“Claire, a hostess offers her friends a drink when they come to visit,” Alice reminded from the porch.

“Would you like a drink to carry while we go see the puppies in the stable?” Claire wiggled and bounced with her usual excitement and took Sarah’s hand and began to tug.

I shook my head, amused. “I’m going to go get changed,” I told Sarah, tipping my head toward the house. I had on the same clothes from the fire and rollover calls on Saturday night. “I’ll catch up with you both in a few. And I’ll bring drinks.”

“All right,” Sarah said. She looked to Alice, offered her a wave as she finally let Claire lead her. Hand in hand.

I watched them for a minute, two blonde-haired beauties, heading down the drive to the stable, then went up onto the porch.

“I’m glad she’s here, Huck,” Alice said, setting her hand on my shoulder.

Looking down at the older woman, I placed my hand on top of hers. Felt the strength in it. She’d done so much for me and my brothers. For the ranch. Her plan was to retire to Alabama to be near her sister, but she wanted us happily wed—or at least paired off—before she did.

“So?” she asked, a hint of hope lacing the word.

“I’m working on it.”

SARAH

I sat in the straw and watched Claire with the new puppies. They were probably eight or nine weeks old, fat and roly-poly but sound asleep. They were sprawled and clumped around their mother. I petted the dog’s soft head as she slept, too. If I had all those babies to watch and feed, I’d be exhausted as well.

One little human like Claire was a bunch of energy and excitement. She hadn’t stopped talking since she barreled out of her house. Her hair was the same fair color as Huck’s, which had deceived me all this time. They looked blood related.

But this happy five-year-old was where she belonged. She had her daddy but also Alice, Sawyer, and Thatcher. The others who lived and worked on the ranch. A family.

“Don’t you think?” Claire asked, carefully picking up a sleeping puppy and setting it in her lap. The animal stirred but didn’t wake up. She was looking at me with eager blue eyes. Her face was round, her nose a pert button, and those cheeks were flushed with excitement. One of her pigtails drooped a little.

I smiled at her. “What, sweetheart?”

“Daddy said I can keep one even though they’re Uncle Thatch’s babies since Maple’s his dog. I think this one’s Sandy, don’t you?” She stared down at the puppy with such love, but her look shifted to the rest of the brood.

“Sandy?” I asked.

Claire rolled her eyes at me with the skill of a fourteen-year-old. Since it was followed up with a giggle, it was teenage drama-free.

“The one I’m keeping. I’ve named her Sandy.”