“No, honey. You’re a good person. You’re a person who puts your own life at risk to search for our dog. You’re the person who did everything they could to work things out. You’re the person who’s brought light back into our lives, who has brought us together and showed us what a happy life could be like.”
“I don’t deserve you,” I say softly. “I don’t deserve any of you.”
“Yes, you do.” It’s Scott that barks those words with a voice filled with determination. “You had no idea that the threats Jethro made were anything more than just a bitter man airing his grievances. I wouldn’t have taken him seriously either if I were you. We know who you are, baby. We know that you aren’t responsible for any of this…we know that it wasn’t your fault.”
“You don’t understand how worried we were when we couldn’t find you. We thought maybe someone had kidnapped you as part of this vendetta. We searched everywhere, but then Big Boy started toward your farm, and we followed him. It took ages…man he’s slow…but he got us here in the end,” Sawyer says.
“You’re coming home with us,” Cash adds firmly. “And I want you to promise something.”
“What?” I ask, sniffing.
“You’ll never leave us again. I mean, ever.”
Is he serious? Are they all serious? They don’t blame me, and they want me to go back to Flint House and never leave.
My heart feels like a balloon, inflating and floating from my chest with happiness even more exuberant for the sorrow that was there before. My smile is face-splittingly huge, and at our feet, Big Boy whines his approval.
“Come on,” Cash says, starting to walk with me still cradled like a bride in his arms. “Let’s get you home.”
Home.
That word settles inside me like warm hot chocolate on a cold winter’s day. The home behind me is gone, but the home in front of me is warm and welcoming, a haven of forgiveness and acceptance.
I thought I’d lost everything. I thought these five ranchers were ruthless and unfeeling. I didn’t believe I’d find a future that would ever match my past, but I have.
Five men have shown me that the future can be bright.
Five men want to take me back to their house and never let me go.
And maybe, just maybe, I want to let them.
32
We don’t clean up the house that night. Someone has mended the front door enough to secure it, and we all walk through the wreckage of the kitchen and up the stairs as though nothing is amiss. I guess nothing that matters really is.
Big Boy slumps into his bed, happy to be home, and I feel the same.
I don’t ask about what happened after I left. I assume that the cops have arrested Jethro and his wayward family members, and I’ll find out more tomorrow when daylight illuminates this house and we all awake to a new day.
But now, there is something more pressing.
I know they’re thinking it too.
We were almost broken. Circumstances got the better of us and fractured this relationship we’ve been building, and now we need to mend the breaks and re-establish the bond.
Cash leads me to my room, the only one where the mattress is still in place on the bed and the covers are neatly arranged. All the discarded clothes are packed into my suitcase. Scott places it by the dresser where it rested earlier.
In here, things feel orderly and calm, but inside I’m anything but. My heart is pounding, and butterflies seem to be trying to escape from my belly. Gazing around at the five men who surround me, I feel so tiny and insubstantial. They’ve discarded their hats and boots but are still dressed in their work clothes. Cash has ash on his cheek, and Colt has some on this neck. Sawyer’s pocket was torn from his shirt, and Scott’s knuckles are bruised and bleeding. Cary has a black eye that is blooming. None of this was noticeable until we all came into the light.
“What happened to you?” I say, reaching out to Cary’s face.
“None of that matters now,” he mutters, leaning in to kiss my lips. Caressing his cheek gently, I show him that I’m sorry for his pain. Sorry for any part I had to play in it.
It doesn’t take me long to unbutton his shirt and push it from his shoulders. He’s wearing a white undershirt that I lift too, needing to feel his warm skin and run my hands over the muscles of his chest. Being close to these men is what I need to feel grounded again.
Behind me, someone kisses my neck. Fingers find the buttons to my shirt, unbuttoning it and removing it before I have a chance to assist. Beneath, I’m wearing another long-sleeved shirt for warmth, and someone snorts at the effort to tug this over my head and then laughs at the tank they find beneath. “It’s like opening a Russian doll,” Sawyer says, trailing his fingers lightly down my spine until I shiver.