Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 102339 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 512(@200wpm)___ 409(@250wpm)___ 341(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102339 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 512(@200wpm)___ 409(@250wpm)___ 341(@300wpm)
“What is it then, Son?”
I could hear my heart pounding as I drew in a slow, deep breath and then exhaled.
“I’d like to build a house on the ranch. I haven’t talked to Bristol about it yet, but I thought if you were willing to let me have a stab at running the ranch a bit more, it might be best if Bristol and I lived here instead of Bristol’s house in town. I don’t think she’ll disagree with it, but it would be at least a year out—maybe by then she’ll have someone helping her manage the tea room, and she won’t have to be there so early each morning.”
My father brought his horse to a stop and stared at me.
“Run the ranch?”
Christ Almighty, my heart was pounding in my ears as I looked back at him.
“Not full-time, of course, I know you’re still a part of it. But I’d like to start learning more from you that so when you retire, I’ll be ready. If you still want that.”
“You want to run the ranch? This ranch? Here in Comfort?”
I chuckled. “Ah, yes, Sir. The family ranch. This one right here in Comfort.”
“What about your singing career, Anson? I mean, I’d love for you to come on board, Son, but how often would you be gone? I’m assuming weeks at a time.”
“Actually, no, Dad. I had to fly back to Nashville last week because the record company wanted me to sign a contract to give them three more albums.”
I saw the pride in his eyes, and it made me feel damn good. But I also saw the disappointment in there as well.
“Robert, my manager, told them last Monday I wasn’t interested in signing the contract.”
His mouth fell open. “Son, why would you do that? Why would you walk away from that dream?”
“I’m not walking away, Dad. I’m taking a step back from that part of my career. I’ve actually written quite a few songs that other artists have used that have gone to number one. I’ve made a name for myself as a songwriter, not just a singer.”
“Yes, I know. You won that song of the year award for the two-girl group. They recorded it, but you wrote the song.”
I nodded, feeling my emotions start to get stuck in my throat. Not only had Bristol been following my career—apparently, my father had as well.
“Yes. Writing songs has always been one of my favorite parts of this journey. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve loved every moment of the last six years. Well, most of them, anyway. It took me coming home to see what I loved more. Bristol and this ranch. You, Mom, Grams, and Granddad. I want to raise my kids here, not on some tour bus. Here. In Comfort. On this ranch.”
He opened his mouth, then closed it, then opened it again.
“How…what…I mean to say is, what does Bristol think about all of this?”
“I haven’t told her yet. I wanted to talk to you first. If you’ll have me, Dad, I’d like to come home.”
Tears filled his eyes, and I felt my own burn as I tried not to break the dam of feelings I’d kept inside the last six years.
“Son, you haven’t been the only one who…who made a mistake. I acted like an old fool by pushing you away, and I lost out on six years of you in my life.” He looked away and shook his head while he wiped his tears. Then he focused back on me and said, “Having you here, in Comfort and living on the ranch…hell, nothing would make me happier, Anson.”
My cheeks ached from smiling so damn big.
“Should we get off our horses and hug or something?” I asked.
He scoffed and wiped his tears away once more. “Hell, no, we’re cowboys, Son. Cowboys don’t cry. Or at least, they don’t let anyone see ’em cry. And they certainly don’t hug, for fuck’s sake.”
I lifted my arm and wiped my damp cheeks off with my shirt while I laughed. “Understood, Sir. Understood.”
“But a father and a son would probably get off the horses and do just that.”
I slid off my horse, and so did my father. I walked up to him, and he grabbed me behind my neck and pulled me to him. For the second time in my life, I let my tears fall free and I cried like a damn baby. This time, though, I wasn’t alone in a hotel room in Nashville.
I was in my father’s arms.
I was home.
Tonight was poker and Bunco night. Granddad had texted me three times to remind me about it, and Bristol texted twice and called once trying to figure out a way to get out of it.
“Honey! I’m home!” I called out as I walked into Bristol’s house. I couldn’t help but laugh. Zeus, the little traitor, came running up to me.