Page 102 of 11 Cowboys

“I’ll take drinks,” Jaxon says.

Conway lifts a brow at Jaxon, then looks at me. “I’ll handle lighting, then. We’ve still got those string lights in the storage shed from Eli’s birthday, right?”

“Yeah,” I say. “They’ll need untangling, but they should still work. There are glass jars in storage to make lanterns.”

“We’ll make it work,” Conway replies.

The plan’s rough, thrown together with duct tape and wishful thinking, but there’s a quiet energy humming beneath it like we all know how rare this opportunity is: a woman like Grace, in a place like this, and a chance to show her how special she is to us. None of us wants to mess it up.

Levi breaks the silence with a grin. “We pulling this off before noon?”

“Makes sense to have the picnic for lunch,” I say. “Maybe one o’clock. Brody’s conversation skills won’t last all day.”

Jaxon snorts, but I don’t know why. He’s no better at stringing sentences together most of the time.

“I’ll start at sun-up,” McCartney says. “Painting out on the porch should give me the best light anyway.”

“Where do you want me to take her?” Brody asks.

I think for a second. “The western line. Say Conway’s worried about loose fencing over there. Take your time.”

“She’s going to think all we do is deal with the fucking fences.”

“Some days it feels like that,” I grimace.

He gives a single nod without his trademark sarcasm. For Brody, that’s basically a blood oath.

“All right,” Conway says, clapping his hands together once. “We’ve got a few hours of sleep before this all kicks off. Let’s make it count.”

The group breaks up, boots thudding as they file out in ones and twos. Jaxon gives me a nod on the way past, like he approves of everything we’re trying to do.

Corbin stays behind a second, scrubbing a hand through his hair. “Thanks for organizing this, Lennon.”

I shrug. It’s no big deal. The truth is that any man in this place would have done the same if they’d overheard Grace talking. “She deserves it.”

Corbin nods once. “Yeah. She does.”

We head out into the cool night air together. Above us, the stars are starting to fade behind a bank of clouds rolling in from the west. I say a quick, silent prayer that the weather holds out until after the fire’s burned down and the last song plays out.

If everything goes right tomorrow, Grace will know for sure that this is her home. The place she belongs will be filled with people who will never let her down.

***

The next morning, when Grace and Brody have left, the ranch hums with quiet anticipation. Corbin and I start on the carrot cake, the scent of cinnamon and nutmeg filling the air, mingling with the rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee.

“Think she’ll like the surprise?” Corbin asks, cracking eggs into a bowl.

I pass him the grated carrot. “I hope so.”

For a second, I worry that I’ve dragged my whole family into a huge mistake. If Grace hates birthdays and wants nothing to do with this plan, the kids will be devastated, and I will have cost us a day’s work.

As the cake bakes, I step outside to check on the others. In the yard, the kids are busy gathering wildflowers with Harrison, their laughter echoing across the fields. McCartney sits on the porch, paintbrush in hand, capturing the essence of the ranch on canvas.

“How’s it coming?” I ask, watching as he adds more brush strokes. It’s a watercolor, and I don’t know how he’s done it, but it’s nearly finished.

He smiles, holding up the brush. “Almost done. Just need to add Grace.”

“Saving the best ’til last, huh?”