Page 70 of Awaiting the Storm
I raise a brow. “Lighter?”
“Happier,” she clarifies. “Like something’s shifted. Things at Ironhorse going that well?”
“They are,” I admit, reaching for my glass. “Better than I expected. Holland’s given me a lot of room to run. I’m getting the hang of the ranch and getting to know all the employees. He has a good, solid team. They were a little standoffish at first, but I think I’ve charmed them around.”
She smiles. “I had no doubt you would.”
“We’re about to expand. Closed on the land for it yesterday. Adding another arena and building a huge training facility.”
She nods. “Well, that sounds exciting. I’m proud of you.”
That hits me harder than I expected. “Thanks, Mom.”
There’s a pause, and then she says, “So, you’re staying for sure?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Her smile widens. “Does that mean you’ll be putting down roots?”
The last time I visited, we discussed how, if things worked out at Ironhorse, I planned to buy my own property and settle down.
I laugh softly. “Yeah, I’ve been looking. Nothing official yet, but there are a few parcels I’ve had my eye on. Couple south of Ironhorse. One a little closer to here.”
She sips her wine. “You still want to build?”
I nod. “Eventually. I want a place that’s mine. Not a manager’s cabin. Not a rented house or apartment. Something I plan every speck of and build from the ground up.”
Her eyes warm. “And you want it close to Ironhorse?”
“And to you,” I say quietly. “Big enough for a second little place if you ever decide you want out of that old farmhouse.”
“For me?”
“Yes, ma’am. I’m considering a few hundred acres. That’s a lot of space. We could build something that’s entirely yours—close enough for me to drop by for your cooking a couple of nights a week, but far enough away that we both have our privacy,” I explain.
She studies me for a moment. “I might be open to that. Someday.”
“Yeah?” I grin. “I’ll hold you to that.”
“Good. Now, out with the rest,” she says as she picks up her fork.
I furrow my brow. “The rest?”
She lifts her eyes to mine as she takes a bite of fish. “Yes. Spill. Because I know there’s something else on your mind. You didn’t just come out here to talk about ranch business and real estate.”
I lean back in my chair and exhale.
She knows me too well.
“There’s a woman,” I say finally.
Her eyes light up like Christmas. “I knew it. I knew that look wasn’t just about sealing some big deal. Tell me everything.”
And so I do.
I tell her all about Maitland Storm—how she grew up on and now runs the neighboring ranch, the impact of her mother’s passing, and the way she rides Luna as if she were born in the saddle. How she’s proud, stubborn, and the most capable woman I’ve ever met. I tell her about the big, lively Storm family—her sisters, grandparents, and father, all of whom still live in that ranch house. I talk about the weight she carries but refuses to let show, the walls she has built around herself, and how, little by little, I feel like I’m getting past them.
I leave out the part about her coming undone in my truck. My mother does not need to know that detail.
