Everything has changed about her, gotten better with age but one thing hasn’t.
Her wild.
That’s something I never want to change.
She looks my way and offers a soft smile before going back to talking with Evan, our retired ranch manager here in Montana.
I just sit back and watch everyone.
We started with two ranches: one thriving and one dying.
We started out as two individuals: one who couldn’t trust and one who was a little lost.
We started with nothing and ended up creating everything. This life we’ve surrounded ourselves with people we want to live with is worth more than any balance in any account.
Our new college graduate, Will, who moved here to be with us and help run things in Montana.
Our resident flirt and all-around center of attention, Fiona, who may have married and divorced again.
Our newest addition, Ashley, runs the photography retreat we set up last year in the newly renovated Knox Ranch. There are still horses being bred and the Steely contract is still solid, but behind what used to be the main house, we built cabins to facilitate the new retreat.
Nothing like saying fuck you to the town of Lone Star by building the one thing they judged Tate for.
Old man Evan, who is now retired from the Next Time ranch, sits at the other end and remains as quiet as can be with a ghost of a smile on his face.
My eyes meet Tate’s as I slide my hand out to take hers beneath the table. I know this means the world to her too. The family we created and the love that we’ve fostered.
I catch Will getting flustered when Ashley starts talking to him, and the quick smile Tate wears tells me she sees it too.
We were there once. Falling in love and too stubborn to acknowledge it.
But damn it was fun.
So much has changed. So much is different.
And I wouldn’t change a thing about it.
“Who’s ready for the card exchange?” I ask, garnering a high-pitched cheer from the family room where Rein is off pretending she’s a famous YouTuber.
“That’s my job!” she says and runs into the dining room with a stack of cards in her hand.
“You know the rules,” Tate says. “Each card was filled out by a member of the family. Each one says what that person was thankful for. And you have to guess who wrote it.”
Rein is already halfway through placing cards in front of people when she yells, “Is there a prize for guessing?”
“You and your prizes,” I say.
“These are PG-rated, right?” Fiona asks followed by a cackle.
“We can always count on you to ask that,” Will says.
“Who’s up first?” Tate asks and starts our Thanksgiving tradition.
One by one, our family reads their card and guesses. It doesn’t matter if they guess correctly because there are smiles and more wine and more laughter.
“My turn?” I ask when all of the attention is focused on me.
I open the white envelope and pull the card out. “I’m grateful for sticky cheeks to kiss and tickly tummies to blow raspberries on.”
“Mommy! Mommy!” Rein guesses as she jumps up and down, clearly all the sugar she’s eaten taking full effect.
“It’s your dad’s turn, Rein. Shhh,” Will says and pulls her into his lap to tickle her.
“Let me think,” I play along. “I guess . . . Rein?”
“No!” Rein giggles out.
“Then, Tack?”
“No, silly,” Rein repeats.
“Oh, it’s Tate!” I say and lean forward and press my lips to hers. “I’m grateful for those things too. And you.” I kiss her again.
“Get a room!” Fi shouts out.
“No!” Will says. “We might end up with a Saddle or Filly if they get a room.”
The whole table laughs as Tate rises from her seat. “Next time,” she eyes me, “I get to name the baby.”
I snort. “There will be no more next times.”
Tate’s expression falters for the briefest of seconds as a coy smile plays on her lips. “You sure about that, Sutton?”
Everyone laughs and carries on, but there’s something about the way Tate said it—the softness to it and the love in her eyes when she looked at me . . .
Wait.
What?
“Tate?”
“Mmm?” The dishes she’s clearing clank as she begins to head toward to kitchen.
“Tate,” I repeat as I blink at her in disbelief . . . thinking, wanting, waiting for her answer.
“Don’t blame me that you’re a sure thing.”