Page 65 of Forbidden Rancher's Return
"Before. Daddy always did them before."
"Your daddy was wrong."
Beck's fork stops halfway to his mouth. He stares down at Rowan. Then at me. Then back at Rowan.
"You're going to stand in this kitchen and tell me my dead father framed a loft wrong."
"I'm going to sit in this kitchen and tell you the engineering is better if you set the rafters first. Your daddy was a great man. He was wrong about loft braces."
Beck's mouth opens. Closes. Opens again.
"Fine," he says. "But if it collapses, I'm telling everyone it was your idea."
"Fair."
I sit across from them both and drink my coffee and feel the house filling up with the sound of two men who are learning how to be in the same room again. Not smoothly. Not gracefully. But trying. And that's enough.
After dinner Beck lingers on the porch. I come out to find him leaning against the railing, looking out at the dark ridge.
I lean beside him.
We're quiet for a moment. The stream is faint through the trees. The burned frame sits dark and patient in the yard.
"You're happy," Beck says.
"Yes."
"First time in a while."
"Yes."
He's quiet again. His hands wrap around the porch railing.
"He's different than I expected," he says.
"Different how."
"Steadier. The boy I remember was all instinct. This one thinks three steps ahead." He pauses. "He's good for you. I'm not ready to say that to his face yet. But I'm saying it to yours."
My throat tightens. Not sadness. The other kind.
"Thank you," I say.
He claps me on the shoulder. Firm, quick. Gets in his truck. Pauses with the door open. He looks at me one more time.
"You picked a stubborn one," he says.
"Look who's talking."
His mouth curves. He pulls away down the ridge.
The yard is still and quiet.
I stand on the porch and look at the stars and the dark tree line and the place where the stream runs invisible through the night.
The screen door opens.
Rowan steps out. Hands me a mug. Coffee, hot, already knowing I'd want it. Stands beside me at the railing.
