Page 37 of Huckleberry Hill
I looked at him. “What about you, Dad? Are you happy?”
“Am I happy,” he repeated. “Million-dollar question, huh? I get to wake up every day doing what I love. One of my daughters came home. Now, if we could get your sister here, I’d want for nothing.”
It was on the tip of my tongue to ask about his romantic life, but if I didn’t want him prying into mine, I couldn’t be a hypocrite and pry into his. So, I kept my thoughts to myself.
“I’d love it if Salem came home to stay. And if I’m honest about it, I’d love it if she brought Poet and Wyn and the four of us lived here forever.” I smiled. “You’d love that wouldn’t you?”
“I would, yeah.” Dad grinned back. “You four would cause a ruckus. Shake up this little town for sure.”
“You make it sound like we’re living Footloose,” I said with a laugh.
“I saw that musical,” Dad drawled. “When your high school put it on, remember?”
“Oh, I remember.” I laughed.
Two boys had gotten into a fight over Salem. Fists went flying and one of them had gone through the set piece. The curtain had come down early.
“What’s even more hilarious is that the school let her be in the musical the next year despite the chaos she created,” I said.
“It’s endearing chaos, apparently.”
I stood up. “I bet the chickens are hungry.”
“Probably,” he said, also rising. “I’m going to check on the new mare. She’s due to give birth any day now.”
“I was going to take Goldie out for a ride. Is that okay?” I asked.
He frowned. “Of course that’s okay. Why wouldn’t it be okay?”
“Because she’s Mom’s horse.”
Dad’s eyes softened. “And she would love nothing more than for you to ride her. I sure as hell don’t ride her enough.”
Or at all.
He couldn’t bring himself to.
“Goldie needs some spoiling,” Dad said. “It’s good you’re home to do it. Just do me a favor. Don’t ride the trails alone. Not until we have a handle on the bear situation.”
“Any sighting of it?” I asked.
He shook his head. “No. Nothing on the trail cams either.”
The mention of trail cams made me think of Declan and the cup of coffee he’d offered me yesterday morning. I never did return his mug.
“To the chicken coop,” I stated.
I kissed my father’s cheek and then I headed inside. I set my half-drunk cup of coffee into the sink, grabbed Declan’s mug from the dish drain, and went out front.
The ranch was stirring to life. I waved to the few men I saw on horseback who were riding the opposite direction of the house, no doubt to check on fences and the grazing livestock.
I marched up to the guest cabin and knocked on the door. There was no answer, but I knew Declan was home because his muddy cowboy boots were lined up next to the welcome mat.
I knocked again, louder this time. When it was clear he wasn’t going to answer the door, I decided to leave the mug on his doormat. I was just setting it down when the door opened—my gaze immediately meeting a pair of bare shins.
My eyes traveled upward to take in a wet, nearly naked Declan who was currently wearing nothing but a towel.
A towel and a smirk.
