Page 17 of Festive Faking
It took everything in my power not to laugh at how freely she spoke. It was refreshing as hell.
Meemaw tapped her temple, speaking to Aspen. “Up here, I’m still twenty-one. You’ll see. Goes by faster than you think.”
I flashed her a charming grin as I dropped my hand more firmly onto Aspen’s shoulder, pulling her closer into my side. “Noted. We’ll make sure to make the most of every moment, won’t we, honey?”
Aspen offered me a non-committal hum.
Beaming at me, Meemaw clasped both hands together and brought them to her chest. “I can’t tell you how happy it makes me to see my grandbaby in love. Truth be told, I never thought I’d get the chance to be a meemaw. I put all my eggs into one basket with Jett here.” She threw a thumb in his direction. “He tried to get himself killed more times than I can count. And until he met Daisy, the boy was adamant he wasn’t the settling-down type.”
With the attention on him, Jett shuffled uncomfortably in his seat, but I could see the love shining in his eyes when he gazed upon his wife. They’d found something special if they were able to make a marriage last for what had to be close to thirty years.
“Now, don’t you two go wastin’ any time. I’d love to see a great-grandbaby or two before I leave this Earth.”
Aspen sucked in a sharp breath, but I leaned into it, offering the elderly woman a mock salute. “We’ll try to do you proud, ma’am.”
Bringing both hands to her face, the girl by my side groaned. “Oh my God.”
I was fully aware that I was staring down a second straight night sleeping on the cabin’s hardwood floor, but it was worth it.
Chapter 7
Aspen
Was I avoiding Macwhen I slipped out of bed before dawn, tacked my horse, and rode her hard across the frost-tipped grass until we were both breathless? Absolutely.
My lips still tingled from that kiss, the skin around them mildly abraded from the roughness of his stubble. I couldn’t stop thinking about it, and I was hoping the crisp morning air would help clear my head.
No such luck.
While our land was fenced in, the bucking horses we bred for competition were allowed to roam freely. The only time a rider sat atop them was during those few seconds a brave rodeo cowboy hopped on and hung on for dear life. The Sullivan Ranch was well-known for producing some of the most spirited broncs in the state, and more often than not, a rider landed on their ass in the dirt before the eight-second timer buzzed. It made our stock more desirable for event organizers because crowds loved a good show.
The rising sun’s warmth caressed my face as I gazed lovingly at a mare and her foal from a distance.
“You’re up early.” My father’s gruff voice sounded from behind me as he brought his horse to a stop alongside mine.
“Doesn’t take long to end up back on ranch time.” Those employed by the ranch were up and working hours before daybreak without complaint.
He grunted his agreement.
I blew out a breath so heavy it hung in the air like a cloud. “I miss it out here.”
Daddy hummed as he nodded. “I once thought I wanted more than this small town had to offer. I craved adventure, excitement, and seein’ the world.”
“Do you regret giving it all up?” I was referring to his days as a rodeo cowboy, riding the same kind of horses we now bred.
Placing one hand on the pommel, he turned in the saddle to face me fully. His lips twisted to the side. “Not as much as I regret seein’ your mama cry every time I got hurt.”
I’d heard stories about the final injury that had convinced him to stop competing. It wasn’t pretty.
“It feels like my heart is split in two. Half of it stays here when I’m in LA.”
His chuckle was deep. “That’s what they call having roots, darlin’.”
“I know. It’s just . . . harder than I thought it would be,” I admitted.
“You’re welcome to come home anytime you want. Our door’s always open.”
The idea of coming home for good was appealing. Sure, I complained about having no privacy and town gossip running wild like a brush fire, but the sense of community was a comfort. When I arrived in LA eight years ago, I’d learned quickly thatit didn’t exist in a big city. Now that Bex was in Chicago, I was lonelier than ever—a nameless face amongst the millions.
