Judy rolled her eyes. “Come on, Tessa May. We have one more stop.” The sudden seriousness in her expression told me where that stop was going to be and I panicked. Branch came up behind me and grabbed my hand, squeezing it tight in his bigger one.
“You got this, Nugget. And I’ve got you,” he whispered so his parents couldn’t hear. I swallowed hard and nodded, not letting go of his hand. Branch could be my anchor in this emotional storm. Hell, he’d been my anchor through a lot of things, him and Beau.
As if she could read my mind, which I was pretty sure she could because she knew everytime I did something bad when we were growing up, Judy asked, “Where’s Beau? I thought he would have come with you so he could see his Daddy.”
Beau had been a bit like me, raised by a single Dad, and basically reared by Judy. But where my mother had died, Beau’s mama had run off with the local drug dealer. If Branch had gotten into a lot of fights about me in high school, I’d gotten into just as many defending Beau. His dad wasn’t like mine or Jack either; he was a gruff, cold man who knew bulls better than people. How Beau had ended up so empathetic was beyond me, but I put it down to Judy.
Branch was the one who answered her. “There's a conference in Denver about concussions in the Sporting Industry he wanted to attend. But he told me to give you a big kiss on the cheek.”
Judy stopped and turned on her heel just before we reached one of the old ranch trucks. She pointed to her cheek. “Well, what are you waiting for? A Watson never goes back on their word.”
Branch laughed, smacking a noisy kiss on her cheek. I started to giggle and he grabbed my hand and pulled me closer, before lifting me up and hefting me into the bed of the truck like I was a hay bale.
I laughed and Judy shook her head as she hopped into the driver's seat. Branch jumped in behind me and we both sat with our backs pressed against the cabin. “You okay?” he murmured in a low voice and I nodded. He wrapped his hand around my thigh, anchoring me to his body as Judy pretended she was in a monster truck rally as we bounced along the ranch's back roads. This part of New Mexico had an eerie kind of beauty. Dry flat plains as far as the eye could see, all except one mountain that acted as a benevolent overseer of the local area. In spring, the browns of the dry grass and dust shifted to carpets of wildflowers and pronghorn deer.
This vista was in my very soul.
We pulled up in front of my home. The small ranch house looked forlorn, even though Jack and Judy had obviously kept it well maintained. But it lacked the life that had filled its rooms once upon a time. I sat frozen in the back of the truck, my legs refusing to shift me closer to the pain that was inevitable. But it was like a wound beneath an old bandaid, festering and raw without the light of day to heal it.
Branch climbed out of the truck and then turned to me, holding out a hand. “Come on, Nugget,” he said softly. As I got closer, he wrapped his hands around my waist and lifted me from the back of the truck. My body slid down his slowly, until I felt the steady thud of his heart against my chest.
Judy cleared her throat. She handed me a ring of keys. “Take your time, Tessa May. After… the accident, we closed the doors and haven’t really opened them since except to make sure everything was kept in good order for you. It seemed wrong. It's yours to do with as you want. I’ll leave you two to it. I have to get dinner on the stove or we’ll be having soup and sandwiches again.”
She gave Branch a significant look. “There's an ATV in the garage, it should have gas. You guys wander back over when you’re ready.”
I nodded. “Thanks Judy,” I whispered, unable to drag my gaze away from the front door. A part of me still expected my Dad to open the door and pull me into a hug. I’d run away from the truth, run away from the possibility that he was just senselessly gone.
I’m not sure how long I stood there, summoning the will to climb the steps to the front porch. Branch just stood beside me, not pushing me, my hand clasped in his even though I had to be nearly breaking his fingers as I anchored myself to the present with him.
Finally, I took a deep breath and stepped forward, my death grip on Branch not lessening, forcing him to move with me. I climbed the steps and lifted the keys. I still knew which was the right key instinctively, like these small gestures were coded into my very being.
I shook too much to put the key in the hole, so Branch let go of my hand, walked to my other side, so he could clasp my hand with his left and open the door with his right.
He didn’t just let go.
I think I might be a little in love with Branch Watson.
The door swung open with a forlorn squeak, and the interior of the house was dark. It smelled a little musty, but it was clean.
It opened into the small foyer, but beyond it was the sitting room/kitchen combo. A scarred wooden table where I’d eaten nearly every meal of my childhood took up most of the left hand side in front of the kitchen. Dad’s favorite Barcalounger and a leather couch that was as scarred as the table took up most of the other. It was like walking into a time capsule. Pictures of me still hung on the walls. Piles of books and bills littered the kitchen bench. It was like we left for that doomed rodeo yesterday. I stepped toward the hallways that led to the bedrooms out the rear of the house. Branch didn’t move with me, probably giving me space to have a complete meltdown.
My father's room was first, and I was ready for the punch to the heart at the sight of his things. His bed was still unmade. His dirty clothes still filled the hamper. There was a small pile of change on the top of the dresser, along with his wedding ring, which he never wore when he was working. I picked up the cool gold ring and slid it over my thumb. It was still too big, but I couldn’t leave it here. My picture sat on his dresser, an action shot of me riding a sheep as a kid. Then a picture of my Mom, her hair wild gold like mine. I reached over and touched the frame, tracing her face. A picture of me with Branch and Beau, scabby knees and skinny arms around each other.
Last there was a picture of me and my father, his arm around my shoulders. He was looking down at me like I was the most precious thing on earth and I couldn’t hold it back anymore.
Tears were streaming down my face and the sob that burst from my throat was more of a wail.
I grabbed the frame and sunk to my knees. Four years of grief washed over me. The healing was too much, the hurt too great. I wanted to walk out of this house, lock the door and never come back.
Branch was suddenly there, on the floor beside me, and he bundled me up in his arms and moved me to his lap, squeezing me close to his chest like he could hold me together with the sheer force of his will.
“I got you, Tessa May. I got you.”
22
My crying eventually subsided from violent sobs to soft sniffles, my body stiff and exhausted. I moved away, wincing at the wet patch of tears on Branch’s shirt. “Sorry.”
Branch cupped my cheek and kissed me softly. “Never be sorry for using my strength when you need it.” He gave me one more tight hug. “One day I’ll need yours and I know in my soul, you’ll be there to hold me together too.”
God. I loved him. I swallowed hard and shifted onto creaky knees before standing. I put a hand out for Branch. He took it, although he didn’t really need me to pull him to his feet, but he didn’t let me go either.