Page 77 of Wild and Wrangled

“And?”

“And it was nice.”

“A ringing endorsement coming from you.” When I looked up, Amos was giving me a pointed look. “I’ve been hearing a lot about you and Dusty lately.”

“That’s because this family loves to talk,” I said with a laugh.

“Exactly,” Amos said. “And as much as you all love to talk, I love to listen. So”—Amos clapped his hands together—“talk.”

I looked at Amos, this father figure whom I loved and respected so dearly. He was looking at me like I wished my dad would—with care and hope and interest. He really wanted to know.

So I talked.

“Dusty and I have got this convoluted history. I guess sometimes it feels like the sun and other times feels like a storm cloud…”

Amos nodded as if he completely understood. “And where does the gala fit into that?”

“Well, I knew I was going to have to see my parents, and he makes me feel brave. He’s always been my friend before anything else, and that’s what we’ve been trying to be again—friends.”

“So last night felt like the sun?”

I took a deep breath. “Actually,” I said, “it felt bigger than both of those things.”

“Ah,” Amos said with a knowing smile. I wasn’t sure what he knew, though, because I felt like I didn’t know a damn thing.

“What does that mean?” I asked.

“History is just one part of that analogy, Cam. Sure, you’vegot the sun and the storm clouds, but what about the dirt under your feet? The rain on your skin? Fresh air in your lungs?”

The fresh air in my lungs.

“So if everything about you and Dusty is starting to feel bigger, maybe that’s because it is. It’s not just about your history anymore because you’ve started to build on and around it. Your history is still part of this picture, but it’s less important than where you are now. There’s a reason that rearview mirrors are small and windshields are big.”

I dropped my head onto my forearms and sighed.

“You’re very wise,” I mumbled into the table.

I felt one of Amos’s weathered hands rub at my shoulder. “That’s what they tell me,” he said, and then he tapped on my head a few times. I lifted it, so I could look him in the eye. The gleam in his eye was gone. Now, he looked almost somber. “And I know it’s different, but if I had a second chance to be with the person who felt like the sun and rain and air and everything, I would take it without another thought.”

I put my hand over the one that was on my shoulder. “It is different,” I said quietly.

“But it all comes down to the same thing,” Amos said. “A mark on your heart and soul that refuses to fade, no matter how much time passes or how much you think you’ve changed.” I thought of my “T” tattoo, Dusty’s physical mark on me. But Amos was right; this mark went a lot deeper. Amos continued: “People, and our feelings for them, stick with us for a reason, Cam.”

“And what if it goes wrong?”

Amos let out a half laugh. “And what if it doesn’t?”

“Touché,” I said. “I just don’t quite know how to reconcileour past with a possible future, I guess. I haven’t really dealt with that.”

“There’s always the possibility of things going wrong, Cam. That’s what makes love a risk, but there’s just as much of a possibility of things going right.” Easy for him to say—he wasn’t the reason things went wrong in the first place.

“How did you know?” I asked. “That Stella was the one for you?”

Amos looked at me thoughtfully. “I adored her from the start, and I wanted to know everything about her for the rest of forever—who she was then, who she would be later. I just wanted to exist in her orbit.

“I called my brother from a pay phone outside the diner right after I met her and told him I’d found the girl I was going to marry.”

“Are you serious?” I said, my voice full of doubt.

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