Page 164 of Dusty Spur Ranch Cowboys

Every person I care about will be inside the place Travis has chosen for his final move.

The meeting ends once Hank finishes the assignments. Red walks outside with him to inspect the trailers, while Willy starts opening cupboards despite eating a breakfast burrito before sunrise.

Arizona gathers the empty mugs from the table.

“You brought the coffee,” I tell her as I collect the folder Hank left for me. “That should excuse you from cleaning.”

She stacks two cups. “I don’t remember agreeing to fair working conditions.”

“I’ve noticed.”

She carries the mugs toward the sink. “Besides, I know where everything goes.”

She does, and that realization follows me as I put the security folder near the refrigerator.

Arizona knows which cupboard holds the coffee and which barn door sticks after rain. She knows Sadie needs two songs when she’s tired, although she always asks for three, and she understands that Willy gets louder when he’s worried because silence gives him too much room to think.

Sadie’s drawings cover the refrigerator, including one where all of us stand outside the barn while Arizona holds a guitar nearly as tall as she is.

Sadie taped it up herself and refused to move Arizona from the middle when I suggested the picture might fit better another way.

The back door opens, and Sadie runs across the kitchen before I can spend too long studying it. She stops by Arizona and takes her hand.

“Can we make pancakes?”

Arizona looks at the paperwork spread across the table before turning to me. “Do we have time?”

I should say no because Red expects me back outside and half the equipment still needs loading, but Sadie keeps looking between us with optimism.

“We have enough time,” I tell her.

She cheers and drags Arizona toward the counter before either of us can change our minds.

A few minutes later, Sadie stands on a chair stirring batter while Arizona keeps the bowl from sliding across the counter. Flour covers the front of Sadie’s shirt, and a streak of batter runs down Arizona’s sleeve after Sadie lifts the spoon too fast.

“I’m helping,” Sadie says.

Arizona wipes at the batter and spreads it farther. “You’ve made sure nobody can question that.”

Sadie grins and returns to stirring while I heat the pan.

Watching Arizona with her should feel familiar by now, but the sight still catches me in places I’d rather keep protected.

Arizona listens to every story Sadie tells, reminds her to wipe her hands before reaching into the drawer, and answers each question as though the rest of the ranch can wait.

For several minutes, the kitchen feels separate from everything outside.

Then a truck reduces its speed near the ranch entrance.

I turn toward the window and follow it until the driver continues down the road without pulling in. Arizona notices the movement and meets my eyes across the counter, but neither of us mentions it in front of Sadie.

By the time the pancakes are ready, Willy wanders in and reaches for one before I set down the platter.

I catch his wrist. “You could wait until everyone sits down.”

He tears off the edge anyway. “I’m checking whether they’re safe for consumption.”

“That excuse gets worse every time.”