Page 160 of Lost Then Found
His hand stays anchored at my waist. His eyes are locked on mine, heat still burning behind them.
I clear my throat, trying to act like I’m still in control of any part of myself. “Pretty sure you’re not supposed to kiss your student, cowboy.”
Boone just grins, thumb brushing along my hipbone like he’s not ready to let go. “Guess I’m not big on rules.”
I shake my head, trying not to smile, gripping the rope like it might keep me grounded. “Let’s see if I can actually land this thing now.”
Boone steps back, arms crossed, watching me like I just became the most interesting thing on the ranch.
I exhale, roll my shoulders, and swing the rope.
It sails clean through the air and lands squarely around the post—tight, perfect, like I knew what I was doing the whole time.
Boone throws both arms in the air. “That’s my girl!”
Hudson jumps up like his team just won the World Series. “Mom! That wassick!”
My smile stretches wide, chest tight with something warm and stupidly soft. The pride in Hudson’s voice. The way Boone’s looking at me like I’m his whole world. It hits me harder than it should.
And then a voice cuts through the air.
“I hope I’m not interrupting.”
We all turn.
Molly’s standing at the edge of the yard, red hair twisted up in a claw clip, one brow arched in amusement. Her eyes flick from me to Boone, and her smile says everything she’s not about to say out loud.
“Grandma!” Hudson turns toward the house, beaming. “Did you see that? Mom just roped the post like a total badass.”
“Hudson!” I gasp, narrowing my eyes at him. “Language!”
Molly laughs and walks toward us, hands tucked into the pockets of her apron. “I sure did. You’re lucky I wasn’t out here—I would’ve shown you both up.”
Boone chuckles. “That, I believe.”
She rests a hand on Hudson’s shoulder, brushing the hair from his forehead. “Dinner’s ready. Come on up when you’re done playing cowboy.”
Boone glances over at me. “What do you think? Stay?”
I nod, but hold up a finger. “Hang on.”
I cross to my bag and dig through it, fingers closing around the stack I’ve carried with me for weeks now. Photos. The edges worn soft from flipping through them too many times. I turn, step toward Molly, and press them gently into her hands.
“I want you to have these.”
Her expression softens. She takes the pictures, her fingers careful as she flips through the first few.
Hudson in every stage—chubby baby cheeks, gap-toothed smiles, birthday hats and superhero masks, dirt smudged and sticky-fingered and so very him.
“I know I can’t give you the years back,” I say, my voice quieter now, tight with nerves. “I know I can’t fix what was missed. But I can give you these.”
She looks up at me with glassy eyes, then without a word, wraps her arms around me. Pulls me in tight. Warm and strong. Familiar in a way that lodges something thick in my throat.
“Oh, little bird,” she whispers, her voice cracked with emotion. “You don’t know what this means to me.”
My breath catches at the nickname. I haven’t heard it in years.
She pulls back just enough to swipe under her eyes, still laughing softly. “Why is Hudson in a Spider-Man costume in half of these?”
