It’s built of deep reddish-brown boards that aren’t much different from the ones on the side of the barn. Yet the house is much grander in shape and scale, with tall doorways, those expansive windows giving views on all sides, and generous verandas encircling the house on all three levels.
Large, leafy trees shade the windows and the decks. A pretty old-fashioned swing hangs from the ancient oak closest to the front door.
I didn’t hear Raylan’s conversation with his family—I assume he called them while I was in the shower. But he promised that he warned them we were coming.
In a way, that’s worse. As we pull up to the house, I can see several other cars parked in the drive, like they’ve all gathered for dinner. I know they must be excited to have Raylan home. He told me he hasn’t been back to visit in over three years.
I feel like I shouldn’t be here for this reunion. This is too personal, too intimate.
Too late now, though. The door flies open and a short, deeply-tanned woman in jeans and a button-up shirt very like the one I’m wearing—though much more faded—comes hurrying out of the house. She’s limping, one foot in a walking boot, but that’s not really slowing her down that much.
She throws her arms around Raylan and squeezes him tight. She only comes up to his chest in height, but she looks strong and fit, her graying hair pulled back in a sensible low ponytail. Her nails are cut short and unpolished, and her small hands look highly capable as she grabs Raylan’s arms and pulls back to look up in his face. I can see that her eyes are just as bright a blue as her son’s.
“You look skinny,” she says, and she laughs.
Raylan isn’t skinny in the slightest. He’s broad-shouldered and muscular. But as his brother comes out of the house, I can see how Raylan would be considered skinny by comparison. His brother looks like a bear that learned to walk on its hind legs. He has a massive black beard and shoulder-length hair, and he’s three inches taller than Raylan and much broader. I can see the muscle in his arms and shoulders beneath his flannel shirt, but his bulk also includes a generous belly.
“RAYLAN!” he roars.
He throws his arms around both Raylan and his mom, squeezing them tight until his mother shouts, “Alright, don’t break my back, let me out of this hug!”
“Oh, sorry.” He grins, letting her go. “I didn’t even see you there, Ma.”
It is unbelievable that Raylan and his brother came out of this much smaller lady. Hard to imagine either of these men being little enough that she could hold them in her arms.
“You must be Riona,” Celia says, coming over to shake my hand.
Just as I expected, her grip is firm and competent. I can feel the calluses on her palm.
“Thank you for letting us come stay with you,” I say politely.
“This is Raylan’s home,” she says. “He’s never a visitor here.”
There’s no rebuke in her tone. Just a simple statement of fact.
“And you’re equally welcome,” she says to me kindly.
Grady isn’t content with a handshake. He pulls me against his broad chest for a hug. I usually would hate this—but despite his wild appearance, Grady smells nice, like soap and woodsmoke. And his grin shows slightly pointed incisors very like Raylan’s. I find myself liking him immediately, despite the fact that he’s loud and overly familiar, things I usually hate.
Raylan’s sister is the only one who hangs back in the entryway, watching us all silently.
She has thick, long, black hair like her brothers. But her complexion is darker—even more deep than her mother’s. Her eyes are brown, not Raylan’s blue. And she has none of her brothers’ laid-back charm. If anything, she looks fierce and a little bit wild. Like she doesn’t really want to be inside a house at all.
Raylan introduces us. “Riona, this is my little sister Bo.”
She watches me, unsmiling. Not holding out her hand to shake, her arms crossed firmly in front of her.
“Nice to meet you,” I say anyway, giving her a respectful nod.
I’m not offended when people aren’t friendly. Actually, it just mirrors how I feel inside myself. So I’m quite comfortable with it. Neither of us has to pretend.
“Come on in,” Celia tells us. “Dinner’s all ready.”
The interior of the ranch house is open and airy, not crowded and cozy as I expected. All the furniture is arranged to focus