“Forty is old,” Preacher said as Jess turned to go down the road that led to the farmhouse and the cowboy cabins. “Oh, holy brands and saddles, stop the truck.” He hated that he was in the middle, because he needed to get out of the vehicle right now, moving or not.
“What?”
“Stop the truck,” Preacher said. “August, you better be unbuckling. That’s a 1966 Ford GT Coupe.” A red one. With the silver glinting in all this summer sunshine too. “She can’t have bought that for me.”
Jess brought the truck to a shaky stop, and August jumped down. Preacher slid over and out, moving toward the car sitting in front of his house as fast as he could move. “Zona!” he called. “Get out here!”
She came through his front door, his daughter on her hip. “You’re back.” She walked down the steps, her smile huge.
“Da dad,” Betty said, and Preacher took the little girl from his sister, their eyes meeting.
“Tell me you didn’t buy this for me.” It was too much. Way too much.
“It doesn’t run yet,” she said. “Don’t get all excited.” She bumped him softly with her hip. “I thought you and I could work on it together, the way we used to work on old stuff with Dad.”
He looked back at the car of all cars. It might not run yet, but they’d get it fixed up and when she could go, she’d purr like a kitten. “I’ll pay for all the parts.” He started around the car to examine what he’d be dealing with.
“I was counting on that,” Zona said after him. “Charlie has approved a space in your massive garage for us, but I wanted you to see it when you got back from your ride.”
“Thank you.” He looked over the top of the car and met his sister’s eyes. “This is incredible. Thank you.”
“Did he like it?” Charlie called down from the porch. She skipped down to him, and he went around the trunk of the car to give her a squeeze and kiss.
“He liked it,” Preacher said.
“Happy birthday, cowboy,” Charlie said, and Preacher kept her tucked into his side as he focused on the car again.
“It’s incredible,” he said. “I wish we weren’t in full summer swing so we could get started.”
Zona joined them and said, “We’ll find time. Even twenty minutes is twenty minutes, and it’s not work if it’s fun.”
“Tonight?” he asked, glancing from his wife to his sister. “I don’t think there’s any plans.”
“That’s where you’d be wrong,” Charlie said. “Your day is packed full, cowboy, and I can smell the peanut butter and chocolate on your breath, but you better not have eaten any lunch.”
“No?” He kissed his baby’s cheek. “Why’s that?”
“Because we’re having your favorite for lunch. Well, yours and Betty’s. It’s her birthday month too, you know.”
“So now I have to share my birthday with a baby?” he asked, clearly teasing his wife.
Charlie just beamed up at him and said, “Come get your chocolate-covered strawberries, and celebrate your daughter’s first birthday. I made everything myself.”
“I can’t wait,” he said, going with her. “Thank you, Charlie.” For everything. For how she’d taken care of him. For how she’d let him heal. For loving him even when he was very hard to love.
Chapter 31
Bishop Glover pulled up to his house, relief filling him. He loved coming home to his wife and son, both of whom had arrived ahead of him this evening. He’d stayed down on the construction site with Libby and Mister as he walked them through the timeline and schedule, which seemed to constantly change.
Montana, his wife, had left at least an hour ago, and she’d stopped by Holly Ann’s to get their son Robbie. Her truck, dusty as it was, sat out front, and Bishop ran his fingers along the side of it, getting plenty of dirt and grime.
Their sprinklers came on in the middle of the night to keep their patch of grass green, and that made for a muddy morning almost every day. He glanced past her truck to see if Ollie and Aurora were there, but the spot where they parked sat empty.
Rory was probably still doing her riding lessons, which went late on Thursday nights. Ollie, after he’d spent the day working down at Seven Sons, his family ranch, went to help her clean up faster.
So Bishop was anticipating finding his wife and son in the kitchen, where hopefully Montana hadn’t spent the last hour. Bishop had put a few chicken breasts