Page 128 of Promised to the Cowboy

I once believed my heart was the worst thing about me. The broken thing. The price everybody else paid.

But it brought me here.

To her.

To our girl.

To my father standing outside the door, waiting to be invited back in.

Maybe a heart does not have to be perfect to do its job. Maybe it only has to keep choosing.

Chapter 29

Gabriel

Eight weeks later

“Put it down,” my father says, stepping through the open barn door, carrying two coffees. He’s wearing the expression he’s perfected over the last eight weeks—the one that says I’m a grown man incapable of keeping myself alive without direct supervision.

I look at the length of pine I’m holding. “It weighs twelve pounds.”

“Fifteen.”

“You weighed it?”

“I know lumber.”

“You fly helicopters.”

“I also know lumber.”

Dad waits.

He’s become good at that. Not patience exactly. Jacob Sutton has never been patient in his life. But he’s learned not to walk away when I make things difficult.

“I’m cleared for twenty pounds,” I say.

“You’re cleared for twenty pounds once. Not twenty pounds every five minutes because you think arithmetic makes disobeying the cardiologist legal.”

I look at the length of pine. Fifteen pounds might be generous. Thirteen, maybe. Fourteen at most.

Behind me, Chance shifts inside her stall, blowing a quiet breath through her nose as if she’s also expressing her disapproval.

“I’ve moved three boards.”

“Four,” Dad corrects.

“You counting?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because your brother put me in charge.”

“Which one?”

“Both.”