“Not mine.” I can match him word for short word if that’s what it comes to. Regan throws up her hands like she can’t believe me and turns a brilliant smile on my dad. Given that Regan is hotter than a dozen Dallas Cowboys cheerleaders, that smile works on my dad better than bacon grease on a skillet. He blinks a couple of times in stunned appreciative silence, and then she takes mercy on him by walking over to me and slaying me with the same look.
Fortunately I’m building up immunity to it, so I’m only out of it for half the time. “So, Dad, it’s good to see you. Mom with you?”
He shakes his head. “Your sister . . .” He stops and clears his throat. The mention of Naomi makes me stiff as a board. “Your sister called and said she’s working on a project and that she can’t come home yet.”
“She emailed and said she was doing good,” I tell him. Part of my deal with Vasily is regular contact; sometimes he has to interrupt her to get her to conduct her daily check-in. Naomi gets lost in her own world a lot of the time.
Dad nods. “Yes.”
And then there’s nothing else we say to each other until Regan throws up her hands and cries, “For God’s sake. You two are impossible. Naomi called me and asked why we hadn’t gone to the ranch, and I said you couldn’t go home until she got back. She then told me she didn’t know when she was coming back, so we called your parents together. Daniel, your parents want you to go back.”
A rush of emotion rolls over me, and I stagger a step, grateful that Regan is right beside me. “Is that true?”
Dad nods, looking down at the floor at first, and then raises his wet eyes to meet mine. “We miss you, son. Your momma, she needs her boy.”
It’s hard to speak because I’ve got a big old frog in my throat, but after a minute I’m able to turn to Regan. “You wanna come see my home?”
She gives me that heart-slaying smile and says, “I’m with you until my last breath.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
REGAN
We drive down from Minnesota to Texas so I can take my boxes of DVDs, my clothes, and my tiny hatchback car with us. Daisy weeps the entire time we say good-bye, promising to come visit. Nick looks as stoic and Ukrainian as ever, though he and Daniel exchange a quick, one-armed bro-hug before we depart.
It’s strange, but I’m not sad to be leaving Minnesota behind. It’s a clean break. I’m transferring my college hours to a local university. I don’t have much left in Minnesota that I can’t take a weekend and visit. And if Daniel is going to Texas, then that’s where I want to be.
We take a few days and drive down, stopping at rest stops and taking pictures next to WELCOME TO— state signs for fun. We hit up a few tourist traps, eat at greasy spoon diners, and park the car and make love in the cramped backseat when we can’t stand it any longer. It’s the most fun I’ve ever had on a road trip. Every day that I wake up and see Daniel’s face next to mine in the bed, I am so thankful that he’s all for me, that he never gives up on me, even when I’m at my most needy and demanding. Not every guy would take up with a damaged girl fresh out of a whorehouse. But Daniel has never made me feel dirty or used or anything but incredibly beautiful.
So if he wants to go to Texas and help his parents on the farm? We are heading to Texas. There’s not a question in my mind.
Texas is definitely not what I expect. I guess I have nonstop cowboys and longhorns on my mind, so it’s surprising to me when I notice that the biggest thing about Texas is that . . . it’s flat. It’s flat for miles and miles around. There are some stumpy trees, but overall, there’s endless rolling grass. Daniel tells me that West Texas, which is where we are headed, is different from East Texas, which is nothing but trees. I think he’s pulling my leg, but whatever.
The Hays ranch is right smack-dab in the middle of nowhere. I’m surprised when we turn off a road and see a big metal gate with a sideways H bisected by a D. “That’s our brand,” Daniel tells me, and there’s a hint of pride in his voice. It’s fascinating.
“And what is it exactly that you brand?” I ask him as we drive through the gate.
“You know. Steer, calves, blondes that don’t behave.” He gives me a waggle of his eyebrows that makes me snort.