his father and accept that Jim didn’t want to be saved.

“Do you ever wonder what life would have been like if the accident didn’t happen?”

“Yeah,” Beckett said, a lump rising in this throat. “I used to think about that a lot. I suspect I’d be a pro in the rodeo, and you’d be—”

She gave a soft smile, the words hanging between them—my wife.

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