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“Aren’t you glad I made you go shopping?” Jade asks as I stand in front of the mirror in my bedroom. I’m wearing a flowy floral chiffon dress that we found at a boutique in Bozeman. It’s girly and whimsical and makes me feel more put together than I have in months. In short, I love it.

Beside me, Jade is in a pale blue sheath sundress that I would kill to be able to fit into again.

She found it in my closet. It’s one of the few dresses I reserved for when Beau and I would go on dates or to functions back in Utah.

I always liked how it looked on me—blue is one of my colors—but it looks even better against her tan skin and rich brown hair.

“Yes, actually,” I tell her.

She grins. Her skin has darkened from all her time in the sun this summer, making her look bronzed and shimmering.

My best friend is gorgeous. I’m struck with how good it is to be able to see her like this again.

I missed sharing closets and getting a random coffee together when I was in Utah.

My life then feels so distant now, in a way I would have never expected when I was first injured and we decided to move back.

Then, it felt like I was cutting away a piece of myself, moving home with my tail tucked between my legs after failing at the one thing I was always destined to do.

Now it feels like regaining a piece of magic I didn’t realize I was missing so badly.

Jade catches my gaze in the mirror, and I wonder if she can read my expression.

The thought doesn’t scare me as much as it used to.

She finishes up applying her lip gloss and passes me the tube.

It’s probably a little gross to share, but we’ve always done it.

I coat my lips and can’t help but grin at the fact that she’s still using the exact same kind we wore to her and Beau’s senior prom. Jade is loyal, even to makeup brands.

“You ready?” she asks, giving me a final once-over.

“Let’s do this,” I say, and slip my feet into a pair of strappy sandals that have started to become too tight with the way my feet and ankles have been swelling the last few weeks. This is probably the last time I’ll be able to wear them this summer.

Summer sunshine greets us as we step outside and climb into the truck.

The air smells sweet and the sun is pleasantly warm against my skin.

In my stomach, the baby moves around, and I wonder if she can feel it too.

If she’s going to enjoy the sun and summer as much as I do.

The thought makes me smile, and I press a hand to my stomach. She kicks it in answer.

Other than the location—Lucky Stars—I know nothing about the baby shower, and I’m glad for it.

Life has been hectic enough lately without adding something else on my plate.

It’s starting to hit me that I’m going to have a baby in just a few short months, that I’m ten weeks away from holding her in my arms, looking at the little perfect mixture of my favorite person and me.

And I think the nesting urge is kicking in, because I drove myself to the hardware store the other day and picked up paint samples for the nursery.

After the baby shower today, Beau and I plan to do our final shopping and get started on it.

A smile threatens to come loose at the thought of him finally getting to take down the bed in the guest room.

Since moving back into our room, he’s made his hatred for the piece of furniture known.

“How have things been at the ranches this summer?” I ask Jade over the noise of the wind whooshing through the cracked windows, letting in the warm summer air. She typically works at Lucky Stars and several other smaller ranches in the area, and summers tend to be crazy for her.

“Busy,” she says, hands gripping the wheel. “It’s breeding season and rodeo season, so I’ve been swamped with prenatal visits and health checks.” She casts a quick glance at me and shrugs. “You know, the usual.”

I nod, understanding. Summer at a ranch is never slow, and Beau has been there from sunup to sundown most days, but it’s especially busy for a large animal vet like Jade.

“I think Cooper is up to something too,” she says, catching my attention.

I raise a brow, watching as her hair catches in the wind and blows around the cab. It’s gotten so long in the year since I’ve been home. “What do you mean?”

“I caught him wandering around a few random places on the ranch. He was carrying a notebook, and I think he even had a spreadsheet,” she says, incredulous. “And when I asked him about it, he wouldn’t tell me anything.”

“I mean,” I respond, “him not telling you something isn’t exactly new behavior.”

Jade and Cooper have been at odds for as long as I’ve known them.

From what Beau has told me, they were like this even as kids.

They were always competing for the same things, and Jade would resent when Cooper would win with minimal or no effort.

Then, when they were adults, she struggled her way through vet school and made a name for herself in a male-dominated career while he turned down a full scholarship to university to go pro in bull riding.

I think she thinks he doesn’t care about things and that he hasn’t worked for anything he’s gotten.

And he thinks she’s a stick-in-the-mud who judges people too harshly.

I think they both have blinders on when it comes to one another. They’re incapable of seeing how great they both are, how similar they are. It makes family gatherings loud and combative, but we’re all used to it.

“Maybe,” she concedes. “But I still think he’s hiding something.”

“Cooper is an open book.”

“Cooper tells people all the things about himself that no one wants to know and keeps all the things he doesn’t want people to see very close to his chest,” she replies, turning down the road that leads to Lucky Stars.

Her words take me by surprise. Mostly because they make sense, but I’ve never noticed it before. But she’s kind of right. Know your enemy, I guess.

“Enough about Cooper Jennings,” she says.

I can’t help but laugh. “You brought him up.”

She shakes her head. “I’ve reached my quota of him for the month.”

“August just started.”

She lets out an aggrieved sigh. “And yet, here we are.”

Dirt and gravel crunch beneath the tires as we turn down the familiar road to Lucky Stars, passing under the gate with the familiar ranch logo of a lasso forming three stars, one for each of the kids that Beau’s great-great-great-grandfather had.

The sight of the rusting metal stars always brings a smile to my face, and today is no different.

I love the history here, the legacy, and I love that we’re celebrating the next generation of Jenningses here today.

The first thing I notice when we pull up in front of the big house is the number of cars parked outside.

Dozens. Too many for me to count. Women are climbing out of truck cabs, heading toward the tables that have been set up in the shade of the big house.

It looks like a garden party, with pastel tablecloths and flowers lining every surface.

Finger sandwiches stacked on a long table off to the side, tiny desserts, and a cake covered in summer berries.

A mirror painted with the words “Welcome to the family, little one” in swirling script.

“This can’t all be for me,” I breathe, the words feeling choked in my throat. My heart is pounding, my stomach tightening reflexively. When I rip my gaze from the party in front of me and look at Jade, she’s wearing a soft, patient smile.

“Els, I told you this town would show up for you.”

“Not like this.” But even as I say it, the words obviously ring false.

Because here they are. Women I’ve barely met at church potlucks and Fourth of July barbeques.

Parents of students I teach at the studio.

Beau’s teachers from high school and his babysitter from childhood.

People I’ve never seen before or only know in passing.

All of them here for me, even after all the hurt I caused. It feels like a balloon filling up in my chest, too much air and close to bursting.

“I don’t know what to say,” I whisper to Jade, my eyes drifting back to the party. In the distance, I see my mom talking to Cheyenne. Lottie bringing out another doily-lined plate from the big house. Tonya making one of the studio moms laugh.

“Luckily, almost everyone will ask you one single question about how you’re feeling and then offer you unsolicited advice about child rearing,” she says, shrugging. “At least that’s how it was at my cousin’s baby shower last year.”

My laugh pushes back the tears threatening to spill, and I look at my best friend. Her brown eyes are soft, her smile tender. “Thank you for making me do this,” I tell her.

She nudges my shoulder with her own. “Anytime. Now let’s go eat some chicken salad. I was here yesterday while Lottie was making it, and she wouldn’t let me have any. It’s all I’ve been thinking about since.”

“I bet she let Cooper have some,” I say, climbing out of the truck, careful not to let my dress get stuck.

Jade glares in my direction. “Don’t even start.”