Page 98 of Duke
My chest squeezes when I imagine those two loving up on a newborn. The ranch would be a pretty damn great place to raise kids. The isolation would be hard in the beginning, but I imagine a childhood spent running wild, riding on horseback, and learning a trade that goes back generations would be nothing short of magical.
It’d be so different from the way I was raised.
“But you and Cash knew you wanted babies right away.” I pick up my grilled cheese. “Why? How?”
Mollie grabs her sandwich too and takes a thoughtful bite. “As cliché as it sounds, it just felt right. I never imaginedfalling in love with someone and marrying them and then getting pregnant would happen so quickly. But before coming to Hartsville…” She takes a breath, lets it out. “I was really unhappy. Well, unhappy in some areas of my life.”
“I remember.”
“When I got here, got to know Cash—it was like the world cracked open. I understood myself and my dreams in a way I never had before.”
“Yes.”Yes.
“And I realized that some of the dreams I’d always had weren’t actually making me very happy. It was the worst, best surprise ever. So I ditched those dreams, kept some others, and got a few new ones.”
“Your story is beautiful. Just like you.” I toss the last bit of crust into my mouth. I hadn’t realized how bad I felt until just now, physically and emotionally. Because all of a sudden, I feelsomuch better.
The powers of grilled cheese. And a guy’s thoughtfulness. And a friend’s wisdom.
I’m not glad I got pregnant, but I am glad to be here right now. In a room with my best friend on a beautiful ranch that’s run by indecently good-looking, deeply kind cowboys.
“You can make your story beautiful too, Wheeler.”
The light in my center dims. I’m coming around to the idea that it’s possible—probable, even—that I won’t repeat my parents’ patterns, whether I have this baby or not. But me deserving happiness?
Deserving a guy like Duke?
Something inside me still balks at that.
“Remember when you first pulled into town?” I say with a laugh. “We were on the phone, and you told me you swore you saw Buffalo Bill or whoever getting off his horse. You thought you’d gone back in time.”
It’s an obvious change of subject, but Mollie doesn’t call me out on it.
Instead, she laughs too. “That was Wyatt. He was collecting his poker money at the Rattler.”
“Little did you know he’d end up being the best man at your wedding.”
“Small world.”
“Small town.”
Mollie’s smile touches her eyes. “Since when are you a cheeseball?”
“The baby,” I say, patting my own stomach. “It’s making me stupid.”
“Hm.” Mollie taps a finger against her chin. “Better answer: it’s the guy who put that baby in your belly who’s making you so adorably mushy.”
I grab a tissue to wipe my hands. “I don’t do mushy.”
“But you are doing mushy. Right now, I see it. And it looks good on you.”
I don’t want to smile, but I do.
That keeps happening. Why is my first impulse to fight good feelings? Maybe I don’t trust them. Or, more likely, I don’t believe I deserve good things, period.
That’s ignorance talking.
“I heard back from Rory,” I say. He’s our master boot maker out in San Antonio. He’s the guy who turns our designs into reality: he’ll handcraft several samples of each of our boots until we’re all obsessed with the result.
