“Do you ride them?” I ask.

“Not regularly, but they can be. Do you ride?”

“No, but I’ve always wanted to try,” I confess.

“Well, now’s your chance,” Ellen tells me with a smile.

I stroke the soft lock of hair resting between Patches’ brown eyes, watching as he inhales the grain eagerly.

Once the horses are fed, Ellen moves across the aisle and opens a door made of wooden slats. With a loud series of squawks, about a dozen chickens fly out from another stall.

Ellen tosses a handful of cracked corn on the ground, and they immediately begin pecking around and scratching on the cement floor. She grabs a basket that’s hanging on a hook and walks inside the stall, emerging a couple minutes later to reveal the basket’s been filled with brown and blue eggs.

“Farm fresh eggs with your muffin?” she asks, winking.

I laugh. “Sounds great.”

We walk back outside the barn just as a white truck is beginning to move down the driveway. It pauses next to us. The passenger side window rolls down, revealing a smiling blonde boy who looks a bit younger than me.

“Hi, Jason,” Ellen greets.

“Morning, Mrs. D.,” Jason replies, smiling. “Happy early Thanksgiving.”

“You, too. Did Mike remember to give your mom the jam I sent?”

“He sure did,” Jason replies. “She said to tell you thanks, and that she’ll be dropping off some fresh pumpkins at the farm stand later today.”

“That sounds great,” Ellen responds. “Do you want to stay for breakfast?”

“Nah, I can’t today,” Jason says. “But thanks. I’ll see you tomorrow.” He gives me a curious glance, then continues driving down the dirt road.

“Jason is one of Mike’s best friends. His mother Caroline is one of my oldest friends,” Ellen explains. “We grew up here together, just like our boys.”

We walk back into the house and enter the kitchen to find a dark-haired boy slumped in one of the chairs.

“Morning, Mike,” Ellen says as she walks over to the oven and pulls out two trays of lightly browned muffins. Their mouth-watering aroma fills the kitchen.

“Hey, Mom,” Mike replies. “Jace get back okay?”

“Yes, and he brought a guest. Vivienne, this is Mike.”

Mike’s gaze slides over to me. He has the same dark hair and striking features as his older brother, but it’s the lazy, confident grin he gives me that makes the resemblance seem uncanny.

“Oh, really,” he drawls out. His eyes scrutinize my appearance closely. “Are you one of the Lincoln football groupies?” he asks with a smirk.

“Michael Neil! You do not speak to anyone that way, much less a guest of ours,” Ellen scolds, turning away from the stovetop where she’s scrambling eggs to give Mike a disapproving frown.

“Relax, Mom, I just want to make sure she knows she chose the wrong Dawson brother if she’s after an actual football star.”

Jace chooses this moment to walk into the kitchen. He’s simply wearing a pair of worn sweatpants and a cotton t-shirt, but still manages to render me speechless for a minute.