Page 215 of Lost Then Found
By the time we’ve got the horses tacked up, I’m breathing like I just ran a damn marathon. My shirt sticks to my back, sweat dripping down my spine, and my thighs already have that familiar ache I forgot came with riding hard.
Wren, meanwhile, looks like she could’ve just stepped off of amagazine cover—barely flushed, not even winded, brushing a stray piece of hay off her shoulder with a grin like the ride was nothing more than a light jog.
“Remind me to never race you again,” I mutter, wiping the back of my hand across my forehead as we walk up the gravel drive toward the Main House, boots crunching with each step.
“I’ll remind you tomorrow when you’re walking like you’ve been hit by a truck,” Wren says, stretching her arms overhead, joints cracking. “You went soft.”
I scoff. “I had other things going on.”
“Uh-huh.”
Inside, the air conditioning hits my face like a small miracle. I peel off my sweat-soaked flannel and hook it over my arm, already eyeing the fridge for something cold to drink when Hudson barrels into the room, socked feet sliding on the hardwood.
“Mom!” Hudson bursts through the front door just as I’m toeing off my boots, his voice loud enough to echo down the hallway. He’s grinning, out of breath, cheeks flushed with excitement. “Youhaveto come see what me and Grandma built!”
Wren steps in behind me, raising an eyebrow. “Built? That’s either promising or terrifying.”
Hudson barely hears her—he’s already grabbing my hand, tugging me toward the living room like whatever it is can’t wait another second. “Come on, before it falls over.”
I glance at Wren. “Should I be worried?”
“Always.”
Hudson’s practically vibrating with energy as we turn the corner, and then I see it—a massive fort taking up half the living room. Blankets, couch cushions, chairs dragged from the kitchen, and Molly’s fingerprints all over the organized insanity that this is. There’s even a handmade sign taped to the front:No Adults Allowed (Besides Grandma).
“Ta-da!” Hudson throws his arms out, clearly proud. “It’s a base. We’ve got snacks inside and a whole escape tunnel behind the couch.”
I blink, taking it all in. “How long did this take?”
“Hours,” he says, already crawling back inside. “But it was worth it. Grandma says we’re not allowed to take it down until tomorrow.”
Wren whistles low under her breath. “Impressive. Bet it’s more structurally sound than some of the barns out back.”
Molly steps out of the kitchen in her apron, holding a tray piled high with brownies, the ones that are thick and gooey in the middle, edges just crisp enough to hold their shape. The smell hits instantly—chocolate, sugar, butter—and Hudson lets out a dramatic gasp like she’s just walked in holding gold.
“Yes!” he yells, throwing his fists in the air. “These are my favorite.”
Molly grins, setting the tray on the coffee table right beside the blanket fort. “I know. That’s why I haven’t let Wren anywhere near them yet. They’re hers, too.”
Hudson looks smug, already reaching for one, while Wren saunters up, eyeing the plate like a lion sizing up a steak.
“Come on, just one,” Wren says, leaning over the tray.
Molly smacks her hand with the spatula she must’ve brought just for this purpose. “Hands off. They’re for Hudson.”
Wren recoils, scandalized. “The whole plate? You’re spoiling him.”
Hudson sticks his tongue out at her, half a brownie already stuffed in his mouth. “You’re just mad becauseI’mthe favorite now.”
Wren steps forward and flicks his forehead hard enough to make him squawk, crumbs flying. “Keep dreaming, kid.”
I watch it all unfold, heart tight in a way I didn’t expect. The banter, the teasing, the way Hudson glows being the center of their attention—it’s not just noise and laughter. It’s family. Real, messy, alive.
“He’s never going to want to go back home now,” I say, half-joking as I lean against the wall, but it comes out quieter than I meant. Molly hears me anyway, eyes meeting mine across the room.
“Thisisone of his homes now,” she says simply, brushing her hands off on her apron.
Something in me catches. That ache—the one I’ve been carrying since the day Hudson was born, wondering if I could ever give him more thanjust me—flickers into something else. Something softer. He has more now. He hasthem.These people who love him without question, who feed him brownies and build forts and flick his forehead like he’s always been theirs.
