His handshake is firm, hand nearly twice the size of mine, and his palm calloused and rough from years of working this ranch. The resemblance between him and Finn is uncanny. Same forest green eyes, same dark hair—although Gentry’s is a bit more salt and pepper than his sons—same strong nose and jawline, but whereas Finn sports a five o’clock shadow, his father has a full, thick beard.
“I am. It’s nice to meet you too.”
Offering a hand to my sister, he introduces himself. “I’m Gentry, Finn’s father.”
“Violet,” she says with a smile. “It’s so nice to meet you.”
Gentry directs his gaze to his grandson. “Well, looks like you’re coming to my house for a sleepover. Why don’t we head inside and pack ya a bag.”
“Yeah!” Tucker’s eyes light up as he turns to book it into the house, leaving me with my sister and Finn.
None of us says anything for a moment. It’s awkward. Are they always like this together? Violet is such a bubbly person, and Finn seems so…not.
It’s my sister who finally breaks the silence. “Should I go pick us up some pizzas? We can have lunch while getting you unpacked?”
“Uh…” I look from her to Finn. “I don’t know. Does that sound good?”
Working his jaw, he nods, grabbing his wallet out of his back pocket. “Yeah, that’s fine.” Handing her some cash, he adds, “That should cover it, but let me know if it doesn’t.”
As soon as she leaves, Tucker and Gentry walk out, a tiny backpack slung over Gentry’s shoulder as they both climb into the ATV and are on their way.
The rest of the afternoon is spent in a similar and uncomfortable fashion. Finn gives me another tour of the house, we eat once Vi gets back, and I do a little unpacking. Once she heads home, I hide out in my room for the rest of the night. I wonder how long it’ll take for me to feel like I live here too and am not just somebody imposing on Finn’s personal space.
Fresh out of the shower, I toss my towel in the hamper as I pass by the laundry room. The savory aroma of bacon fills my senses, my stomach rumbling. It’s a little after nine, and this is the first time this morning I’ve ventured this far into the house. I woke up a little while ago, did some yoga in my room—not ideal—and took a nice, hot shower before deciding it was probably time to make myself known. I don’t need my new boss thinking I’m rude or antisocial before I’ve even started.
The soft tune of something old and country plays from somewhere in the living room, and when I scan the space, I spot a record player sitting on top of a cabinet, with an impressive record collection piled beside it. With the scent of a home-cooked breakfast in the air, country music playing, and the early morning sun bathing the living room in a golden glow, nostalgia hits me. It feels cozy and homey, like weekend mornings when Violet and I were little kids. Mom and Dad making breakfast together as they danced around each other in the kitchen, barefoot and happy, the windows open, letting in the morning air.
Padding into the kitchen, I come to a stop, my breath catching in my throat as I take in the sight before me. Finn’s standing at the stove, flipping bacon and what looks like pancakes, already fully dressed in a pair of tight, light-washed Wranglers and a white t-shirt, the sleeves cuffed, and a Moore Family Ranch hat flipped backwards on his head. A quick glance out the window over the sink shows me that Tucker is running around out back with Bubba.
A laugh bubbles up my throat when I see a couple of chickens trailing after them, like they’re chasing the puppy and Tucker. Finn whips his head around, wide gaze meeting mine, clearly not realizing I was in here.
“Sorry,” I murmur with a chuckle. “I didn’t mean to startle you. I saw the chickens chasing them around the yard andit made me laugh. Did Tucker just get home? Oh, and good morning.”
“Mornin’,” he offers as he turns his attention out the window. “Yeah, I picked him up after I went to check on the cattle. They’ve been out there for the last half hour.”
“How many chickens do you have?”
“About half a dozen at this point.” He flips a couple of pancakes onto a large plate before setting it in the oven. “Hungry? Breakfast is almost ready.”
“Actually, yeah.” Walking over to the bar, I ask, “Anything I can do to help?”
Finn glances over his shoulder, deep green eyes meeting mine as he tips his head to the side. “Plates are in that cabinet if you want to get some out. Silverware is right below it.”
“Do you make a big breakfast like this every weekend?” I inquire as I move around the kitchen. I’m not sure if they’re an eat-at-the-table-like-a-family household, but I grab a few napkins and set the table anyway.
“Try to,” he replies. “Some weekends are busier than others, so I don’t get a chance all the time. But it was something I looked forward to as a kid, so I’ve always tried to do it for my own.”
Once I’m finished, I take the orange juice out of the fridge as Finn hollers for Tucker at the backdoor. As he runs up to the porch and kicks off his shoes by the door, his eyes brighten when they spot me. He insists on sitting next to me as we eat, asking me dozens of questions, ranging from my favorite color to where I lived before here. By the end of our meal, I already know I’m going to love hanging out with him every day.
“Want a tour of the ranch?” Finn asks once he’s finished cleaning up the breakfast dishes. I offered to help, but he just grunted and shook his head.
“Uh, sure. That’d be great.”
This place ishuge.Way bigger than I originally thought. Driving over to the barn, he introduces me to the weekend ranch hands, the horses, explaining in vague detail what everything is before we hop in an ATV, similar to the one Gentry showed up on yesterday, and he drives me around the property.
I would easily get lost out here if left to my own devices, that much I know for sure. There’s a total of three pastures for the cattle, a horse pen, a row of cabins that sits in front of the creek running through the property. I think it’ll be fun to explore with Tucker while his dad’s at work. I can see many early afternoons spent at the creek or riding bikes along the trail. I’ve never ridden a horse, but maybe I’ll have the chance to learn at some point.
For as bummed out as I was about having to move back to Wolf Creek, I can’t deny the hope that fills me about this new journey.
