Hearts Reclaimed: A Second Chance Small Town Romance (Wild Hearts of Yellowstone Creek Ranch: A Contemporary Cowboy Romance Series Book 6) by J.P. Comeau

Author:J.P. Comeau [Comeau, J.P.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2024-04-06T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Thirteen

Whispers and Whiskey

Sarah

The tantalizing scent of the pot roast wafted through the dining room, a comforting reminder of family togetherness. My gaze rested on Dad as he settled into his seat at the head of the table, a faint smile appearing on his lips. "Your cooking always did hit the spot, Sarah," he declared, his voice laced with affection.

I chuckled, a genuine moment of joy bubbling up. "Only the best for you, Dad. Welcome home."

As I served the roast, I caught Dad's approving nod, and for a brief moment, the tightness in my chest eased. He carved the meat with a practiced hand, the same hands that had taught me how to tie my shoes, ride a bike, and navigate the tricky waters of childhood.

"Remember the first time you tried to make this?" Dad teased, his eyes twinkling with mirth. "Nearly set the kitchen on fire."

I laughed, the memory a sweet moment from a simpler time. "I've improved since then," I boasted, handing him the platter. "You'll see."

As we joked, my eyes flicked to Mark and TC, who exchanged a weighty look. It felt out of place amidst the clinking of cutlery and Royce's chatter about his online tutor.

The sound of laughter and chatting filled the room, drowning out the familiar, eerie melody that had been playing in my head. I forced a smile and attempted to join in the lighthearted conversations, but inside my heart was racing with unease. It was tiring to constantly pretend everything was okay.

Desperate for a moment of relief, I excused myself to the kitchen, fumbling for the pill bottle in the cupboard. As it dissolved on my tongue, I leaned against the counter and took a deep breath. "Come on, Sarah," I murmured to my reflection in the window. "You've faced worse than this."

With a false sense of confidence, I returned to the dining room, ready to play my part in this charade of a family dinner. But inside, a different tune played—one of dread and anxiety—drowning out the supposed harmony of our evening together.

After the sincere laughter of the others quieted and the plates were cleared, our evening meal settled into a comfortable lull. Dad pushed his chair back and looked up at the staircase with a thoughtful gaze. I stood and offered my arm, but he waved it away with a chuckle.

"Time for me to retire for the evening," he said, and there was a spark of challenge in his eyes.

As we neared the first stair, Dad ascended it with an unexpected vigor. "Not bad for an old man, eh?" he joked, eliciting a chuckle from me.

"Did they slip some rocket fuel into your medication at the hospital?" I joked, my heart lighter than it had been all evening.

"Something like that," he replied, a proud smile spreading across his face. "The therapist had me doing all kinds of exercises. Said I needed to be ready for the real world. Turns out, she knew what she was talking about."

We reached the top of the stairs, and Dad paused, not from exhaustion, but to look down at the steps we'd conquered.

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