“What are you doing with this thing anyway?” she asked as we stepped inside, peering into stall after empty stall.
“A few months from now, this’ll be a fully operational horse farm.” I glanced through the dust-specked streams of light, envisioning how it might look when it was all fixed up. “Going to breed some Tennessee Walking Horses. Maybe some Morgans and Fox Trotters.”
“What’s Cybil up to these days?” Dakota asked. She and Mama never hit it off that well, though it was nothing personal. Mama was too protective of her only son, and Dakota was too damn sensitive. All she ever wanted was for everyone to like her, and she never believed me when I told her most people didn’t even like themselves.
“She’s living in Louisville with Calista,” I said, referring to my oldest sister. “Calista’s married to some corporate attorney now and has a bunch of kids. They keep her and Mama busy.”
“How’s Ivy?” Dakota asked, tilting her head to the side as a two-second sweet smile claimed her mouth. Ivy always made everyone smile. “She and Addison sort of lost touch over the years.”
“Ivy,” I drew in a hard breath. “She’s hanging in there.” I glanced down at the worn toe of my boot. “She lost her husband in Iraq last year.”
Dakota’s face fell as she covered her heart with her hand, taking a step back.
“She’s a single mom now. Two kids. Miles and Gracie,” I said, scooping up a pitchfork full of stale, rotted hay and depositing it into a wheelbarrow just outside the barn. “They still live here in town. They come over quite a lot.”
Whether we liked it or not, we had a history that spanned most our lives. Our past was interwoven and tangled. Messy and complicated. She could act like she didn’t give a damn all she wanted, but I knew better.
“How’s Addison?”
“She’s getting married in a couple weeks,” Dakota said.
“You approve?” I cocked my head her way, lifting an eyebrow. Back in the day, Addison never did anything without Dakota’s consent. And Dakota governed over Addison’s life choices like the mother hen she was always forced to be on account of their own mother’s detached style.
“She’s a big girl. She can do what she wants.” Coco stepped carefully toward a rusting gate and took a seat on one of the paint-peeled bars. “I like him. He’s good for her. His dad’s a realtor here in Darlington if you ever need one.”
“Thanks for the recommendation, but I’ll be living out the rest of my days right here on this ranch.” I scooped up the last of the hay and leaned the pitchfork against the wall of the barn, dusting my hands across the thighs of my jeans before heading back outside.
“Where are we going?” She followed behind, watching carefully where she stepped the way she used to do. Old habits died hard.
“Inside for a glass of iced tea,” I said, striding toward the house. For every step I took, she took two. I’d forgotten how small she was compared to me.
I pulled the screen door open and held it for her, reaching down to greet old Ruby, who was sunbathing on the front porch. “Hey, girl.”
She licked my hand, her vibrant golden coat fading into a blast of white around her muzzle, like someone had blown a handful of dandelion seeds in her face.
“Is this…” Dakota stared hard at the aging puddle of golden retriever sitting by the front door. “This isn’t Ruby, is it?”
“It is.” I ruffled the top of Ruby’s head, and she smiled the way a senile dog might, pulling herself up and gimping after me as she followed us to the kitchen.
“How old is she now?” Dakota leaned down to pet Ruby, gently running her fingers through her soft fur.
“Eleven? Twelve, maybe?” I’d stopped counting the year her face turned white. I pulled two glasses from the cupboard and dropped a handful of ice in each.
Dakota couldn’t stop staring at Ruby. “I remember when you first got her. We picked her out together down at the Janssen’s farm.” Her voice faded out like a distant memory. “She fit in the palms of your hands.”
Ruby slowly lowered herself down, her fluffy tail wagging and sweeping the kitchen floor. She was going blind and probably couldn’t see Dakota, but she seemed grateful for the attention anyway.
I poured our tea and took a seat at the head of the table.
“We good on catching up?” she asked.
“My, my,” I took a sip of tea. “Someone’s trying to rush things. Don’t you know we do things a little slower out here? Or have you forgotten.”
She cracked a smile, but only for a moment. It faded fast as she settled back in her seat. “I’m only here a week, and we have lots to cover.” She sat the recorder in the middle of the table between us. “So, let’s just start from the beginning.”
Her light mood faded, taking Dakota with her, and judging by the newly hardened expression on her face, Coco the broadcast journalist had apparently stepped in to take over.
“The beginning as in…”
“Take me back to that first contract you signed,” she said, our eyes locking.
I lifted a single shoulder. “You were there. You could probably tell the story better than I could.”
She clicked off the recorder, her fingers fumbling in haste. “Beau, you need to leave me out of this. This is about you. Not me. Not us.”
“Impossible. You’re a part of this whether you like it or not.”