He got a pitchfork and went to work.

His muscles remembered.

He’d grown another inch since he’d left for college, and figured he’d topped out now at six-one. Since he worked part-time at a riding stable, he kept those muscles in tune, earned some money, and got to hang with horses.

When he wheeled the first barrow out, he’d fallen into the rhythm, a nineteen-year-old boy who’d finally grown into his feet, leanly muscled in jeans and a work jacket, his boots mucked and muddy.

One of the cows let out a long, lazy moo. His dogs wrestled over the tooth-pocked red ball. A pregnant mare swished her tail in the paddock. Smoke pumped out of the ranch house chimneys, and the sound of the sea came to him as clearly as if he’d sailed a boat over its waves.

In that moment, he was completely and utterly happy.

CHAPTER TWELVE

After breakfast, with the smell of bacon, coffee, pancakes on the griddle still in the air, Dillon had a vague plan to text his two local pals, see if they wanted to meet up later.

It would give him time to saddle Comet, take her out for a ride, maybe check some fencing.

The women in his life had other ideas.

“We’ve got something we need to talk to you about.”

He glanced over at his mother. She wiped down the counters and stove while he loaded the dishwasher. Gram—with the privilege of the breakfast cook—sat with another cup of coffee.

“Sure. Is something wrong?”

“Not a thing.”

She left it at that.

She had a way, Dillon knew, of saying exactly as much as she wanted to say, and leaving you wondering about the rest. Poking, prying, pleading, wouldn’t get another word out of her until she was damn good and ready.

So he finished loading the dishes.

Since he’d had enough coffee, he got a Coke. And since it seemed they were going to have a discussion, sat in Discussion Central.

The kitchen table.

“What’s up?”

Before she sat, Julia gave him a hug from behind. “I try not to miss this too much when you’re not here. The three of us sitting here after the morning work’s done, and before we tackle the rest.”

“I was going to take Comet out. She could use the exercise. I can check the fences. And I want to talk to you about maybe switching over to a floating diagonal system. Some of the posts we’ve got went in before I was born, and sure, it costs to put in a new system, but it costs to keep patching what’s just worn out. And isn’t as smart as it could be—environmentally or practically.”

“College boy.” Maggie sipped her coffee. She’d dyed a couple sections of her hair for the holidays, and sported a pair of braids—one red, one green—down the side.

“Yeah, I am, because my mother and grandmother made me.”

“I’ve got a fondness for college boys. Especially pretty ones like you.”

“We can talk about fencing,” Julia put in. “After you’ve run the numbers on it, come up with a cost for labor and material.”

“I’m working on it.”

And he hadn’t intended to bring it up until he had those numbers. He just hadn’t perfected his mother’s ability to hold back until complete.

But he was working on that, too.

“Good. I’ll be interested to see what you come up with. Meanwhile, Gram and I have some thoughts about the future. You’ve still got more college ahead of you, but time moves. You’ll have big decisions to make in just a couple more years.”

“I made that decision, Mom. That hasn’t changed. It’s not going to.”

She leaned toward him. “Owning, operating, running a ranch, being a steward for its animals, depending on its crops, it’s a rewarding life, Dillon. And it’s a hard one, demanding, physical. We didn’t push you into college only for the education, though that’s important. We wanted you to see other things, do other things, experience other things. To step out from the world we have right here, see what else there is.”

“And to get you out of a household where two women run the show.”

Julia smiled at her mother. “Yeah, that, too. I know—we know—you love this place. But I couldn’t let it be the only place you really know. You’re meeting different people now, people who come from different places, have other views, other goals. It’s an opportunity for you to explore possibilities, potential, beyond right here.”

He got a sick feeling in his gut, took a slow sip of Coke to settle it. “Do you want something different? Are you getting around to telling me you want to sell?”

“No. No, God. I just don’t want my son, the best thing I ever did in this world, to limit himself because he didn’t just look.”

“I’m doing okay in school,” he said carefully. “Some of it’s a lot more interesting than I thought it would be. And that’s outside the ag and ranch management courses. I like hanging out and talking about politics and what’s screwed up in the world. Even if a lot of it’s bullshit, it’s interesting bullshit. So that’s hearing other views. I see what some of the others are studying, what they’re working toward, and I can admire it.

“This morning, I was just standing outside for a few minutes. Just looking, and feeling. I’m never going to be that happy being somewhere else, doing something else. I know what I want. I’ll stick, and I’ll get my degree because it’ll only help me be a good steward. That’s what I’m working toward because that’s what I want.”

Julia sat back. “Your dad loved this ranch, and he would’ve given it all he could. But it never had his full heart like it had mine. And like it has yours. So okay.”

When she rose, walked out of the room, Dillon frowned after her. “Is that it?”

“No.” Maggie studied him. “That was some smart talking, my boy. She knows, and so do I, that came from the heart. When you left for college, your ‘I want the ranch’ talk was more a knee-jerk thing, more a stubborn thing.”

“I want it more now than I wanted it then.”

“That’s right.” She poked a finger into his shoulder. “Because a couple women bullied you into college.” She smiled as Julia came back in. “Now here’s a reward for not being too much of an asshole about it.”

Sitting, Julia laid a roll of paper on the table. “When you graduate, you’ll be over twenty, and a man of that age shouldn’t live in the house with his mother and grandmother. He should have some privacy, some independence.”

“And he shouldn’t have to tell the girl he hopes to get in his bed he lives with his mom,” Maggie put in.

“So, what, you’re kicking me out?”

“In a manner of speaking. We all work the ranch, we all live on the ranch, but . . .” Julia unrolled the paper. “We talked options to death and back again, and this is what we think is the best.”

Dillon studied the sketches—obviously professionally done, as he could see the architect’s stamp on the corner. He recognized the stables, but the drawing showed an addition on the far side.

“It’s a nice little house,” she explained. “Far enough away from the main house for privacy, but close enough to, well, come home. You can see from the potential floor plan, it’s got two bedrooms, two baths, a living room, a kitchen, a laundry.”