Page 160 of Josephine and Clay

Outside, the sun hits bright and mean. The kind of heat that presses down on the back of your neck and makes everything smell of dust, hay, and horse sweat.

Home smells.

I hate that I know them.

I hate that some stupid, soft part of me missed them.

Rusty trots after me, tongue lolling out of his mouth.

“No,” I tell him. “Don’t start.”

He sneezes.

“Exactly. Stay out of it.”

He follows anyway.

By lunch, Dallas gets his turn.

I’m at the kitchen table with a plate Mom made me that I didn’t ask for. Sandwich, pickles, chips, tall glass of tea sweating rings onto the wood.

I eat because if I don’t, somebody will notice.

Somebody always notices in this damn house.

Dallas sits across from me with a folder under one arm and Brooklyn’s teething toy in his shirt pocket because that’s a normal thing for a grown man to carry. It’s shaped as a giraffe.

I stare at it.

He follows my gaze, pulls it out, and sets it on the table. “Don’t judge. Brooklyn threw it at my head this morning, and I forgot it was there.”

“I wasn’t judging.”

“You were absolutely judging.”

“Maybe a little.”

He smirks, then opens his folder. “Nash said you’re already talking about leaving.”

I chew slowly. “Y’all start a committee?”

“We have meetings. Matching jackets. Very official.”

“Sounds miserable.”

“It is. Boone insists on minutes.”

That gets a short laugh out of me before I can stop it.

Dallas leans back.

“Seriously, though. You don’t have to rush.” His expression softens just enough to make me nervous. “I was thinking, once your leg’s stronger, we could ride out to the north pasture. Haven’t done that in a while. Maybe grab drinks after.”

I look down at my plate.

There it is again.

That thing they keep doing.