Page 5 of Take Me Home

I shove my phone back into my jeans pocket, knowing I might not make it to breakfast next week, either. I haven’t made it to breakfast in almost a month.

Guilt stings with the response, though. It’s not like I’m the only one who’s busy. Owen is a contractor running his own business, and Jackson is a doctor. If they can make the time for breakfast once a week, I should, as well.

Swallowing down the uncomfortable feeling, I close my eyes and allow the frigid Montana air to blow across my face. It’s a cold October morning, but I welcome the cold breeze.

I take almost an hour loading up my farrier trailer for work at Whispering Pines Ranch, and once I’m closing the door of the trailer attached to my red Chevy pickup, I feel something rubbing up against my legs. I sniff out a laugh, reaching down to give the barn cat a pet. The calico rubs her head against my hand and releases a soft purr-meow.

“Mornin’, Calamity Jane,” I tell her as she follows me back up to the house.

When we reach the porch steps, she plants her furry ass on the ground and stares up at me. With a sigh, I pick her up and carry her up the steps to her small bowl of food where it rests on the wrap around front porch. “There you go, you lazy thing.”

She ignores my comment and digs into the food.

My gaze lands on the two empty rocking chairs nestled on the porch, and an ache hits my chest the way it always does.

This old farmhouse with its chipping paint, creaky floors, and gravel driveway holds so many memories. Two years ago, my parents would’ve been sitting in these rockers having coffee there together, watching the sunrise over the mountains. But I’ll never see that sight again.

Ignoring the ache in my chest, I ease back inside the warm house.

The smell of eggs, bacon, and coffee greets me. I tug off my boots and hang my hat on a hook before striding into the kitchen. I breathe a sigh of relief when I find Poppy and Tripp at the dining room table, waiting for me the way they do every morning.

“Good morning,” I say.

My sister echoes a groggy good morning back to me.

I move toward my five-year-old nephew, and he smiles up at me, the dimples in his cheeks popping.

Smiling back, I tousle his dark hair. He laughs and the sound momentarily makes me feel like I still have a heart inside my chest.

Poppy smiles at her son, then turns toward me. She braided her dark hair the way Mom used to wear hers. “Morning, Linc. I brewed the coffee extra strong today.”

“Just the way I like it. Thanks, Poppy,” I tell her before striding toward the coffeepot and pouring myself a cup from an old, cracked mug.

“Can I have coffee?” Tripp asks like he does every morning.

“No,” Poppy and I answer in unison.

Tripp pouts. “When can I finally drink coffee, Mama?”

I hold my hand up in an I got this gesture. “We’ve had this talk before, Bud.” I tug my shirt down just enough to show some chest hair. “Do you have any yet?”

Tripp pouts, pulling his shirt up to show his slightly rounded belly. “No chest hair yet.”

I exhale a dramatic sigh. “Sorry, I don’t make the rules.”

He furrows his eyebrows. “But Mama doesn’t have chest hair, and she drinks coffee.”

A spluttering sound echoes behind me, and I turn to see Poppy trying not to spew out her coffee as she stifles a laugh.

The stairs creek and seconds later my younger brother, Wayne, clomps inside the kitchen with a grin. He’s dressed and ready for the day in his Wranglers and a flannel work shirt. His brown hair is buzzed on the sides and trimmed short on the top. He must’ve just gotten his hair cut.

“Hey, Uncle Wayne, do you have chest hair?” Tripp asks, looking skeptical.

I snort a laugh, earning a glare from my brother.

He hikes his shirt up, and Poppy rolls her eyes. “Must we go through this every morning?” she mutters to herself.

“Of course I do. I’m a man,” Wayne answers Tripp in a growly voice.