Page 69 of Role Play (Off the Books #1)
“You didn’t have to go to all that trouble,” she says.
“No trouble.” He pauses, then adds with uncharacteristic openness, “Been a long time since I’ve had guests worth fussing over.” My father isn’t a demonstrative man—never has been—but in his own way, he’s screaming from the rooftops how much this visit means to him.
The road curves sharply, and through a break in the field, the ranch appears before us—a sprawling, single-story house with a wide front porch that’s seen better days.
The paint on the main barn, just a stone’s throw away from the house, is peeling, and one of the fence sections near the road needs repair.
“There she is,” my father says with quiet pride. “Hawkins Ranch. Been in our family for four generations.” He glances back at Sora. “Not as fancy as New York, but?—”
“It’s beautiful, Boone. Very impressive. How many acres?” she asks, and the genuine awe in her voice makes him sit a little straighter.
“A little over a hundred.”
“Wow. That’s a lot of upkeep. Do you use ranch hands with horses or sheepdogs to herd?”
I turn my neck to glance curiously at Sora. She widens her eyes at me in the universal symbol of: Be cool .
“Sheepdogs?” Dad asks with a chuckle. “Honey, Hawkinses haven’t used sheepdogs even in my lifetime.
They take too much to train. I’ve still got Redd, but he’s old and fat.
The only thing he can wrangle these days is a nap.
We use ATVs mostly. I heard Riggins Ranch is using drones now.
Offered to loan me one. Supposedly effective, but I’m not messing around with that technology mumbo jumbo. ”
“You’re talking to Riggins?” I ask, acknowledging Dad’s old nemesis, the nicer ranch just up the road.
Dad shrugs, trying to hide his embarrassment. “Rivals become more friendly in tough times. At the end of the day, we all take care of each other. He lent me some hands for the last calving season.”
Translation: Dad’s broke and has resorted to taking handouts.
I know his pride is hurt. My stomach sinks a foot lower.
Fuck, I feel terrible. It’s another reminder of why I don’t visit often.
It’s been two years since my last trip home.
The guilt is physically painful. I should be here, helping him.
Dad has been letting ranch hands go left and right, unable to afford them.
He’s carrying this burden all on his own, his only son abandoning him for city dreams.
“And, Boone, when is your calving season? Do you breed your heifers to give birth in the winter season or spring?”
I turn around to face Sora again. “Heifers? Did you spend a lot of time on Google before this trip?”
She shushes me aggressively, trying adorably to impress Dad with her ranch knowledge.
“I don’t have any heifers, lil lady. All my current cows are seasoned.”
“Right…right,” Sora says, squinting one eye, clearly confused by Dad’s reply.
“A heifer is a young female who hasn’t given birth yet. Dad’s current cows all had at least one calf.” Or more accurately, Dad had to let his heifers go early to try to make money at market. It’s expensive to maintain and breed.
“Our calving season is winter,” Dad adds. “We start them early so they have time to get a little bigger before market. More weight, more money.”
Dakota decides to insert herself back into the conversation at the most inconvenient time. “Why do the cows go to market?”
Turning once again, Sora and I meet each other’s eyes with wide stares. “Papaw goes to market to sell the cows to other families who need them.”
“Like pets?” Koda asks.
“Yup,” Sora annexes my lie seamlessly. “Exactly.”
Dad shoots me a look. “I thought you told me she was advanced? The lil one doesn’t know what a burger is?”
“Hush,” I hiss. “She’s four. And unless you want her in tears for the rest of the day, as far as we’re concerned, you sell cows like puppies, okay?”
We pull up to the house, and my dad cuts the engine. The sudden silence feels thick after the constant rumble of the truck.
“Home sweet home,” he announces, a hint of nervousness creeping into his voice as if he’s suddenly worried it won’t measure up to expectations. “Let’s get inside and warm up. November air’s got a bite to it, even in the morning.”
As he helps Dakota out of her car seat, there’s a tenderness to his movements that belies his rugged exterior. He may have only just met her in person, but it’s clear my daughter has already wrapped him around her little finger.
“I brought my coat, Papaw. Can I go outside and see the ranch later?” she asks, looking around with eager curiosity.
“Course you can,” he confirms. “I’ll give you the grand tour. Show you the barn, the old chicken coop, even the creek that runs along the back of the property.”
“And then we can make chili?” She bounces on her toes.
“That’s right,” he promises. “You can be my special helper.”
“And Sora too! She makes really good cookies. Maybe we can have cookies for dessert?”
My dad looks at Sora with amusement. “Thought Forrest implied you were a little…inexperienced in the kitchen.”
“Cookies are my one exception,” she admits with a laugh. “Everything else is a disaster, but somehow cookies always work out.”
“Well then,” he says, “sounds like we’ve got ourselves a plan. Chili for dinner, cookies for dessert.”
The image of my stoic father cooking alongside Sora and Dakota makes my heart constrict with a mixture of love and regret. All the years we’ve missed, all the moments he should have had just like this…
But we’re here now, at least.
I help Sora out of the truck while my dad leads a hopping Dakota toward the house, pointing out features of the ranch with an animation I never knew he possessed.
I start unloading our bags from the truck bed, pausing to take in the sight of them together—my father, my daughter, and Sora, framed against the backdrop of home, my real home.
As I close the truck door, something catches my eye—a small plastic tag still affixed to the side of the car seat through the truck window. Curious, I move closer to read it: $249.99.
Nearly half a month’s worth of groceries for my dad.
My stomach twists with even more guilt. I know exactly how tight money is for him these days. The ranch hasn’t been profitable in years, and the support I send is barely enough to keep the place running. Yet he spent over two hundred dollars on a car seat that will be used for what—three days?
And the space heater for Sora’s room. And who knows what else he’s done to prepare for our visit in the past week, stretching his limited resources to make us comfortable, to make this homecoming special. He wants them to love being here, so I’ll bring them back . And he won’t feel so alone.
“Need help with those bags?” my dad calls from the porch, Dakota now excitedly pointing at something in the distance as he patiently explains what it is.
“Got it,” I holler, swallowing past the lump in my throat.
Sora appears at my side, taking one of the bags. “Your dad is wonderful,” she says softly. “I can see where you get your heart.”
I look at her, surprised and touched by the observation. “He’s really making an effort. He’s usually much more…”
“Reserved?” she supplies.
“That’s a polite way of putting it.” I grin. “But Dakota brings out the best in people. And he seems to really like you.”
“The feeling is mutual.” She looks toward the house, where he’s now showing Dakota how to stomp the mud off her shoes before entering. “I’m glad we came, Forrest. This feels so important.”
“Yeah,” I agree, the weight of the moment settling around us. “It is.”
Together, we carry the bags toward the house, the clean, crisp November air filling our lungs with each step.
Whatever else happens this weekend—however many uncomfortable questions I have to answer, however many truths I have to face—this moment, right now, feels like coming home in the truest sense of the word.
For once in my life, I’m not pretending. I’m showing Sora my true colors, my humble life almost a world away from New York City, and she’s still looking at me like I’m the prize.
All the times I was bitter that Hannah wouldn’t visit Wyoming with me. All her resistance and rejection pissed me off at the time, but now I’m grateful. I had to wait, because it was never just about coming home…
It was about coming home with the right girl.