Total pages in book: 127
Estimated words: 121296 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 606(@200wpm)___ 485(@250wpm)___ 404(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121296 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 606(@200wpm)___ 485(@250wpm)___ 404(@300wpm)
Then, last week, the call came.
She was gone from the facility. Left in the middle of the night, and didn't tell anyone where she was going. A few days later, Cash Bradford saw her in a motel near the interstate and called it in, worried.
She was alone and drinking again, singing loudly.
Since then, Dylan holds Eli and Junie a little tighter at night and lingers longer at their door before he goes to sleep. I don't push him to talk about how he feels, but I sit with him in the quiet to let him know I'm here.
Nora isn't evil. She isn't broken beyond repair. She's… stuck. Caught between wanting to be better and struggling to live with the ache that comes in the sober spaces. I hope she finds her way, for all their sakes.
I suspect Corbin is also aware of the pregnancy. I've caught him regarding me as we make bread together, as though he can sense something he's had the gift of experiencing three times before. He has that remarkable intuition that tunes him to me so perfectly.
Behind me, the gravel crunches, and a battered old sedan pulls up and parks crookedly beside the barn. The engine ticks as it cools.
My heart jumps and then melts.
“Mama,” I breathe.
She steps out in a swirl of loose cotton skirt and a tired floral blouse, with three wide-eyed foster kids who spill from the car and trail behind her like ducklings. Two boys and a girl are nervous, clinging to each other, unsure of what comes next. They're new, but they won't be for long. What I've learned about kids in the system is that they learn to adapt quickly. The moment all the kids notice each other, their nerves are gone.
Junie runs to greet the girl, shouting, “Do you like sparkles? I have, like, a hundred!” and drags her toward the swing set. Matty offers the boys sweets from his pocket, and the twins plot some game that involves yelling and chasing each other with sticks.
They're immediately embraced into the joyful mess.
I meet my mom halfway across the yard and fold her into a grateful embrace. It's been hard to be away from her, and I miss popping in for pancakes and distracted conversation more. Now I have my own chaotic family, and the mess and noise are like my childhood home, it's familiar and welcome and no longer something I want to escape.
She pulls back and grips my face between her rough hands. “You look different. Did you change your hair?”
“Nope.”
I pull her into another hug that says what I can't: Thank you for always showing up. For showing me, even when I wasn't ready, that home isn't made of walls and silence but of people.
“I hope the new kids like noise,” I murmur against her shoulder.
She chuckles. “They'll learn.”
Behind Mom's old car, Brody pulls up in the truck we use for town runs. He strolls over, all easy swagger and an open expression that doesn't quite fit. He's dusty (because, hell, when aren't they), clutching a brown paper parcel with crushed corners and twine looped twice around the middle.
“Special delivery,” he says, holding it out to me.
I blink at the return address, my heart skipping a beat.
It's from the publisher.
My fingers fumble with the knot, my breath catching as the paper falls away to reveal the first print run of my novel, Rugged Love. The title, bold and romantic, arcs across the cover, and an illustrated cowboy leans against a fence post, as if he has secrets and a soft heart.
“Get out here,” Brody yells to his brothers, who are all currently inside, then moves to kiss my momma's cheek.
The porch goes quiet as the others gather, waving at Mom and then peering over my shoulder.
Harrison's the first one to clap and cheer. He's been my partner in crime on this journey towards authordom, providing the best suggestions and finding all my naughty typos. The rest follow, scaring Beau into a frenzy.
Brody's voice rumbles low. “Guessing that one's based on me?”
I look up, arching an eyebrow. “Wouldn't you like to know”?
He gives me a look, half teasing, half something else, and mutters, “I'm better looking.”
“Considering I'm the one who drew it, I think it's more likely to be me!” McCartney says, reaching out to take a copy that he studies, smiling softly before he opens the cover to find his credit as an illustrator. I couldn't be prouder that he's finally getting the recognition he deserves, both for his work on my book and the launch campaign that will start soon, as well as for his country-style art, which he's now selling in original and print form from a website I helped him establish. He's even taking the occasional portrait commission after I convinced him to add the option, and the drawings he creates of children are my favorites.