“If they promise to sign all your hockey crap, will you come in out of the cold? You two didn’t have the sense to put on coats when you ran out.” That no-nonsense voice belonged to my big sister, Zoe.
Standing taller than most women I knew, the blonde woman I grew up with threw both hands on her hips from where she was perched on the giant wraparound porch.
“Better hustle up inside, boys, before your mom adds to your chore list,” I teased them, but they were already running, nearly halfway back to the house.
Making my way up the porch steps to where Zoe remained standing, I pulled her into a hug. Only two years older than me, we were close. We had no choice, considering our nearest neighbors were miles away. Growing up, it was either play with each other or play alone.
Leaving her behind to chase my hockey dream was one of the hardest things I’d ever had to do, but her life was here. She knew from an early age that she would stay with the ranch and continue the Berg family legacy.
It didn’t help that she’d always had her eye on a certain ranch hand.
That ranch hand was now her husband.
Nash Bowman was easily the bravest man alive to take on my sister. A cowboy to the core, he was ten years older than Zoe, but she’d set her sights on him when she was only sixteen. Poor bastard never stood a chance once she decided he would be hers.
The main house belonged to my parents, but Zoe, Nash, and their family had built a smaller house on the property. They might live separately, but they operated as one family unit. Dad and Nash worked the land with the rest of the ranch hands, coming back to the big house every night, where Mom and Zoe were ready and waiting with a hearty meal.
I loved my life, but sometimes, I missed the simplicity of living on the ranch.
Zoe pushed against my big shoulders. “All right, enough of the mushy stuff. Dinner’s gonna get cold. Get your friends and get washed up.”
Conditioned from an early age to follow orders—probably why I was so coachable as a hockey player—I didn’t linger, calling over my shoulder to the guys to follow me inside. Pointing them in the direction of the downstairs powder room, I jogged up the stairs to use the bathroom.
Hands clean, I entered the kitchen to find Jaxon was already charming the room. He couldn’t help it. That’s who he was. My mom ate it up as he traded recipes with her.
“Maybe next time, I should just send Jaxon and stay behind at the hotel,” I joked.
Looking up, Mom smiled.
It was strange growing older. You had a hard time remembering what your parents looked like when you were a kid. When I thought of the woman who raised me, I could only picture her as she was now. Her silvery gray hair was pulledinto a bun at the nape of her neck, black-rimmed glasses made her blue eyes seem impossibly large, and there was a softness around her middle from enjoying one too many homemade pies. Even in her mid-sixties, my mom was beautiful. She always would be.
“Aw, does my baby boy need attention?” she crooned.
Oh yeah, and she was a ballbuster, too.
Laughing, Benji threw an arm around her shoulders. “I like her.” Giving her a wink, he asked her, “Looking to adopt? My social worker would love to be rid of me.”
He didn’t often talk about growing up in foster care, mainly because it reminded him of a time he wanted to forget.
Not letting him get away with cozying up to my mom, I retorted, “Well, you are a man-child. I’m not sure you could hack life on the ranch. I bet you wouldn’t survive one day of manual labor.”
Holding up his hands, he looked at me aghast. “And ruin the best hands in the league? No way. You can keep her.” Kissing her on the cheek, he apologized, “Sorry, Josie, guess you’re stuck with this big brute.”
Zoe called from the dining room, “If you don’t get your butts in these seats, we are starting without you!”
Mom shook her head, but her smile reached her blue eyes, highlighting the lines in the corner. With my parents getting older, the handoff of the ranch was imminent. They deserved to enjoy their golden years with how hard they’d worked, how much they had sacrificed for my career. They were far too proud to accept my financial help, but I needed to spend more time with them in the off-season. Time was precious, and there was never enough.
“Who needs a dinner bell when you have Zoe?” she quipped.
“Well, when all you have for miles is wide open spaces, you never thought to teach her the importance of an indoor voice,” I accused.
Holding up a hand, Mom laughed. “Guilty as charged. Our Zoe is wild and free. I wouldn’t change either of my children for the world. They both turned out pretty amazing.”
“Are we eating or what?” Dad’s gruff voice filtered into the kitchen.
Winking at Mom, I mused, “Maybe some of Zoe is to blame on him.”
“Oh, definitely,” she agreed before walking into the dining room.
