Page 52 of The Rancher’s One and Only

“I’m sure that I have. I don’t do it all the time. I tend to like to watch new things.”

“Oh. I like new things sometimes. But I also really like familiar things.”

“You have to watch a new thing for it to become familiar,” he pointed out.

“I know. But sometimes, only the familiar hits. Especially when I’m somewhere different. So the show can be the same, and that feels comforting.”

He nodded. “I think… If I would’ve had control over what I was watching, I probably would’ve felt the same way when I was in foster care. Because we moved around a lot, and that was difficult.”

“Did you go to the same school the whole time? Or did you have to change schools a lot?”

“I changed schools quite a bit. Especially early on. After I went to the group home things were actually a little bit more…stable. I almost preferred it. It wasn’t an imitation of a family. It wasn’t pretending that we were something functional. We weren’t. It was my fault I got moved to the group home. I was difficult.”

She knew that he was talking about different things. Different experiences. In some ways, it was the same. A puzzle piece that didn’t fit where it was placed. She’d felt like that for most of her life. This deep, unambiguous lack of belonging. This feeling of not being right. Of not being enough. And she did let a couple of tears build this time. Because it wasn’t just for her. It was for him too.

“But when you met Dakota and Rowdy, then you had friends. Family.”

“That’s right. They were the two people who understood more than anyone else I’ve ever met how hard things can be. What it’s like to not have a family. What it’s like to have moved around all the time. They became my family. And then I didn’t feel so alone. Before that, though, it was like walking in the dark. In isolation. I was always the kid that didn’t have nice clothes. Had shoes with holes in them. They made me feel human, fighting made me feel like I had purpose. Because I figured out what I was good at. Because I figured out how to be more of a functional person. I was feral for a minute.”

This was the part she didn’t relate to. The part that just hurt. That felt heavy at the center of her chest. “I’m so sorry that you lost your mom. I’m so sorry… That must’ve been so hard.”

“It was. Damned hard. And it felt like everything in the world had fallen apart. Fallen to pieces. And I thought that I was just going to fall to pieces with it. The worst is having a killer’s blood run through your veins. Then you have to decide. What are you going to do with that blood? I actually can give credit to the group home for getting me involved in martial arts. There was a woman who worked there whose partner ran a dojo. And when she talked to him about my anger issues, he suggested that I come for free. So I did. I didn’t end up staying in that style of fighting—that was when I got involved with the dojo where I worked to pay off my fees. And that was when I met Randy. He was…he was the best. He became sort of a father figure to me. He got me on that path. Where I could focus on something more than I focused on myself. Then I became a martial arts instructor. Then I got into MMA.”

“You actually teach martial arts?”

“I can. I haven’t done it for a while. I made so much money fighting that I didn’t need to take work like that anymore.”

“Do you still talk to Randy?”

His expression turned sad. “He died four years ago. I do still talk to him, though, he just doesn’t answer back anymore.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, but it was a reminder that life always changes. I was peaking in my fighting career, I lost my mentor. It was good and bad all at once and it was like a clear view on the fact that nothing stays the same ever. And that was when I decided that it was time to invest in this place. Into…this dream that we had.”

She set her plate on the nightstand and rolled over onto her stomach, resting her chin on her forearms as she looked up at him. “What made you decide on this dream?”

“Well. We used to talk about it when we were kids. Rowdy especially wanted to get out of the city. He hated it there. But there was nowhere for him to go in the little rural community he lived in. So they moved him to the Portland metro. Bounced him around there. He missed home so much. So, we all kind of understood that if we were all going to have a life together that it would have to be out in these wide-open spaces. For Rowdy.”

“You’re kind of a throuple,” she pointed out. “Even if you are a platonic one.”

“We’re family,” he said, giving her a hard, if indulgent look. “And I always knew that I was going to shape my life around my family. Because it’s the right thing to do. And if you’re lucky enough to have family like this, it’s what you want to do.”

“But how did this idea come together?”

“That was kind of a group effort. Ten years ago, Rowdy found this plot of land and bought it. Not outright, we were still building toward that. But he lived out here with basically nothing. He practically didn’t have electricity half the time, going back and forth between here and the rodeo. Making improvements as he could. We all got more successful. And we started thinking about what we wanted to do with this place. First we were thinking a cattle ranch, but none of us were really inclined toward that. We got to thinking about this, and here we are. A whole lot of profit-loss statements later.”

“Do you think maybe you chose hospitality because there’s some part of you that really wants to bring more people around you?”

He blinked. “Maybe. I guess I can see that.”

“Well. I like it. A lot. I think it’s really brilliant and wonderful.”

“Thank you, Ernestine.”

“And I’m sorry that anybody ever made you feel like you didn’t fit. It’s not fair. There was nothing wrong with us, Jax. I think we’re pretty great. I don’t know why people didn’t take the time to try and see that.”

He settled into bed, and she was surprised when he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close. “I don’t know why either.”