Page 1 of Holden: Bucked By Love (Crawford Ridge Ranch #1)

Holden

Leni's eyes were the first thing I really noticed about her.

They're the same brown as soil in spring, or the worn leather of my favorite pair of old cowboy boots, but I only made the mistake of describing them that way once – she didn't find it very romantic.

They turn to slits when she's angry, and round when she's surprised.

They become glassy with tears when something makes her especially happy.

My favorite, by far, is the shape they become when she laughs.

But it's been a long time since my wife has laughed when I'm around to see it.

The air is heavy with leftover heat, and I know when I take off my cowboy hat that my dark hair will still be slightly damp.

The radio continues to play in my truck even though I turned off the engine a few minutes ago.

It's an old country song, the melody quiet in the background as I watch Leni do one of her yoga poses against the backdrop of our little cabin and the setting sun.

Her tight athletic clothes are brightly colored, and follow the movements of her body in a way that highlights her commitment to the practice.

Leni always chooses to do her evening yoga outdoors in the summer, after the heat of the day starts to wane and twilight creeps in.

She says it soothes her and helps her sleep better.

It's late now, something that snuck up on me.

It's harder to gauge time well during these lighter months, and I rarely bother to check a watch or clock.

Usually it's my stomach that tells me if I've missed dinner, and tonight it wails at me from behind a shirt that's lost its fresh scent.

If Leni saved me any dinner it's cold now, but it's doubtful that she even bothered filling a plate.

She gave up that pretense a while ago. We both did.

Why pretend I'll be there when we know I won't?

Our kids are jumping on the trampoline and my stomach swirls with regret as I watch them bouncing up and down.

Mason's dark hair – which he keeps begging to grow out thanks to his hero worship of my middle brother Walker – stands on end as he descends from the air, a huge smile on his twelve-year-old face.

His sister, Josi, doesn't get quite as high thanks to her smaller, seven-year-old legs, but her grin is big and her dark hair is a halo cloud of static.

Leni always puts effort into Josi's hair, but it never sticks for long.

I hear their voices through my rolled-down window and memories of summer nights with my two brothers fill my mind.

It's a magical time of life, being young and playing outside as the sun sets against the foothills.

I remember chasing my brothers around the yard, our ever-present ranch dogs nipping at our heels with friendly barks, our parents on the porch with a cold drink in one hand, and their other hands clasped together.

It felt like security in a way I never thought to appreciate.

Mason calls something out and Josi giggles, and I love them both so much it makes my chest ache.

The radio stops playing, a sign I've sat here too long.

Strange how I can miss my family so much, but my body seems to be in no hurry to get out of my dirty, ranch-weary truck, and join them.

They somehow seem slightly independent of me these days, which is a hard truth to swallow considering the reason I'm away so much is out of motivation to give them everything I possibly can.

I step out of the truck and dust puffs off my boots as they land on the gravel driveway.

Three heads turn my way when they hear the door slam.

My legs ache from a rough day in the saddle as I walk toward where Leni is glancing at me from upside down, her body shaped like a triangle with her feet and hands both touching the boards of our deck.

Her dark, wavy hair is pulled back, her lean, athletic body tense as our eyes meet for a flicker of a moment before she turns her head back into the pose.

My greeting dies in my throat at the brush off.

I've done something wrong, and I frown as I try to figure out what it could be.

My head is full of cattle, grazing fields, water rights and fence lines, and sometimes it takes me a few minutes to get into home mode.

Leni isn't offering me any clues and refuses to look at me.

I bite my lips and try to work up the energy to puzzle it out.

I catch sight of little Josi running my way, her mouth wide on a smile that shows me she lost another front tooth.

Some of my weariness fades as I take in her apple-red cheeks and short legs pumping.

She's wearing a flower crown with ribbons that fly out behind her as she hustles along.

Josi is our little bookworm. Introverted with anyone outside of our family, so any time I see her free and happy like this it makes my heart want to explode.

It doesn't hurt that she looks so much like her mama, something that has always pleased me.

"Daddy," she squeals, launching into me, not caring that I'm dirty.

I catch her with a chuckle, and lift her up, pressing my nose into her hair, knocking my cowboy hat off onto the wooden slats at my feet.

She smells sweet, like strawberry, which tells me she's been into Leni's lip gloss again.

It's a strong contrast to my smell right now, but I hold her close regardless.

"Hey, princess," I laugh, my voice sounding hoarse to my own ears. That happens on days like today, when I spent hours yelling over the bawling of cattle. "How are you?"

She squeezes my neck and giggles when I rub my dark stubble against her soft cheek. "We got ice cream after Mason's meet, and then Mama let us go out for hamburgers too."

Mason's swim meet. I close my eyes and grit my teeth, holding back a deep sigh. That explains the extra chilly reception from Leni.

Mason has joined us now. At twelve he no longer runs to me when I get home, but he's smiling and I'm grateful that he never seems to hold it against me when I miss an event of his.

He may be sports-crazed and social, but he's also sensible – a mix I find entertaining.

That pragmatism is something I'm grateful for.

He understands that cattle never take days off.

Then again, neither do parents, according to Leni.

After twelve years I still haven't figured out how to balance it, and sadly, the animals keep winning the draw.

"Mace," I say, setting Josi down and wrapping an arm around his still-thin shoulders.

"I'm sorry I missed your meet today." I can smell the chlorine in his hair, a scent that will last all summer and then pick up again over the winter swim season.

He seems an inch or two taller, and I wonder when that happened.

"We were moving the cattle to the north grazing fields and found a few broken fences. Long day."

Mason wraps one lean arm around my waist and tips his head against my shoulder in a pre-teen type hug as he nods. "No big. "

I look at Leni to see she's now standing with her hands on her lean waist. Her tank top is damp from heat and exertion, and her look tells me it was, actually, a big deal. Those gorgeous eyes of hers are slits. I'm in it.

"Mason won both of his heats," she says, offering Mason a big smile, which makes him stand straight and beam back at her. "I took a video. Maybe you two can watch it together."

"Thanks, Leni," I say, meaning it. "Let's watch it now, huh, bud?"

Mason agrees and snags Leni's phone from the picnic table near the back door.

I pick up my hat and amble over to stand next to him, feeling dusty and sad, wanting out of these stained jeans with an intensity that borders on feral.

A shower and dinner are calling me too, but this has to come before all of it.

Leni stalks in through the back door, probably off to shower herself.

I remember days when she'd invite me to join her. I briefly wonder when that stopped.

Josi hops into my lap as soon as I sit down at the picnic table, still not caring that I'm covered in junk, plus a stain from the mayo that slid out of my sandwich at lunch.

She's a ranch girl, born and raised, and doesn't bat an eye at the things that come with it.

Even better, she wears flower crowns in her hair.

Mason sits next to me and navigates to the video.

My smile grows as I watch my son do first the backstroke, and then breaststroke.

I cheer as he wins each heat, and his eyes crinkle up just like his mama's do. I hug him to my side.

"That was great," I tell him. "I wish I could have seen it in person."

"I know it's busy right now," he says, shrugging his shoulders and standing. "I get it."

I know he does. He's a fourth generation ranch kid, it's in his blood, but still . . . "I know, buddy, but you're important too," I tell him .

"I know, Dad. No big," he says for the second time.

When did my lack of presence become no big to him?

"Uncle Landry came," Josi says, hopping off my lap, referring to my youngest brother. "He cheered so loud that Mama told him to quiet down before she pushed his head under water."

Josi laughs and I do too. Mason grins and nods. "He's loud."

"I heard," I say, recalling my brother's voice in the videos.

I try not to be jealous that Landry was there.

He can be. He has the least responsibility on the ranch.

I should be grateful that Mason had the support, but I feel my shoulders tensing as I follow them through the back door into the cabin.

It should be me. I should have asked Landry to pick up the slack today and gone myself. Heck, Landry should have offered.

I'm plagued lately by mounting should haves .

"I'm guessing Auntie Steph was there too?" I ask, referring to Leni's older, single sister who dotes on our kids like they're her own.

"Yeah," Mason replies.