Page 44 of Rust and Bloom

"Agreed."

Colt is already haulin' his cooler toward us with the singular focus of a man who has made his decision and is not entertaining discussion. He's got that forward lean to him, shoulders set, boot heels hitting gravel like punctuation marks. Done. Finished. Not one more minute of this.

"I guess this is goodbye," I say, and I mean it with my whole heart, because this day has been something I didn't know I needed until it was nearly over. "I had a lovely day, Destiny. Truly. Thank you for comin' out with me."

"Good luck with that test." Her warmth is genuine and unperformed. "I hope you are. Wouldn't it be something, raisin' kids up together?"

And God, wouldn't it. I hold the picture of it for just a moment—the ranch house loud and full, little feet on the wide-plank floors, the mess and noise of a life that actually belongs to somebody.

"I would love that more than I can say." I hold up a hand before she can qualify it, before she can remind me of the conditions, the distance, the whole complicated geography of the life she's still buildin'. "I know you're not comin' home until things are right. That's fine. That's more than fine. We have time, and nothin' worth havin' needs to be rushed."

Colt reaches the car and he's already talkin' when the back hatch lifts up. "Don't ask," comes out first. "On the bright side, he didn't hit me. But on the dark side, I don't like him."

"You don't have to like him, Colt," Destiny says, and there's a patience in her voice that sounds like something she learned the hard way. "But ya do have to deal with him."

And then, with the grace of a woman who has survived more difficult conversations than this one, she pivots entirely. "How many glorious trout did you catch?"

"Enough that I quit countin' and started lyin'." It comes out low and grumbled, the way Colt says most things he doesn't want examined too closely.

Destiny catches my eye across the seat and I catch hers, and there's a whole conversation in that half-second—something fond and weary and a little bit amused, the kind of look that only happens between women who've spent the day earnin' it.

I reach for the door handle. "Well," I say, "I better go inside."

"Thanks, Savannah." Destiny's voice follows me out into the evening air, warm and unhurried. "See ya soon. Tell Legion I said bye!"

Colt shuts the hatch and I lean in toward the window for one last look at Marigold, who is asleep the way only new babies sleep. I press my fingertips to the glass, just briefly, and then I straighten. "I will."

I turn to Colt and I look at him. "Thank you. For today."

He grumbles something, but he opens his arms anyway, and the hug he gives me is quick and at a slight angle because he knows he smells like fish and creek mud. But it's still a hug.

"Take care," he says, into the top of my hat. "And thanks for comin' all this way. Everything's been sorted, so don't go losin' sleep over whatever you think happened between Legion and me. It was words. Just words."

"Hmm," I say. "He's pretty good with words."

Colt actually laughs at that—a real one, surprised out of him, and it softens his whole face for half a second into something that almost looks like the brother I grew up with. "That he is."

Then he tips his hat at me, just once—the kind of gesture that's half goodbye and half punctuation. He gets in the passenger side and pulls the door shut behind him without another word.

I watch them go. The SUV rolls down the gravel drive easy and unhurried and I stand there watchin' until it disappears behind the aspen grove.

Then I go inside.

Legion is kickin' back on the couch when I come through the door—shirtless, jeans, barefoot, the whole picture of a man who has decided the world can wait. He's got a plate balanced on his lap, a sandwich in his hand, and the TV is on some motocross channel with the volume turned all the way down, so the bikes just arc and spin in silence like something from a dream.

He puts the plate down when he sees me and gets to his feet. "Thank fuckin' God," he says. "You're back."

And I smile at that. A real one because he says it like he actually means it. But also because he and Colt are more alike than they'll ever admit.

"Did you have a nice time?" I ask sweetly, because I already know the answer and I am enjoying every last syllable of not knowin' it out loud.

"Oh, it was fuckin' lovely, Savannah. Just fuckin' lovely. Standin' in the goddamned freezin'-ass water for hours. Flickin' a fuckin' rod back and forth. Catchin' twigs, and leaves, and moss. Fuckin' brilliant time. Abso-fuckin'-lutely had the time of my life."

I press my lips together and manage not to laugh. Barely.

"Just wait until Cash takes you huntin'."

He points at me as he crosses the room. "You know, Cash is the better Ashby brother here. I hate to say it." He stops. Seems to genuinely reckon with this. "It kills me to fuckin' say it. But I kinda like Cash."