The second that her father shut the front door in Sawyer’s face, Remy turned and fled. Racing through the living room and kitchen, she ran right out the back door toward the tractor shed.

Flimsy corrugated steel, leaning precariously in some places, it was a silly place to take refuge. Still, Remy skirted around the shed, hiding out from her family. She sat on a big pile of firewood, pressing her face into her hands.

Sawyer Roman, knocking on her door. How many times had she dreamt of that moment?

And yet, the reality of it, seeing him again… she’d gone cold inside, breaking out into a sweat. The fantasy of Sawyer, remembering his touch and the way his smile lit her up inside, that was one thing.

His presence in real life, showing up unexpectedly at the farm…

That was another thing entirely. The fact that Remy and her dad were the only ones in the living room… just a pure stroke of luck for Remy, something she couldn’t expect to happen a second time.

She sucked in deep gulps of air, trying to slow her pounding heart. Seeing Sawyer should have been bittersweet. Her first love, her first… well, everything, where men were concerned. The only man who’d ever made Remy’s heart sing.

Subsequently, Sawyer was also the only man to ever break it. Back in high school, when he announced he was leaving right after graduation to join the Navy, she’d understood that.

After all, his mother had just passed away, and his father was a miserable bastard. His brothers were sullen and quiet, which led to people in town constantly walking on eggshells around the Roman brothers.

So when he left, it hurt, but it made sense. Part of Remy just assumed he’d come back…

And he did, but never for long. She’d see him, catch up with him, share a few drinks… One thing would lead to another…

It was just what Remy and Sawyer did.

Until the last time, when he disappeared for almost four years.

Remy clenched her fists, taking a deep breath. It was almost dinner time, she couldn’t go to pieces right now. There were things to do, like feeding Shiloh and dodging her family’s questions.

Later, she promised herself. You can freak out about this tonight, when you’re alone in bed.

Rising, she wiped at her face and headed back toward the house.

“Remy!” her mother called.

“Coming!” she said as she came around the corner of the shed.

“Come on, then, slowpoke,” her mother said, brushing some flour off her faded blue apron.

Remy trotted back to the house, feeling self-conscious. She probably looked a mess, her face mottled from the handful of panicked tears that she’d been unable to repress.

When she climbed the back steps to the kitchen, everyone else was already around the table. Her father at the head of the table, her mother’s place set at the opposite end. Her sister Shelby and brother Micah sitting on one side, her sister Larkin sitting on the other.

“Hurry up, Rem, I’m starrrrrving,” Larkin said.

“Y’all start without us,” Remy said.

“Not a chance,” her mother said.

“Eulah,” her father said to her mother. “A man’s got to eat.”

“Nobody’s eating until we pray, and we don’t pray until everyone’s seated,” her mother replied primly.

Eulah sat down, looking to Remy.

“Where’s Shi?” Remy asked.

Her mother pointed to the hallway that ran between the kitchen and the living room. Shiloh crouched in the hallway, running a matchbox car across the floor with his chubby toddler hands. His dark hair was wildly mussed, and though Remy couldn’t see his face from here, she was sure it was grubby.

Her son was always into something, she’d learned that early on in his life.

“Shiloh, honey,” she called.

Shiloh dropped the car and turned to her. “Ma!”

He raised his arms expectantly, and Remy couldn’t help the smile that spread over her face. “What’s on your face, hon?”

“Mmm…” Shiloh said, as if considering her question. He was only three, so his conversational skills weren’t really great yet.

“Remy, seriously,” Shelby said. “As the oldest sibling, I’m going to need you to show a little hustle here.”

“Oh, being 11 months younger than me means you need to be fed more often?” Remy asked, arching a brow.

“It’s just, you know. I did five straight hours of piano lessons at the church today, and that really works up an appetite,” Shelby said with a wink.

Remy snorted, scooping up her son and walking him over to the sink. She did her best to clean him up and wash her own hands, which mostly turned into her trying to keep Shiloh from getting hand soap in his mouth.

She deposited him in his high chair, then took her own seat. Shiloh grinned, pleased to be between his mother and grandmother, his two favorite people in the world.

“All right, let’s say grace,” her father rumbled. There was no heat to his complaint; Remy and Shiloh usually got a pass in moments like these.

They all held hands as her father blessed the meal, which turned out to be a roast chicken and various fresh vegetables from the garden.

Everyone served themselves, her father and Micah discussing a repair that needed to be made on one of the ancient pickup trucks. As Remy cut up some chicken and sweet potatoes for Shiloh, she listened to Shelby and Larkin telling stories about their jobs.

While Micah worked on the farm with their father, Shelby cared for the hen house and gave piano lessons in town. Larkin was a paralegal, working a 9 to 5 job in town for Catahoula’s only lawyer.

Remy worked part-time on the farm, helping her mother with canning, pickling and cooking. She also had a side job working a couple shifts a week at The Speckled Hen, a dingy little cowboy watering hole on the main strip.

“You got some time to work on the books this weekend?” her father asked.

Remy scrunched up her face and nodded. “Sure, yeah.”

Recently her father had asked her to start helping with balancing the farm’s accounts, and so far it had been a harrowing experience. The farm was in a crazy amount of debt, with nowhere near enough money coming in.

When her father gave her a long glance over a forkful of chicken, Remy gave him a nod. No one else in the family knew just how bad things were, though really if they took a minute to look around, it seemed obvious.

“How did Dad talk you into the free labor?” Micah asked Remy, eyes sparkling.

“You know, he’s very persuasive,” Remy said with a smile.

“He’s a cheapskate, is what he is,” Shelby intoned.

Remy was probably the only one to catch her father’s flinch while everyone else chuckled. Yes, Braxton Rivers was notorious for his penny-pinching. When Remy was little, it was all hand-me-down clothes and three minute showers, the water never hot enough.

Now, though, she understood. The farm’s profit margin was slim, and the River family was big. She glanced down at her plate, feeling guilty. She was adding to that burden, no matter how much her parents loved her and Shiloh.

In farm families, the general idea was that the daughters would marry off and move to their husband’s land, relieving the family of the burden. None of the River daughters were married, though…

Shiloh gurgled, waving a sweet potato at her. Remy smiled at him and accepted a bite of it, though he’d smashed it into a paste. She swallowed it, watching him.

The spitting image of his father, Shiloh was. Dark hair, gorgeous hazel eyes that made her heart twist in her chest. That same irresistible grin, minus the darkness she sometimes saw in Sawyer’s eyes.

Remy let the conversation wash over her, eating a bit before cleaning Shiloh up. She drifted through the evening, putting Shiloh down to sleep. Her own sleep was restless, and though she didn’t break down, neither did she come up with any answers.