“Shut up, brain,” I muttered, slowing as I approached the archway to the Manning Ranch. Small rocks on the dirt road crunched beneath the wheels. I’d never been out this way before, but it was beautiful. The sun was working its way lower in the sky and the prairie was lit in golds and vibrant green. In the distance, I could see the house.

Thatcher’s house.

I was doing this. Aunt Jean and Mary had given me a pep talk after I’d blurted out that I was in love with Thatcher. I needed to apologize. To tell him how I felt. That I didn’t want anything fake between us. That everything was real.

Some of it, too real.

If I turned around now, Aunt Jean was going to kill me. Mary’d probably quit and that would be bad.

I turned down the driveway, clutching the wheel.

“It’s not fake. It’s not fake,” I repeated as I pulled up in front of the house.

Before I could climb the steps to the porch, the front door opened and a little girl ran out, a small puppy running after her.

She was around five, had blonde hair that was long and damp and she was wearing green pajamas. While she made it down the steps just fine, the puppy tumbled down the last one, popped up with his tongue hanging out and caught up to the little girl.

“You bought Uncle Thatch and you’re here for him!”

She hopped up and down in front of me as I looked down at her.

“Um… yes.”

“I knew it!”

“Claire,” a voice called. I looked to the open doorway and Huck Manning appeared. He gave me a smile. “Sorry about that. She’s excited that you’re here. You must be Astrid.”

Nodding, I said, “Yes. Is Thatcher here?”

“Claire, give her some room.”

I looked down at her and stroked her corn silk hair. “You’re Claire?”

She nodded.

“I’m Astrid. Who’s your friend?” The dog was wiggling and jumping around Claire trying to get her attention.

“Sandy. She’s my new dog!”

They were a wiggly duo with the same hair color. Sandy was sweet as could be and clearly loved Claire.

“You are a very lucky girl to have her.”

“Thatcher’s not here,” Huck said, coming down to join us, picking up the puppy and patting her head.

I wilted. My shoulders drooped and I looked down at the ground hoping I didn’t start crying again. “Please say he’s not hitchhiking back from Cutthroat.”

Huck laughed as the dog wiggled and he put her down. Immediately, she tugged at one of his boot laces. “No, he got back. But he’s in town.”

I lifted my head, looked at Thatcher’s brother. They were of a similar size, but they didn’t look all that alike. Huck was blond, like Claire.

“Oh. Thanks.”