The first year of Dorothy's life was a joyful blur. I'd never know busy-ness like that before. Sure, I'd been busy. As a student, as a new agent at the IRS – I knew what hard work was. But it had never been so immediate as it was with Dorothy and Jack and Sweetgrass Ranch itself. It was personal, then. Direct, in a way it never had been in the past. I didn't do hours of paperwork or reading in order to secure an outcome weeks in the future – an exam result, say, or a paycheck. No, I did laundry, I picked vegetables from the little garden Jack had made behind the house, I took Lulu and Dorothy out so they could burn off their energy under the big tree with the brand new tire swing and I took care of the myriad little things that a man, a toddler, a dog, a house and a large property throw up to be taken care of.

And in return, they all took care of me. Jack let me know every day that he loved me, and that his only priority was me and Dorothy and the home we were making together. He worked hard – harder than he needed to, given our financial situation – because that's just the kind of man he is, wealthy or not. Dorothy took care of me, too, making up for the lack of sleep with the way she would tremble with anticipation when she saw me walking towards her, or throw her head back and laugh like a 50 year old sailor telling a dirty joke when I made silly faces at her. Lulu, my little freeway pup, was a constant presence, spending her days at the house with me and the baby, watching over us, barking to let me know if Dorothy was about to get into something she shouldn't, or if someone pulled up in front of the house. Sweetgrass Ranch itself took care of me, producing fat, brightly colored vegetables for our meals and providing us all with a sense of home. The house, which was finally finished when Dorothy was 6 months old, kept me warm and dry, surrounding me with the feelings and good wishes of the people who had lived there before me. I felt them sometimes as I stirred a red sauce on the enormous gas range Jack had insisted on, or folded laundry or swept the mud room where Jack would take his boots off in the evenings. I felt them almost as if they were right there, as real as I was. Like I could turn around at any moment and see them, standing back a little, wistful and proud of what Jack and I were building together.

* * *

I married Jack McMurtry on a crisp autumnal day, surrounded by our friends and family. My parents, who hadn't sent more than a brief, painfully formal congratulations card when Dorothy was born, flew out to Montana two days before the wedding took place, and insisted on staying in a luxury lodge outside of town rather than at Sweetgrass Ranch. They visited, though, pulling up in their rental car and looking around, inspecting things as I watched them walk up the driveway from my spot in the living room.

"Mrs. Wilson," Jack said, shaking my mother's hand when we met on the porch. "Mr. Wilson."

Yeah, it was awkward. Jack handled it well, though, managing to expertly walk the line between courteousness and a certain coolness towards the couple he felt had rejected their own daughter in a time of need. I roasted a chicken for dinner that night. I was, under the instruction of my husband and the internet, becoming a much better cook – and I could feel my parents watching us – and their granddaughter – as we functioned as a unit. Jack and I shared cooking duties, taking little breaks every now and again to attend to Dorothy as she toddled around trying to discover new ways to put herself in danger. My parents didn't say anything right away, not that first night, but they didn't have to. I knew what they were seeing, and I was proud. Proud of myself, and proud of my little family. It didn't matter if Bryan and Jill Wilson couldn't get their heads out of their butts long enough to acknowledge it.

The next day, Jack took them out to see the rest of the property while I stayed at the house with Jess, DeeDee Schneider and Kayla Landers to work on last minute preparations for the wedding supper and the party the next night.

"Your parents seem OK," Jess said, after they'd left with Jack. "I mean, it's civil enough."

I nodded. "Yeah, it's civil enough. I'm not over the way they handled anything, but I know it's not the time to deal with it – and I also know I'd rather Dorothy knew her grandparents than just let this fester for the rest of our lives."

Kayla Landers, 4 months pregnant with Jimmy Lewison's baby and, according to Jack, much calmer than she had been in the past, clasped my shoulders from behind. "Oh my God, Blaze! I can't believe how nice this all is! Everything is just so – perfect! I want it to be just like this when Jimmy and I get married. Except we're getting married in the spring, so I guess it'll be a little different. And I want cool table favors at my wedding. Those little glass jars with different colored sand in them? To match the colors of the wedding? Won't that be awesome!"

DeeDee smiled at Jess and I over Kayla's shoulder. She was a sweet girl – over-excitable, but constantly bubbling over with enthusiasm since she started dating Jimmy Lewison, who Jack said had loved her since they were all in high school together.

"No!" Jess screeched, rolling her eyes as Lulu snatched a carrot off the counter and ran off to devour it away from the humans who would try to take it back. "What is wrong with that dog, Blaze? Carrots, really?"

We laughed and chopped vegetables and kept an eye on the dog and the toddler and generally had a lovely afternoon. But they had all had gone home by the time my parents and Jack returned from their tour of the ranch. It had been longer than I expected, and I was slightly worried about the reason why. Nothing on any of their faces betrayed any dramatic happenings, though.

"So how was it?" I asked blandly. "Are you hungry?"

"It was lovely," my mother answered, giving nothing away. "And yes, we are rather hungry."

They sat down at the kitchen table and I got to making them some chicken sandwiches with the leftovers of the previous night's roast. At first I thought the strange muffled sound from behind me was Dorothy, that she was choking or having a fit or something equally horrible. But when I whipped around in a panic it wasn't my daughter I saw in distress. It was my father.

My dad doesn't cry. I saw his eyes water once, maybe, and that was when his own father died when I was 15. Never before or since – not until that day at Sweetgrass Ranch – had I witnessed my sometimes stupidly stoic father show anything that anyone could have mistaken for weeping. And there he was at the kitchen table, his head in his hands and his shoulders shaking with emotion. As soon as I saw it the floodgates opening in my own heart.

"Dad!" I cried, my voice breaking as I went to him. "Daddy!"

My mom promptly joined us, dabbing at her eyes and sniffling.

"Blaze," my father croaked, his voice thick with the effort it was taking not to break down. "I'm so sorry sweetheart. I'm so sorry my love. We've let you down. Not we – I. I've let you down. Your mother wanted to come and see you when the baby was born but I wouldn't let her. I was too –" He began to sob again.

I met my mother's eyes as Dorothy sat on the floor beside us, gazing up at the adults like we were the strangest things she had ever seen. Which we probably were. "Is that true?" I whispered. "You wanted to come see me?"

My mother, who didn't generally disagree with my father in front of other people unless she felt it absolutely necessary, nodded. "Yes, Blaze."

I was surprised, given the history of my mom being the 'hard' parent and my dad the 'soft' one. And I was torn, too, between wanting to scream at my father, to demand to know why he had done something so hurtful, and wanting to forgive him instantly.

"It's my fault," he choked out, taking a deep breath and trying to get a hold on himself. "It's my fault, Blaze, not your mother's. I thought I was doing the right thing. I thought I was doing the fatherly thing, refusing to reward you for your mistakes. But now I'm here, and I see you and Jack together. I see this life you've built and this," he paused as his voice wobbled again when he looked at Dorothy, "this beautiful little girl, and I realize it was just my stupid pride. I didn't want to lose you, Blaze, that's what it was. Selfishness and stupidity. I'm sorry. I know sorry isn't enough, I know it. But I'm so sorry."

My father began to cry again – even as I remember the scene I still have trouble believing it ever happened – and I threw my arms around him. Maybe anger would come later, Lord knows there had already been a lot of it, but in that moment I just loved my dad and my heart broke to think of him alone and sad, thinking he was losing me and unwilling to share his fears with anyone. "Dad," I said, resting my head on his shoulder. "I forgive you. I missed you guys so much, and all I want is for you to be in my life – in our lives. That's all I want."

That's the scene Jack walked in on. The Wilson family collectively bawling its eyes out. I moved to get up, to explain what was going on, but my father put his hand on my arm and stood up himself, going to Jack and not bothering to hide the tears in his eyes.

"I'm sorry, son," he said, grasping Jack's hand and grabbing his shoulder – the closest thing to a hug my father has ever given another man. "What a scene to walk in on. And I can't even blame it on the women this time! This needs to be said, though. I don't know you well at all, but you seem like a good man. You seem to be doing right by my daughter. And I want to apologize for being such a goddamned jackass about everything. You have my blessing – you both have my blessing, and my wife's too, which she would have given much earlier if it weren't for her blockhead of a husband."

Jack nodded his head at my father, that gesture of respect men sometimes give each other, and looked at me. "Thank you for that, Mr. Wilson."

"Bryan."

"Thank you for that, Bryan. I assume you've said as much to your daughter? Because she has missed you – the both of you – this past year. I was the one who held her when she cried for her absent parents when Dorothy was a newborn. I was the one who told her you would come around. Now it looks like you have, but I think you need to know that this had an impact. It mattered."

"Jack," I started, wanting to explain the conversation I had just had with my parents. But Jack just looked at me and asked if I forgave them. I nodded my head yes.

"If Blaze forgives you, I forgive you," Jack said, looking my parents in the eye, one after the other. "I just thought you should know, this wasn't some fleeting sadness for her."

"We know," my mother said, wiping her eyes. "We know. And we will do everything we can to make up for it."

The five of us ate leftover chicken sandwiches at the table after that, exhausted after a physically taxing day had been topped off with a particularly emotional confrontation. But after eyes had been dried and bellies were full, a kind of real affinity settled over us. Gone were the 'sirs' and 'misters' of the previous 24 hours, now my parents and Jack were using first names, offering genuine smiles, and all equally captivated by Dorothy as they passed her back and forth from lap to lap, commenting on how smart she was, how cheeky, how sweet.

"Thank God for that," I said to Jack later, as we loaded the dishwasher. He dried his hands on a kitchen towel and then turned to me.

"How do you feel, Blaze? Is everything good now, between the three of you? You're not hiding anything just so the wedding can go on without drama?"

I smiled, grateful for Jack's concern. "No," I said, "I'm good. Really. We can't turn back time, can we? It happened. My dad apologized – I've never seen him apologize like that in my life, by the way – and now it's done. I know they're going to do everything they can to make up for lost time."

"OK, then." Jack said, kissing my forehead. "If you're good, Blaze, then I'm good."

"I'm good," I whispered, kissing my almost-husband back.

* * *

My wedding day dawned as all the others had during that glorious fall – sunny and bright, with a bracing frisson of the winter to come floating just underneath the golden warmth. My mother, Jess and DeeDee (who I had become quite close to) helped me to dress as the house guests slowly made their ways to the simple wooden chairs Jack had set up under the oak tree. There were about fifty people in total, because neither of us wanted anyone other than close friends or family, but even fifty was enough to require something like a military strategy to make sure everything went off smoothly.

The dress, which I had insisted on keeping completely hidden from Jack, was pale cream silk and handmade lace. I didn't want anything stiff or flashy, so there were no exaggerated princess skirts or deep necklines. Although it was strapless, an intricate lace overlay covered my upper torso, and a thousand tiny crystal beads and delicate silk flowers that fluttered in the breeze had been sewn into it. The skirt was long, with a modest train, and the kind of flowing movement I'd always swooned over.

I did my own make-up, subtle and light because I wanted to look like myself, and wore my hair loosely, prettily up. On the day, Jack called at the door of one of the mostly-unused formal sitting rooms that I was getting prepared in, causing a storm of commotion from my attendants.

"It's Jack!" Jess exclaimed.

"Send him away!" DeeDee screeched.

My mother bolted to the door and held it shut – not that Jack had tried to open it – and then demanded to know what he wanted.

"I'm not coming in," he reassured her, "don't worry about that. I just – I have something for the bride."

'The bride.' Oh, just hearing him say those words made my heart skip a beat.

My mother opened the door a tiny crack and I craned my neck, trying to hear the hushed negotiations taking place. A couple of moments later she took something from Jack and shut the door swiftly.

"What's that?" DeeDee asked.

But as soon as my mother got close enough for me to see what she was holding in her hands I knew. Flowers. Not just any flowers, though. Montana wildflowers.

"He said he wasn't sure you could use them." My mother said, obviously confused. "I told him you already have flowers, but –"

"It's OK," I replied, taking the little unruly bouquet. "Let's put them in my hair."

So that's how I walked down the aisle – a Montana bride, festooned with wildflowers from the very mountains that stood stoically behind Sweetgrass Ranch. Both my parents walked with me – a last minute decision on my part – and Jack stood at the end of the short, leaf-strewn aisle, looking at me within shining eyes and a huge smile.

Jack and I kept the vows short but mostly traditional, and Dorothy squirmed happily in DeeDee's arms the entire time. We had our first kiss as man and wife under the old oak tree, with the tire swing generations of McMurtrys had played on, and that Dorothy and our future children would one day play on, swaying in the breeze behind the seating area. There weren't many dry eyes that afternoon.

After the ceremony, and as Jess and DeeDee and Jack and my parents helped to get everything set up for what was to be the biggest party Sweetgrass Ranch ever saw, I took Dorothy upstairs to put her down for a nap, knowing full well she wasn't going to go to bed at 7 o'clock with a house full of people to entertain. It was just as I was pulling the blanket up over her shoulders that I heard someone behind me and turned around.

"Oh," a woman I didn't recognize but who looked oddly familiar whispered. "I'm sorry, I didn't disturb her, did I?"

"No, she's out like a light. Too much wiggling during the ceremony."

"It was beautiful," the woman said, following me out of the room. She had blue eyes and tanned skin, and looked to be in her mid-thirties. A few seconds later, realizing I didn't know who she was, she suddenly stopped and gave me a hug. "I'm Emily. Jack's sister."

"Emily!" I said, surprised. We had invited all of Jack's siblings to the wedding, two of whom – including Emily – had required a private investigator to actually track down contact information for. Only Bill and Connor had responded, the latter to tell us he wouldn't be able to make it, so we had only really been expecting Bill. "Oh my God, you came! Jack was certain you wouldn't. Have you seen him? Does know you're here?"

Emily grinned. "Who do you think sent me up here? I love what you guys have done to the house, by the way. The kitchen is beautiful – that range! Wow! I need to go and see my old bedroom – I bet you did something fabulous to it."

I was a little taken aback – not in a bad way, just in a shocked way – by the sudden appearance of the woman who had obviously played a major role in Jack's life before basically disappearing from it. Now she was standing in front of me, her blue eyes flashing exactly the way Jack's did when he was enthused about something, and complimenting my renovation skills.

"Uh, yeah," I replied, because I didn't really know what else to say. "Yeah, I'm not sure which room that is but feel free to –"

"Is this awkward?" Emily suddenly cut in, touching my arm gently. "It is, isn't it? I'm sorry. It's strange for me to be back here after so long, and I get giddy when I'm uncomfortable. Not that you're doing anything to make me uncomfortable, not at all. I just, uh, damn, it's been a long time."

"Yeah," I agreed, "it has. Jack talks about you a lot, you know. You're in all the stories about his childhood."

Emily looked down at the floor when I said that, and I thought for one awful moment that she was going to cry. "Hey," I said quietly. "They're good stories. Happy stories. From what I can tell he was the closest to you out of anyone – especially after your Grandma Dottie died."

"Yeah," she agreed, smiling wistfully. "We were thick as thieves, Jack and I. I never even intended to leave – not for good. Just a year, maybe two. I wanted to have some adventures, to live in a big city and have big city friends. And then I got all caught up with the wrong people and the wrong – well, let's just say I lost my way. And then I just couldn't come back. I was too embarrassed about what I'd become. The last time I spoke to Jack it was to ask him for money – for drugs! How could I come back and face my favorite brother after making such a mess of my life?"

"Jack said you were always too open," I told her as we walked down the stairs and continued the conversation outside the kitchen. "He said you trusted everyone, always used to talk to strangers in the grocery store, that kind of thing."

Emily snorted. "There aren't any strangers in Little Falls – I'm sure you're learning that for yourself, now."

"I am," I conceded, "but I grew up in a big city. So while you were dreaming of crowds and excitement, I think part of me was dreaming of small towns where everybody knows everybody. When I go shopping these days, and everyone I see stops to chat and ask how Jack is and do we need any corn because their crop was extra large this year it just makes me happy."

Jack's sister glanced into the kitchen, busy as it was with people putting the finishing touches on the various dishes for the wedding supper. "Yeah, I can see that," she said. "I guess it's human to be curious about the things you don't have, isn't it?"

I liked Emily McMurtry. Right away, I liked her. She looked like Jack but she was more extroverted than him, lighter somehow. "So how are you doing now?" I asked carefully, hoping not to offend. Thankfully, Emily was a very difficult person to offend.

"Oh, now? I'm doing well. I wouldn't be here if I wasn't. I mean, life's not all sunshine and unicorn farts, I pretty much wasted my 20s getting high with people who never really cared about me but I've been clean for coming up on 2 years now and – I don't know if I should say this..."

"What?" I prompted. "I mean, you don't have to tell me but if –"

"I'm thinking of moving back here," she said. "Maybe not to Little Falls itself – there's small towns and then there's small towns, you know? But Billings, maybe? Butte? I'm ready to be closer to family."

"Really? Have you told Jack?" I asked, perfectly aware of how happy it would make him to have his only sister close again.

"Not yet. I wasn't sure he would be into it. He's got his own family now, doesn't he? That sweet little girl upstairs – and you! And this house, Sweetgrass Ranch, all of it. Maybe he just wants to get on with building his own –"

I knew the general gist of where Emily was going and cut it off before she could go any further. "No," I said firmly. "I don't know you, but I know Jack and I just want to say that you're wrong. He misses you. I think he misses you a lot more than you know, based on everything you're saying."

Emily turned her head to me, then, as if she didn't quite believe what I was saying. When I assured her it was all true, her eyes got glassy for about a half second – another stoic McMurtry – and then she gave me another hug. She was about to say something else when Jack himself happened upon us with Bill, his brother I had been introduced to earlier in the day, and Bill's husband Christopher.

"She go down?" He asked me, referring to our daughter.

"Oh yeah, no problem."

"Maybe we should just let her sleep as long as she wants? You know she's going to be up late tonight." Jack looked at me, and then at his sister. "What are you two talking about, anyway? You've both got that look on your face."

"What look?" Emily asked playfully, grinning at her brother.

"That look women get when they're keeping secrets from the clueless men," Bill laughed, leaning in close to his husband.

"Look at this," I said, glancing around at the McMurtry siblings – and Christopher. "This better not just be tonight, you guys. You all better not slip back into old ways after this."

* * *

Jack and I agreed that we wanted our wedding day, more than anything, to be fun for the people who made the effort to come. We didn't want formality beyond the ceremony itself, or fussiness. What we wanted was generosity and abundance, a real feeling of being welcome for our guests. The wedding supper was more of a feast than any decorous ten courses of tiny, elegant portions could ever be. We set up two long tables in the backyard and hired three chefs from a restaurant in Billings to serve hearty, traditional food. Roast chicken and pork, honeyed carrots, mashed potatoes made with a disgracefully huge amount of butter, more vegetable dishes than you could shake a stick and pies – so many pies. The tables groaned with food, and everyone ate – and drank – their fill.

My father made a short speech, only alluding to our recent troubles subtly, because even after the previous night's display he was not a man prone to show his emotions. Jess spoke, too, making everyone laugh with her detailed descriptions of the time before I decided to move to Montana, when I was still pretending to be torn about what to do. She, like my father, did not mention the less funny parts of those times, and I didn't expect her to – it was a wedding speech. When the cake was brought out, though – a buttercream frosted beauty put together by DeeDee and the local bakery and covered in berries from our garden and sugared flower petals – Jack stood up and clinked his fork against his glass.

"I'll keep it brief," he promised, "I can see you all eyeballing that cake. I just wanted to take the time to thank everyone that came today. We know a lot of you traveled some distance, some took a day or two off work. We're grateful. Two years ago – well, just over two years ago – I was alone here, at Sweetgrass Ranch. There's always something that needs to be done, so I don't particularly remember feeling lonely, but I was alone. The house, which had once echoed with the shouts of children playing, adults bickering, everyone living here together, was empty apart from me. And honestly, even though I was not yet 30, it didn't ever occur to me that it wouldn't stay that way. 28 years old and everything seemed to be in the past already. Until this one showed up –"

Jack looked down and gave me a quick wink. "Until Blaze Wilson showed up one day and gave me something to hope for. Not that I hoped for her, not at first. She was so beautiful, so sophisticated and educated and all of the things that I'm not – it didn't even occur to me that a girl like that would give me the time of day. But even then, she got me thinking. Maybe I didn't have to be alone? Maybe I could find someone? I won't drone on about the story, because you all know it, but I just wanted to say that Blaze is the person who breathed life into the values I thought I believed in but wasn't living. The main one? Family. Family is important, I've always known that in my bones. But my family disappeared, almost as if by some magic trick. Some died, the rest left. I am seeing my sister Emily and my brother Bill here today for the first time in many years – thank you guys for coming. It means more to me than you could possibly –" he broke off and pressed the back of his hand to his mouth for a few seconds before continuing.

"It means more to me than you could ever know. I thought something was lost – and it was. But when you lose something, you can build something else in its place. Something better, something stronger. That's what Blaze and I are doing. We're building a family. Not an isolated unit of 3, but a big, unruly group – all of you. Everyone here is family. Jill and Bryan Wilson – Blaze's parents – thank you for coming. Our daughter loves you already and we hope you know you are welcome at Sweetgrass Ranch, anytime. Bill and Emily, you too. We can jump on the hay bales and swing on the tire swing as high as we want now. And everyone else – all of our friends from here in Little Falls and D.C. and elsewhere – we want to be part of your lives, and we want you to be part of ours. If the past two years – and this woman beside me – have taught me anything at all, it's that this is the only thing that matters. The people you love. That's really it, isn't it? So let's have some cake, let's drink some more wine and play some music and dance until dawn. We love you. Thank you for being here with us today."

There was a lot of sniffling and newly discovered grains of sand in various eyes after that speech. Not that it was sad, it wasn't. It was an acknowledgement of the past, of imperfection, and a statement of intention about the future and how we planned to live our lives.

* * *

Later that evening, around 10 p.m. and after Dorothy had finally exhausted herself enough to tolerate being taken away from the party and put in bed, and after Lulu had eaten so many table scraps she could hardly move, I stood back watching our guests dancing under the soft lights we'd strung through the oak tree's branches. My hair wasn't quite as flawless as it had been earlier that day, and my make-up had mostly faded, but everything was absolutely perfect. I felt someone come up behind me and slip an arm around my waist. Jack.

"Hello, beautiful. Dorothy's all settled in, your mother's watching her. What's going on? What are you thinking?"

I turned and kissed him. "I don't know if I'm thinking anything, Jack. I think I'm just feeling."

"Feeling happy?"

"Happy, yes. So happy. So happy I'm not even sure happy is the word for it. But other things, too. Like today was a big deal. Like there are many layers to today."

"I feel that, too," he said. "A sense of gravity, right? A seriousness underneath the cake and the dress and the 'you may kiss the bride.' And it is serious, isn't it? This is our life, Blaze. It's up to us to make sure we keep each other close, keep the people we love close. Two years ago that thought would have scared me – so much responsibility. But it doesn't now. Now it just makes me want to dive in, you know?"

"I know," I whispered.

I was about to say something else but that was the moment the opening notes of 'I'll Be There' by the Jackson 5 came over the sound system we'd set up in the yard. Jack looked down at me, his blue eyes bright with love, and reached for my hand.

"Shall we dance?"