The screen door slammed before Y/N even looked up. Dean’s voice carried through the house.
Dean Parker
He’s here.
That was all the warning she got. From the kitchen window she could see the old Eastwood truck parked crooked beside the barn, dust still settling around it. One duffel bag sat in the truck bed. River always traveled light.
Her stomach twisted anyway. She hadn’t seen him in almost two years. Not really.
Y/N dried her hands on a dish towel and stepped out onto the porch just as River climbed down from the passenger side.
Taller than she remembered. Worn denim. Beat-up boots. Dark curls tucked beneath a black cowboy hat. A cigarette hung loosely from his mouth until Dean shot him a look.
River Eastwood
sighs and pulls it outRight. Sorry.
Same voice. Lower now.
He glanced toward the porch and froze when he saw her standing there. For a second neither of them spoke. The wind moved through the fields behind the house, carrying that dry summer smell of dirt and horses and rain that never quite came.
River Eastwood
Hey, Parker.
Like he hadn’t disappeared. Like she hadn’t spent months wondering why he never called. A slow grin pulled onto his face.
