63 "fathers and mothers"

Three years change everything.

Patsy is living proof of that.

She's all blonde curls like me and bright green eyes like Walker. She's sharp as a tack and loud as a summer storm. Where I've always been quiet, she fills every space with words—constant questions, observations, opinions she's already decided are facts. She reads better than most kids twice her age, writes her letters carefully with her tongue stuck out in concentration, and knows more about horses than some grown men I've worked with.

Animals love her. People do too.

She's polite, fearless, and somehow already understands the rhythm of ranch life. She comes to work with me every day, small boots thudding beside mine, greeting everyone like she owns the place.

"Morning!" she tells the hands, waving like a politician.

When Travis rolls in, loud and grinning, she lights up.

"Trav!" she yells, sprinting straight for him.

He pretends to groan every time, but I see the way his face softens when she hugs his legs. He always brings her something—a sucker, a ribbon, a dumb joke she laughs at way too hard.

And Jimmy...

Well, Jimmy never stood a chance.

"Uncle Skinny!" she calls him the first time she sees him again after she starts talking in full sentences.

He freezes, wounded. "Skinny?"

She nods seriously. "You're skinny."

I nearly choke trying not to laugh.

He just sighs and mutters, "Kids are cruel," but he lets her ride his shoulders anyway.

Life is quiet. Steady. Safe.

I make money now. Not a lot, but enough to support my child and me. I still live in the trailer out back. It's just recently begun to feel tiny and crowded. I have a binder under my bed filled with cash I'm saving to buy a home—or at least a bigger trailer. One I could pull behind my truck, maybe. That would be enough for a while.

I work constantly, with ease. I love my job. I love that my daughter can hang around where I work.

But sometimes, when I look at her, I wish I could give her more than this... like a family. A dad. A grandfather. Anything.

So far, I've had:

No calls.No letters.No ghosts from Montana.

I haven't heard Rip's name spoken aloud in three years. Walker's either. My father. Beth. Any of them.

It's better this way. I tell myself that every night when Patsy falls asleep curled against my side, her little hand fisted in my shirt like I might disappear if she lets go.

She needed more.

I thought about home. A lot.I thought about Walker even more.I wondered if he thought about me... about us.

Then one afternoon, while I'm checking charts and Patsy is sounding out words at the desk beside me, I hear it.

Two hands talking near the tack room.

"—can you believe it? John Dutton running for governor."

I stop cold. My pen slips from my fingers, clattering to the floor.

Governor?

My chest tightens in a way I haven't felt in years. I already knew Jamie was running. That news had traveled even this far. But my father? The man who hated politics almost as much as he hated weakness?

I step closer without meaning to, heart pounding.

"Yeah," the other man says. "Montana's eating it up. Rancher. Old money. Family name."

I walk away before they can see my face.

Patsy looks up at me, instantly alert. "Mama? You okay?"

I force a smile and tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. "Yeah, baby. Just tired."

But my hands are clammy.

I worry for my father's safety in that climate. Based on events of my own, there was always someone who wanted him dead. I wondered if it was worth going back home. Just to visit.

But then I remember who I have here...

Jimmy.

He never stopped trying.

It became a running joke—at least to him. Every few months, sometimes every few weeks, he'd lean against a fence or the hood of a truck, tip his hat just right, and say something like, "So... you ever gonna let me take you out?"

And every time, I had the same answer.

"I can't. I've got Patsy."

He'd squint at me like he was doing math. "Kids eat, Willie."

"She needs me."

"So do I."

I'd roll my eyes, smile despite myself, and walk away before the conversation could turn into something dangerous.

Truth was, Jimmy flirted like breathing. It didn't scare me. It didn't pressure me. It felt... familiar. Safe. He never crossed a line, never touched me unless I let him, never pushed when I said no.

But this time—this time he was smarter.

"Alright," he said one evening, grinning like he'd just roped a tornado. "Bring her."

I blinked. "Bring who?"

I sat on a lawn chair outside our tiny trailer, watching Patsy play with bugs in the dirt.

"Patsy," he said. "I'm invitin' both of you."

My mouth opened, then closed again.

He shrugged. "Just dinner. You already trust me with her. Ain't a date if your kid's there, right?"

I had no excuse left.

And worse—he knew exactly where to take us.

The diner.

The same tiny place with cracked vinyl booths and the smell of grease soaked into the walls. The same one where I'd counted pennies on the counter. The same one where an old waitress had slipped me pie like it was a lifeline.

I hadn't been back since things started getting better.

"Jimmy," I sighed.

"Come on, Wills. My treat. Patsy'll love it."

And... Patsy loved it instantly.

She slid into the booth like she'd been coming there her whole life, swinging her legs and announcing, "This place smells like pancakes."

Jimmy laughed. "That's how you know it's good."

The waitress recognized me the moment she came over. Her eyes widened just a little, then softened when she saw Patsy.

"Well, I'll be," she said quietly. "Look at you."

I swallowed. "Hi, June."

She looked at Patsy. "And who's this beautiful girl?"

Patsy beamed. "I'm Patsy. I'm three and a half and I can read and write. And I love bugs."

Jimmy snorted into his coffee.

My hand brushed through her golden locks.

June smiled so big it nearly broke her face. "Well, I'll get you whatever you want, sugar."

Patsy didn't even look at the menu. "Chicken strips and chocolate milk. How 'bout a pancake too?"

"You sure you're gonna eat all that?" I asked.

"Of course, Mama. I can eat all of it."

Jimmy leaned across the table. "Smart kid."

I ordered coffee and a grilled cheese—my old comfort choice. Jimmy ordered a burger and fries like it was a special occasion.

It felt... strange. Sitting there. Whole. With my child and a man.

Jimmy talked the entire time—about horses, dumb things Travis had said, stories Patsy laughed at even when they made no sense. Patsy told him everything: her favorite mare, how Mama sings off-key, how Uncle Skinny snores really loud.

He didn't correct her once.

At some point, I caught myself watching him instead of listening. The way he listened to Patsy like she mattered. The way he watched me when I wasn't looking.

I had to keep reminding myself of what he did to me years ago—even though it was long in the past.

When the food came, Patsy reached for my fries without asking.

"Manners, Pat," I said, tugging her shirt down as her belly hung out. She grumbled.

Jimmy slid his plate closer to her. "Nah. Take mine. Mama needs food too, but you're growin'."

Something warm settled in my chest.

Afterward, June brought out three slices of pie—no charge. She winked at me like she knew exactly what she was doing. In return, we left a heavy tip—something I was never able to do before.

Patsy fell asleep in the truck on the drive back, chocolate on her lip, head slumped against the window.

Jimmy didn't say anything for a while.

Then, quietly, "I ain't rushin' you, Willie."

I stared out the windshield. "I know."

"But just know I'm around."

I nodded. "I know... I just... you know..."

He put the truck in park. "I know what?" He turned to me, concerned.

"...the past, Jimmy."

He lifted Patsy gently from the seat. "Is that what's stuck in that head of yours?"

As he laid her down to sleep, I stepped back outside, pacing the dirt.

"I mean... yeah, Jimmy. You have any idea how fast you turned on me? How cruel Mia was to me? And you just sat there and did nothing?"

I huffed. "It's hard to forget those things."

Jimmy looked down, clearly not realizing the pain I'd been put through.

"Then... then to see her on top of you, when I loved you the most... it just wasn't fair, Jim."

"I'm sorry," he said quietly. "I was young and dumb."

"You jumped to the first girl who'd sleep with you. What did she have that I didn't, Jimmy? That question has killed me for years."

"...Nothing," he said. "She had nothing. I guess she made me laugh. Took care of me when I was sick."

"You didn't even give me the chance to do that! To take care of you! To show you how much I loved you!"

I ranted.

"You loved me?" he asked softly.

"Of course I did! I gave you everything in my damn bank account. You think a girl does that without love? I spent useless hours sobbing over you. Years trying to figure out my life without you in it. And thank God for Walker—for the time he gave me, for loving me when I needed it. Without him, I wouldn't have her."

I looked down.

"I loved you, Jim."

"I know," he said. "I see it clearly now. I regret Mia. I regret leaving you."

I looked up at him, lashes wet.

"You're all I think about. Night and day. I dream of you. It's constant."

I stayed quiet, unsure what to do, how to react. It felt too soon. I didn't want to confuse my child.

"I'm scared," I admitted.

He stepped closer. "Scared of what, Wills?"

"I'm scared Walker will think I'm replacing him as a father."

Jimmy looked taken aback. "Where is he now, Willie? I don't see him here being a father. What I do see are men like me stepping in to show her the way."

That hit me—not angry, not sad. Just... aware.

"He isn't here," I whispered. "He's never tried."

"How would you know?"

"Willie, you really think big-mouth Travis hasn't told Rip or your dad where you are? You think they've been in the dark all these years?"

That killed me.

They knew.

They just didn't come.

Jimmy pulled me into him gently, kissing the top of my head.

"It's okay. I didn't mean to hurt you."

I looked up at him, my hand resting on his chest. Our eyes met.

And without hesitation, I kissed him.

He kissed me back like he loved me.

And I realized—I was falling for him all over again.