Page 6 of And Forever (The Riders and Rings Duology #2)

CHARLOTTE

EVERS RIDGE, MONTANA — APRIL

T raveling with a toddler is not for the faint of heart. We’ve been gone for a week, but it might as well have been a month for how much I’ve aged on this trip. I lean my head against the headrest of the passenger seat, closing my eyes for just a moment.

“It’s only another hour until we get to the ranch,” Ada says from the driver’s seat of my SUV.

It’s just after nightfall, and we’re heading home from the airport in Bozeman.

The decision seemed to be a good one when we booked the trip.

Winona would fall asleep in the backseat and not have jetlag come morning.

And all is going according to plan if the adorable little snores coming from the car seat are any indication, but I didn’t account for how exhausted I would be.

“I cannot wait to sleep in my own bed,” I admit, straightening up and giving my best friend a smile. “It was a really great trip, though. Thanks for inviting us and helping me wrangle the tiny terror.”

“She was not that bad, babe,” Ada laughs quietly, and I giggle in agreement.

Winona was a great intrepid traveler. She carried her own backpack, full of entertainment and snacks, and squealed in delight when she was allowed to ride on Ada’s rolling suitcase.

“Once you figured out how to keep Meehaw from going missing, it was smooth sailing.”

I groan. The first day of the trip was almost the last when Meehaw was left at security.

Winona exploded in tears, and we frantically searched every carry-on piece of luggage we had before an announcement came over the public address speakers, looking for the owner of a calico cat lovey.

To avoid future complications, I pulled a sippy cup strap from my diaper bag and cinched it around Meehaw, connecting the other end to Winona’s backpack.

“Should have taken your advice and bought two of them when she was a baby. Then I could just replace it.”

“Wouldn’t be the same.” Ada shakes her head. “Have you heard from your parents about the new hire?”

“Just that he’s settled in, picked up the job quickly, and refuses to be on the Instagram account.” I shrug. “I still think it’s weird that my dad hired someone without talking to me, and now he won’t tell me the guy’s name.”

“Oh, yeah. That is strange.” She glances sideways, as if checking my reaction, but I catch a flicker of something in her eyes.

“What do you know?” I jump on it. Ada’s hands grip the steering wheel a little tighter. “Ada.”

“Nope.” Ada pops the “p” and purses her lips. “I’m not telling you anything.”

“Adaline Annette Prescott, you tell me right now what you know before I kick your ass.”

“You’re not kicking my ass, I’m driving the damn car.” Ada doesn’t miss a beat. “Besides, you’re not as scary as you used to be.”

“I am plenty scary,” I counter. Ada rolls her eyes.

“You went soft the second Win came into the world, Stryker. No good lying about it.” Ada laughs through her words, and I can’t help but agree. Although I cross my arms petulantly to show my displeasure.

The uncertainty that rooted in my belly the day my dad showed up in my kitchen to announce the new hire flares to life again.

Brighter. Hotter. I haven’t been able to shake it.

Even when Winona sang a horrible rendition of “Happy Birthday” to Mary at the top of her lungs and we laughed until our sides hurt, my unease drifted like a shadow.

“Please, Ada,” I try again, pleading more softly. “What do you know? Should I be concerned?”

“Cameron at the feed store texted me… He said Wilder McCoy picked up the order for Arrowroot Hills last week.”

The second cup of coffee isn’t having any more impact than the first. But I sip it methodically, letting it warm my hands as I sit at my dining table. I’ve sat here most of the night, giving up on sleep hours ago.

After getting home and tucking Winona into her own bed, Ada offered to stay, but I told her I needed to be alone. She looked guilty when she got in her car to drive back to town, where she lives. None of this is Ada’s fault, though.

Wilder is here. Likely in the bunkhouse a quarter mile down the service road, and everyone knew about it but me.

My parents planned it this way.

Just as the inky blue outside the window shifts to a smokey gray, I abandon the half-drunk mug and pick up Winona’s baby monitor.

When I get to the back mud room, I grab a jacket from a hook before heading out the back door.

It’s a short fifty yards to the main house.

From the soft glow through the windows, someone is awake.

The side door is never locked, so I walk through it into the living room. The comforting smell of fresh coffee and my father’s aftershave permeate the space. My dad was always the earliest riser, which is exactly what I was counting on.

“Hey, Char, you’re up early this morning.

Jet lag?” He gives me a warm smile when I pull out a stool at the counter before pulling a second mug from the cabinet.

He sets about fixing my mug as I put Winona’s monitor on the counter.

The dull sound of her white noise machine blends with the spoons stirring and the refrigerator opening and closing.

I watch in silence as Dad hums a little under his breath, focused on the task at hand and likely thinking through all the others that need to be accomplished today. “Can’t wait to hear about your trip.”

“Dad.”

“Don’t worry,” he calls over his shoulder without looking at me. He picks up a bottle of familiar creamer, shaking it. “I got the creamer you like.”

“Dad,” I try again, my voice firmer. His movements still, and he lets out a long exhale.

He turns away from the counter to come around the island and sit next to me.

His head hangs after he places my coffee in front of me.

He knows why I’m in their kitchen this morning, and it isn’t to regale him with stories of Winona helping Mary plant flowers in her garden or watching too many episodes of Bluey on the airplane.

I’m not sure how angry I am with him because there are too many other feelings swirling around, tempering it. Relief. Fear. Hope. Uncertainty. I go with the question I haven’t stopped thinking since Ada dropped the bomb on me in the car last night.

“Why?”

“Because second chances are even rarer than once-in-a-lifetime feelings.”

He lifts his head, face twisted with contrition. I wrap my hands around my mug for something to do as I consider his words.

“Wilder had every opportunity to claim his second chance. All this time, but he never did.” I watch the steam rise from the tan surface of my coffee.

“I’m not just talking about Wilder—even if I think his knees are already bruised from the groveling he knows you’re owed.

” Dad gives me a sad smile. “Your mom and I, we didn’t make the right choices when it came to you.

We thought if we planned your future, you wouldn’t possibly want for anything else.

But we were wrong.” His throat bobs with the thick swallow he takes, and I stare in wonder as tears glaze his eyes.

He grunts and shuts his eyes tight like his will alone is enough to keep them from falling.

One slips free when he goes on, “We saw it when you came home during that season; this beautiful, vibrant, independent woman. We knew we were wrong, but we didn’t know how to fix it. And then everything changed so fast.”

“Yeah,” I acknowledge. He nods, his large, calloused hand covering my own.

“It has taken watching you as a mother to realize we held on too tight. Controlled you too much. You let that little girl be every single ounce of herself. You encourage her curiosity, support her interests, and teach her along the way that she is enough just as she is.”

My nose tingles from the tears that prickle in the back of my eyes when he talks about Winona. Just like my dad, I grunt to try and chase them away.

“We’re not saying that Wilder is the answer to our mistakes. We know you might not be able to forgive him?—”

“I never needed to forgive him,” I cut him off, my eyebrows knitting in the middle. “I’m not going to hold things he said while in unimaginable pain against him. I didn’t the day he said them. I don’t now.”

Dad squeezes my hand. I don’t think he really understands why forgiveness has never been something Wilder should try to earn from me. But maybe he’s content to let that be something between Wilder and me .

“All right.” Dad pushes through the moment. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you we were hiring him.”

“And playing matchmaker in the process?” I let a little of my anger slip through, content to hold on to the easy emotion. It feels safer than trying to untangle the dense apology my dad is throwing out in the dawn light.

“He is Winnie Girl’s father. I couldn’t imagine going my whole life without knowing you.”

“But he could have.” I don’t bother to stop the tear that falls with that truth. “He made that choice. He didn’t choose me.”

“I think he’s trying now, Char.” Dad swipes his thumb along my cheek, erasing the salty track left behind, and cradles me gently.

It’s the secure, reassuring hold of a parent trying to soak up all their child’s hurt.

I reach my own hand up to hold his wrist, a silent communication that I’m not going to break apart.

One soft pat against my cheek and Dad drops his hand.

“I’ve spent the last week with him. I don’t know what he was like before, but I get the sense that he’s a changed man.

He didn’t like that we kept you in the dark. ”

I give a brief hum in acknowledgment. “But he knew he was taking the job here?”

“Like I said.” My dad finally picks up his cup of coffee, pulling a long sip from it. “He’s trying.”

I sniffle once, tracing a finger around the rim of the coffee cup. Dad’s silent beside me, quietly giving me the time to process. “Dad?” I ask, and he tilts his head, listening. “Did you tell him about Win?”

“No.”

I nod, relief and worry battling in my mind.

Knowing he’s going to find out about her eases a weight I’ve carried with me since I stared at a positive pregnancy test. I never wanted to keep her from him, and Winona deserves to know her father.

I trust my own Dad’s assessment that Wilder has changed, even though they never met before.

But none of that means I’m ready for this .

“How often can I get away with taking Winona into town until I’m ready to see him?”

Dad gives a grunting chuckle, setting his coffee down. “We’ll help you keep Winnie Girl occupied , but I don’t think that girl’s going to last more than a couple of weeks before she gets wise to something going on.”

“You’re right.” I let out a sigh, then lean my head on his shoulder.

“It’s good for my ego to hear that.” He shakes with laughter, and I let my hand lift in a halfhearted slap at his bicep. “It’s all going to work out. Maybe not like how you originally pictured it, but how it was always meant to.”