Page 205 of Lost Then Found
“Boone,” I say, giving her a nod. “Nice to meet you.”
“Yeah, you too.” She tugs her boots on quickly, one after the other, then heads for the door, braid swinging behind her as she disappears outside.
Estelle walks back into the room, glass in hand, condensation dripping down the sides like it’s been sitting out on a July porch for hours. She hands it to me with that same bright smile she’s had since I walked in.
“Don’t mind her,” she says, sitting across from me again, smoothing the fabric of her jeans. “She’s a little wild thing sometimes.”
I take a sip, narrowing my eyes without meaning to. Hell. It’s too good. Ice-cold, tart, just enough sweet to take the edge off. I glance at the glass.
“Still trying to figure out what you put in this,” I say, tipping it toward her.
She grins. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”
“I would, actually. It’s better than my mom’s.”
She gasps, hand to her chest. “Boone Wilding, that’s a dangerous thing to admit.”
I shrug, taking another sip. “I’ll deny it if she asks.”
She lets out a warm laugh, then follows my eyes to the big family photo on the wall framed in thick oak.
“You’ve got a good-looking bunch,” I say, nodding toward it.
She follows my gaze, her face softening. “Thank you.”
“There’s…a lot of them.”
A low laugh escapes her, and she crosses her legs, settling into the chair like we’ve got time. “That’s what we’ve been told.”
“You always want this many?”
“Always,” she says, like there’s no question about it. “Grew up in a loudhouse, knew I wanted the same. Never wanted a quiet table. Never wanted a slow day.”
“Well,” I say, “looks like you got your wish. Can’t imagine growing up in this house.”
“Loud. Messy. Expensive,” she says, ticking them off like items on a grocery list. “But I wouldn’t change a thing.”
She stands and walks toward the photo, tapping the glass lightly. “You probably know Riley.”
“Yeah,” I say, smiling a little. “Hard not to. He’s a riot.”
She shakes her head fondly. “That boy’s got too much energy for one person. Works nights at The Lucky Devil, keeps the bar jumpin’, as he says.”
“Sounds about right.”
She shifts to the man beside him—taller, squared up, more serious. “That’s Sawyer. Our oldest. You two just missed each other in school, I believe.”
“I’ve seen him around,” I say. “Always figured he worked full-time here.”
She glances back at me. “He’s a veterinarian. Has his own practice down in Bozeman.”
My brows pull together. “Really?”
“Mm-hmm.”
I file that away, thinking on it. I know the vet scene around here like the back of my hand. When you’ve got livestock, there’s always something to deal with—busted hooves, colic, broken fences that end in broken bones. Doc Gordon’s been out to our place more times than I can count, and his daughter, Maddie, has stepped in and taken on most of his caseload since he’s started slowing down. But Sawyer Hart? Never heard his name in that rotation. Makes sense if he’s out of Bozeman, though.
Her finger moves to the next two in the photo. “That’s Emily—you met her—and that’s her twin brother, Nathan.”
