Garrett was oblivious to my shocked state. “The Sunset Boys. One of the best competitive bull riding teams in generations. My grandpa used to take me to see them when I’d visit him in Texas as a kid. Can’t remember their names, but I remember all the flash and ceremony. I think I still have a signed poster stuffed in a drawer somewhere. The Sunset Boys were famous in the South. You’re familiar with them, right?”
“Yes.” My gaze returned to the flyer where the letters blurred before my eyes. I guess the past had a way of following us whether we wanted it to or not. “One of them is my biological father.”
Chapter Fifteen
The first time a man broke my heart I was three years old.
Lance “Buck” Sorrel had been a handsome twenty-four-year-old Texan who worked the rodeo circuit and left my mom, brother, and me to go chase his dream. My mother had held him loosely, so one night he packed his Ford truck and took off to spend his time with what gripped him tightly. My biological father would weave in and out of our lives for the next four years, but after one visit on a crisp fall evening, he deposited Colin and me on our mama’s front porch and never returned. By that time, Mom had married Sylvie’s son Shepherd, a man five years my mom’s junior, and they had baby Olivia. Colin and I finally had a real father.
That evening as I walked into the building that would become Rosie’s bookshop, I carried a flyer that bore the name of my bio-dad tucked into my purse. I’d found it in multiples in the window of the grocery store and taken one as if I’d had a right. I was a flyer thief. A poster purloiner. A grown woman walking around with a classic case of wounded inner child. The Mission Springs Rodeo ran the week of September 13, so I had almost two weeks to obsess over whether I’d attend or not.
“We’re committed to the wallpapered accent wall,” Olivia hollered at Rosie. “Accept it and find your peace.”
“I still think it’s a bit much.” Rosie’s hands were planted in the pockets of her dress as she watched Olivia unfurl a roll of wallpaper and hold it up for consideration.
“It’s on trend.” Olivia’s exasperated face was a clear indication this wasn’t the first viewing of the black-and-white wallpaper. “Hattie, end this torture. Would you just look at this and tell Rosie it’s perfect?”
I set down my bag and tried to roll some tension out of my shoulders. “I know horses, coffee, and reality TV. I’m zero help when it comes to decor.”
Olivia dropped her arms, and the viewing time was over. “Hattie says she loves it and I’m right.”
“My exact words.” I went to the small table that contained Rosie’s tea setup and grabbed the electric kettle. “The place is really coming along.”
With dust in her hair and paint speckled on her dress, Rosie looked about. “It’s a huge mess. Tomorrow the crew comes to knock out two walls I didn’t want to lose, the flooring is backordered, and I found another leak upstairs. Other than that”—she grinned, a woman on the cusp of a brand new adventure—“it’s amazing.”
“Is there a name yet for this amazingness?” Olivia asked, full of hope and all sorts of marketing timelines.
“I’m still working on the shop name,” Rosie said. “Be patient.”
“Easy for you to say.” Olivia checked something on her phone. “On a positive note, the pizza’s on its way. While we wait, you can tell us about your day, Hattie.”
It was on the tip of my tongue to tell my sisters about Garrett’s progress, about my conflicting feelings for Miller. And about the fact that my biological father was less than an hour away from us. “My day was…productive.”
Olivia tilted her head, a cat who’d sniffed something to pounce. “You don’t look like someone who’s had a productive day and hasn’t spent the last hour convincing your sister she can’t paint every surface yellow.”
Rosie pushed up her pink glasses. “Yellow is very cheery.”
“For a baby’s nursery,” Olivia countered before returning that laser focus to me. “If you don’t start talking, I won’t share the ham and pineapple pizza.”
Water went into the kettle, and I flicked the switch to bring it to life. “That’s cruel.”
“You’ll be stuck with Rosie’s veggie weirdness.”
Rosie shuffled a thick stack of paint chips, all variations of white. “Veggie pizza is delightful.”
“It’s an insult to pizza. Anyway.” Olivia rolled a hand. “Please continue, Hattie.”
I wasn’t feeling very talkative. I just wanted to be the quiet one this evening—to hang out with my sisters and make poor food choices and listen to their animated chatter that never failed to lift my spirits. “I finished the grant renewal application that would keep the program going.” It had taken years off my life, but it was done. “They’ll decide in about three weeks.”
“Surely you’ll get it,” Olivia said. “Is Miller on board?”
“He actually seems to be.” I had noticed him warming up to our program, which helped. “Therapy sessions went well. Every day things get better, but it’s hard work, and bad memories are triggered, of course.” Though Garrett’s session had been incredible, a woman in the next group hadn’t fared as well. She’d shown up to the session overly medicated, then yelled at each horse and human within shouting distance. Two volunteers had finagled her into her car and driven her home, but every veteran had been rattled.There wasn’t a soul on the farm who didn’t need to learn how to deal with unexpected triggers, but none of us had been ready for the impromptu lesson.
“What was it you once told me?” Olivia popped the top on an energy drink and took a sip. Our father liked to joke that her veins were filled with caffeine instead of type O. “You told me if the old wounds aren’t dealt with, then we bring them with us wherever we go—like luggage.”
“That’s right.” The kettle water bubbled, and I selected a mug from Rosie’s eclectic collection. “Sometimes I say smart things, don’t I?”
Olivia smiled. “Sugar Creek is so lucky to have you back. You’re changing lives, Hattie.”
