—Psalms 23:3–4
For the ladies in my Psalms 23 study.
Thanks for being my sisters.
Thanks for yanking me back on the path.
Thank you for being there. Always.
Contents
“I don’t know why you’re here.” Rhett Jarrett rested his elbows on the large desk. It was too large—too grand—and he’d never look right behind it. Never be able to fill the spot his dad had. “I mean, other than it’s always nice to see you. But you know where I stand on this.”
Uncle Travis pushed more papers across the desktop. “With time, maybe you’ll see his reasoning.”
Rhett opened a drawer and slid the papers unceremoniously inside. Rereading the will wouldn’t suddenly make him appreciate the choices his father had made. All it would serve to do was remind Rhett his dad had found a way to control him after the grave.
Late afternoon sunshine poured through the wide windows filling the west-facing wall of the office. March had begun unseasonably warm, even by Texas standards.
Upon entering the office a few minutes ago, Rhett had immediately cracked a few of the windows in an attempt to banish the musty odor of too many papers and books collecting dust in one cramped place. No doubt the wood paneling lining the lower half of the walls hadn’t helped his mood either. It only seemed to add to the dark heaviness that had settled on Rhett’s life since his dad’s sudden passing. Unsaid words, missed opportunities and apologies that would never happen weighed him down.
No amount of fresh air would clear his chest of those things.
Air gusted in, carrying with it the smells of the horses in the nearest enclosure and the cattle in the pastures beyond. They mingled with the scents of Texas Indian paintbrush, bluebonnets and red poppies. Wildflowers quilted the fields on either side of the long driveway leading to his family’s property. Spring at the ranch had always been his favorite time of year. He liked the physical parts of the ranch—the animals, the fields, the work.
Just not all the other aspects of Red Dog Ranch.
Not the parts his dad had cared about.
“Uncle Travis, listen. I—” Rhett started.
The door to the office clicked open and Macy Howell appeared in the doorway. With her hand resting on the knob, she hesitated for a few seconds. Her long, black hair swayed from her abrupt stop.
Rhett had known he would see his dad’s office assistant sooner or later, but after the last few years of carefully visiting Red Dog Ranch only when he had been assured she was busy or away from the property...it was startling to see her so soon his first day in the office.
Macy adjusted the armful of files she clutched. Her gaze hit the floor like a dropped quarter. “I didn’t realize you were busy. Should I come back later?”
But Macy casting down her eyes didn’t compute for Rhett. Growing up, she’d been the girl who would spit at a wildfire and dare it to come closer. She’d hauled hay bales in the field at the same pace as Rhett and his brothers had.
When Rhett had scooped Macy into his arms after she’d been bitten by a copperhead, she had told him not to worry because the pit viper had barely kissed her. Even in that sort of pain, she’d been focused on being tough and making others feel better.
The Macy Howell he knew didn’t hesitate, didn’t look away.
She especially didn’t look down.
The back of Rhett’s neck prickled in a way that made him want to scrub at it. He fought the urge to ask her what was wrong. But they’d stopped asking each other prying questions three years ago. One kiss had changed everything.
Ruined everything.
And he shouldn’t care.
Didn’t care.
He dug his fingers into his knees.
Kodiak, Rhett’s seventy-pound Chesapeake Bay retriever, lifted her giant head and sniffed in Macy’s direction. The dog lazily looked back at Rhett as if to ask if this person was a threat.
Oh,