“Me too. And Aspen Mill.”
She nodded. “And if wishes were horses—”
“Then you’d be a bigger workaholic than you already are.”
She smacked his arm playfully. “Touché. And aren’t you supposed to be making me breakfast?”
“Yeah, yeah.” He set the frying pan on the burner. As he carefully poured the batter, he said, “Are we just being overly sentimental? I mean, this is just… It’s just buildings and pastures. We could build an identical place anywhere.”
“We could. But we can’t really build another Aspen Mill.”
“How bad would it be if Adam did redevelop it all, though? More jobs. More—”
“More traffic. More people. Remember how many families got pushed out of Goldmount after the property values skyrocketed?” She slouched against the counter. “Well, one thing’s for sure. This baby is either going to put you back in the running to inherit the farm, or it’s going to get you disowned.”
He glanced at her. “Which are you betting on?”
She pursed her lips. “I’d say the odds are pretty even at this point.”
“You’re more optimistic than I am.”
“What else is new?” She paused. “At least you can guarantee one thing.”
“Yeah? What’s that?”
When he turned his head, she smiled. “Your kid is going to have the most badass auntie ever.”
Laughing, Matt rolled his eyes. “Shut up and put some syrup on the table.”
Chapter Six
On Friday night, just like she’d done hundreds of times when she’d still lived here, Dara pulled into the fairground parking lot. It used to be gravel, cordoned off by colorful strings of triangular flags, but someone must’ve finally decided the puddles and potholes were a pain in the ass, and now it was paved. There were even streetlights overhead, illuminating the trucks that were taking a few liberties with the size and angles of the white-lined spaces.
Even with those jackasses, there were plenty of spots left that would fit her moderately sized Mercedes, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that it didn’t fit here. It never would.
Like owner, like car.
Well, whatever. She pulled in between a couple of muddy Dodge Rams and stepped out of her car. She paused and cautiously took a deep breath. She’d been a little nervous about coming here, and a significant part of that was that her pregnancy had been fucking with her sense of smell. Every odor was stronger now, and some that had never bothered her before—gasoline, eggs cooking, even the air freshener in her dad’s truck—had sent her sprinting for a restroom.
The first thing to meet her nose was that sweet smell of beauty bark, and it gave her goose bumps. That scent had never failed to take her back to her rodeo days. Now that she was actually here on the grounds where she’d competed a million times over, it made her head spin. Her stomach stayed put, though.
As she neared the arena, the other familiar smells reached her, like distant faces coming into focus. Dust, horses, hay, and cedar shavings, not to mention overcooked hot dogs and stale popcorn coming from the concession stand, were overwhelming but it was nostalgia more than nausea.
Like the Coolidge farm, the fairgrounds were simultaneously different and the same as they’d been since she was a kid. The arena had the same old concession stand, and she was pretty sure the two line cooks had been there way back then, along with some of the burgers and pretzels, now that she thought about it.
The announcer’s booth had a fresh coat of white paint that was already gathering dust, and the sponsor banners were different now, but the structure itself hadn’t changed.
In the main arena, the youth pole-bending class was underway, which meant barrel racing would be up next, so she headed over to the warmup arena. As she expected, Matt and Beth were both out there. Matt was sitting on his dapple-gray mare in the center, reins loose on the horse’s neck. Nearby, Beth and her liver chestnut gelding were cantering in tight circles. The women’s barrel racing was probably first, then; knowing Matt, he’d start really warming up his horse after Beth’s run.
“Dara Marley?” A voice halted her in her tracks. “Is that really you?”
She turned around. She hadn’t seen Jenny Pruitt, Heather Mason, or Jamie Hayes since high school.
Oh, hello pregnant stomach. There you are.
She swallowed hard to keep the nausea at bay and offered up a tight smile. “Wow. Talk about a blast from the past.”
“How are you?” Heather asked. “I can’t believe how long it’s been!”
“I’m good,” Dara said. “It’s, um, nice to be back in town.”