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I drink mine, gaze bouncing between Mollie and her mom. I have no fucking idea what’s about to go down, but I have to keep the conversation from completely derailing.

“I’ve thought a lot about this,” I say carefully. “Why Garrett put that stipulation in his will. He talked about y’all often.”

Aubrey scoffs and rolls her eyes. “I’m sure he painted a lovely picture.”

“He had a lot of regrets.” I swallow. “I think he would’ve done things differently if he had another chance. I loved him, but he was stubborn as hell. I told him it wasn’t too late to change things. To reach out and try again.”

“He never listened,” Aubrey replies.

“But Mollie does. I do. I’m listening. Getting to know your daughter—it’s been one of the great joys of my life, and it’s changed me for the better.” I reach into my back pocket and pull out a single four-by-six-inch picture. “Talk about ridiculous things, but I think Garrett knew somehow that bringing Mollie back to Lucky Ranch would be good for us. For everyone. Like he’s pulling strings from the grave, you know? What he couldn’t pull off in life, he was going to do after he was gone.”

I gently place the picture on the table. It’s grainy, and I can’t tell if it’s faded from age or if the image was captured during a golden hour that softened the outlines of the three figures in it. Mollie, maybe four years old, is on a pony in between Garrett and Aubrey. The Colorado River is in the background. From the angle, I can tell it’s close to the spot I showed Mollie on our first ride around the ranch.

Everyone is wearing cowboy hats and big smiles.

Aubrey looks at the picture and goes still. “Where did you get this?”

“Garrett left me a safety-deposit box in his will. Had no idea what was in it. When I opened the box, I found hundreds of photographs of y’all. He told Goody the pictures were one of his most prized possessions, so he wanted to keep them safe.”

Mollie’s hand goes to her mouth. “He left them to you?”

“At first, I thought it was a mistake. Now, though…now I think he might’ve given them to me for a reason.”

Aubrey blinks. “He knew you’d share them with Mollie.”

“He knew you’d show me I was always a cowgirl at heart.” Mollie’s voice is threadbare. “Because at heart, you’re a good guy who’s just a little rough around the edges.”

I chuckle. “Something like that.”

Aubrey’s eyelashes continue to flutter as she points at the picture. “Is that?—”

“The three of y’all. Look how cute you are.” I tap my finger on little girl Mollie. “You look so happy up on that horse.”

Aubrey swallows more wine. “Garrett gave her riding lessons a few times a week. She loved it.”

Mollie turns to look at her mom. “I remember that. We’d do laps around the corral. Slow at first. When he let me trot, I couldn’t stop giggling.”

“You were so damn cute, Mollie.” Aubrey’s eyes crinkle, and she looks wistful—happy—for a full beat. “Still are.”

“You look happy there too, Mom.”

Aubrey blinks. “I was. In that moment, anyway.”

Mollie squeezes my hand. “Thank you. For sharing this with us.”

“I have the rest in a bag at your apartment. But the spot where y’all are standing in this photo—the views of the river are incredible. It was one of Garrett’s favorite places on the ranch. I took the liberty of doing a few mock-ups of a studio we could build there. Big windows, lots of light, and enough privacy so you and Wheeler feel comfortable doing your thing.”

I grab my phone and quickly scroll to images of the rough drawings I did this morning before continuing. “Bellamy Brooks has a studio here in Dallas. Figured it needs one in Hartsville too. If only because y’all are about to have a lot more inventory to show off and a lot more brainstorming to do for future collections. Y’all are inspired by the fashion here in Dallas, and now—maybe—the ranch could provide a complementary kind of inspiration. Give y’all a new angle for your next collection while keeping your city roots intact.”

I set my phone on the table and slide it over to Mollie.

My heart thumps as she stares at the phone for one beat. Two. She’s holding her wine in her hand. She takes a sip. Blinks.

Then promptly bursts into tears, leaning her head on my shoulder.

My stomach bottoms out. I press a kiss to her temple. “Oh. Oh, Mollie, honey, I’m?—”

“So fucking thoughtful,” she manages as she picks up the phone and scrolls through the images. I like how she keeps her head on my shoulder. “And sweet. And, wow, really good at renderings. When did you draw all this?”