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here.”
    Rowan leaned back in her chair and stared up at the ceiling.
    “Rowan,” Emma pressed.
    “Willow, go outside with Kinka, okay?” Rowan encouraged now that the girl was finished eating. “Leave your plate. I’ll clean up. Just go on.”
    Willow scowled, clearly hating to be shuffled out of the house while adults were talking. She made it as far as the living room and flopped onto the couch.
    “Outside!” Rowan ordered.
    The front door banged loudly, sounding the girl’s retreat.
    Rowan stood up and started clearing the table, refusing to look at her sister. They’d only had one conversation about this. One conversation in almost five years. Rowan had told the truth, told it only to her sister, and they vowed never to bring it up again.
    “We’re going to have to talk about it,” Emma said quietly. “Sooner rather than later.”
    Rowan sighed and leaned against the fridge, fighting the headache that was throbbing behind her eyes. “Why? What does it matter right now?”
    When Emma didn’t answer her, Rowan took her hand away from her face to peer at her sister.
    “Court stayed,” Emma finally said.
    Those two words rang out in the tiny kitchen like gunshots.
    Rowan stared at her. “What?!”
    “Court stayed. After his dad’s funeral. I think maybe permanently.”
    Rowan’s thoughts caught like wildfire and spread just as fast to every corner of her fevered brain. He was on the road. He was always on the road. She’d assumed he’d come back, of course, to attend the service, but how could he stay? He’d never wanted to stay in Star Valley, not while he was still young enough to compete.
    She pushed off the fridge and headed outside. She dragged cold air into her lungs, gulping it down, letting it numb the shock. Out there, beyond the pasture, he was there. Court. Just a mile and a half away.
    There was nothing for it. Nothing to do or say, but anger welled up inside her, and in lieu of having him to yell at, or anyone really, Rowan caught sight of Willow on top of Kinka, arms around his neck, shouting gleefully and kicking him wildly as though her rubber galoshes had spurs.
    To be fair, the dog was massive, with inches upon inches of thick fur that protected him from the winter weather (and four-year-old cowgirls), and his tongue lolled out of his mouth like he loved the attention, but Rowan used the last lungful of air to yell at her anyway. “Don’t ride the dog!” she shouted.
    Both the little girl and her makeshift mount paused to look at her. Reluctantly, Willow slid off Kinka and stomped her booted feet in the spring slush. “Well, can I have a pony?” she yelled back.
    Rowan was flustered, caught off guard by such a crazy question. She gaped at her daughter. “No,” she finally replied.
    Willow climbed the pasture gate, threw her leg over, and dropped down to the other side. She trudged through the snow, glaring at her mother. “If I had a dad, he’d get me a pony.”
    Rowan fought back tears. Willow was getting too old to speak freely around her. All this talk of Dads was starting to turn the little girl against her.
    Willow seemed to realize she’d pushed a little too far. Her face softened, and she looked up at Rowan. “We can put up a sign,” she offered.
    “A…sign?” Rowan stammered.
    “For my daddy. Like when Carlie lost her dog. She put up signs to get him back.”
    Before Rowan could speak, Emma snorted beside her. “The dog part’s right.”
    Willow looked back and forth between the two older women, clearly not understanding.
    “Go inside and dry out,” Rowan said, waving her hand toward the front door.
    “But—”
    “It’s almost bedtime. How about some hot chocolate first, though?” Rowan asked, cutting her off.
    Willow’s face brightened, and she hopped up the last two steps. “Okay! Then can we talk about a pony?”
    Rowan held her breath for a long moment. Willow understood about money, at least that they didn’t have much and that was why she