33. Bishop

I feellike I'm walking through a dream as the men surround us outside the stable. They should already be moving the cattle to a different pasture, but this day has been flipped on its head for all of us. They seem tense, concerned, confused, and no doubt Wade has been fielding questions the past couple of hours.

Porter interlaces our fingers as he stands beside me, as if to tell me we're in this together. When I showed up at the foundation, I expected him to tell me to fuck off, and then I'd have to watch him leave again. But here he is, wanting to stay, to stop running, and I plan to show him every day how grateful I am.

"Somehow I knew Storm wasn't the only thing you were trying to ride," Bulldog teases, and some of the guys laugh nervously.

"This gonna be an issue?" I ask, looking each of the men in the eyes. "Because if it is, get it out now."

Jeb clears his throat, eyes focused on our interlinked hands. "So you're queer?"

"Bisexual," I admit. "But I was afraid to come out, to disappoint my parents."

Big Jimmy shrugs. "Makes sense. You got a lot riding on your shoulders 'round here."

"I woulda taken up for you. You've been a good boss," Bulldog says, and I want to hug him for that.

"Hear, hear," Wade says. "And it's about damn time. I'm happy for you boys."

The men seem confused by that, so I feel the need to explain.

"I've loved Porter Dixon my whole life."

Porter clenches my hand. "Well, I am irresistible."

I huff out a laugh. "We lost each other once, but we found our way back. And I don't plan on losing him again."

"You won't," Porter whispers, then turns to the men. "Been running away my whole life but always knew this is where I belong, with Bishop. We don't need your support to go on loving each other, but it sure would mean a lot to have it."

Bulldog, Big Jimmy, and a couple of the grooms step forward to clap us on the back.

Jeb and Otis stay back, a look passing between them.

When it grows tense again, I motion to the pair. "Like I said, get it all out now."

Otis nods. "Is it true, the other thing Randy told us?"

I try not to flinch. "What exactly did he tell you?"

Jeb looks over his shoulder, maybe to make sure my parents aren't anywhere around. "That the Sullivans stole the ranch from the Dixons."

"It's true." I blow out a breath. "I found out just this morning."

"It happened over a hundred years ago between our great-grandfathers," Porter clarifies. "Turns out the agreement between them wasn't even binding."

"Still should count," Otis says. "That's how they did things back then."

"I get it, and I don't disagree," I reply. "Just need some time to wrap my brain around it all."

Porter shakes his head. "You know that's not how life works, Otis. And I'm tired of being angry about every damned thing. I got everything I want right here." He makes a point of kissing my cheek. "So I don't blame nobody in the Sullivan family who's alive today. And neither should you. They're good people."

"Amen," Wade says, and the men nod.

I know Porter's statement is not exactly true, but he's trying, and God, I love him for that. But I also can't help feeling that the gossip mill is going to be brutal, not only around here, but in town, and I don't know how to bridge the gap and not make these men doubt me or my parents.

Suppose what Dad said earlier is true. They either know our character by now or they don't.

"We plan on doing right by the Dixons," Mom says, and I stiffen, not having realized she'd come over. "In the meantime, we've got a ranch to run."

"Yes, ma'am," Wade says with a tip of his hat.

We watch as the men wander off to their chores, and then we're alone with Mom. She steps toward Porter, anguish in her eyes. "I wanted to tell you that day with the pie…but you were carrying so much anger and grief, and I didn't know how. Plus, we needed to fill Bishop in first, but we never got the chance. That's not on you, it's on us."

"Thanks for saying that, Martha," Porter replies. "I won't pretend this isn't gonna be hard for me, but I'll need to get past it—on my own time."

"Of course." Mom reaches out like she wants to touch him or pull him into an embrace but stops, likely knowing it won't fly right then.

"But I do know that I love Sully, and I plan on showing him every day."

"I have no doubt." Mom's smile is watery. "Sully, huh? That what you call him?"

"Yes, ma'am." Porter bites his lip, and I swallow the bubble of laughter in my throat. "Sort of fits him, don't you think? Sully…Sullivan Ranch?"

Mom grins and looks off in the distance, as if considering something.

The thought clears, and she pulls her sweater tighter across her shoulders. "I got Pixie off to school. She doesn't know anything. Figured that would buy us some time to see what Randy's gonna do."

I picture that sweet girl's face, her bright smile, and feel heartbroken all over again. "What do we do if Randy doesn't?—"

My thought is cut short by the sheriff's car pulling up our driveway. My gut churns, a feeling washing over me that something's very wrong.

We remain silent as the sheriff parks and exits his car, concern on both Porter's and Mom's faces. Dad pushes through the screen door and jogs down the steps to join us. "Sheriff? To what do we owe this visit?"

"Mornin'," the sheriff greets us. "I hear Randy Wilks and his daughter, Patricia, been stayin' out here with you all?"

"That's right," I reply. "Is there a problem?"

He removes his hat and scratches his head as if wanting to prolong the inevitable. "There's been an accident."

"Oh my God!" Mom's hand covers her mouth.

"Randy was drunk as a skunk. Thankfully, nobody else was involved in the accident. He only drove down a ditch and straight into a tree."

My heart clenches. It's the very thing that haunted me about his drinking. "Is he…"

"The car flipped over, but somehow, he made it out with little more than a bump on his head. He's at the hospital, probably got a concussion."

"Thank God he's all right," Dad says.

The sheriff frowns. "It's not his first offense, and there will be charges brought. He's looking at jail time."

"Suppose this is his rock bottom," Dad murmurs. "We tried to talk him into treatment, but it didn't go so well."

"Usually doesn't." The sheriff puckers his brow. "He was blubbering something about not having a job and no place to live."

"Christ, what a mess," Porter mutters.

"Is it possible that a treatment program could be considered as well?" Mom asks. "Not sure jail time alone will cut it."

"That'd be up to the county DA." He twirls his hat. "I'll be sure to pass on the message, so he might give you a call."

"Appreciate that," Dad says.

The sheriff looks over Dad's shoulder to the house. "He did ask about his daughter, and normally in a case like this, social services would step in."

A lump forms in my throat. "Pixie has been staying in a spare bedroom and helping with the horses, even made her a junior groom."

"That right?" He considers it a moment. "Usually they search for family to place them with, but from what I heard, ain't none to be found."

Porter says, "We'd be more than willing to take care of her for the foreseeable future." His voice cracks with emotion, and he clears his throat. "Sorry, didn't mean to overstep."

"You didn't overstep at all." Mom squeezes his shoulder. "Sheriff, do you remember Porter Dixon? Grew up in Laurel Springs with his family."

"Sure do. Your momma used to make the best pies for the county fair." They shake hands as Porter offers a sad smile. "Anyway, that's a mighty kind offer. I can send the social worker your way."

We say our goodbyes, then watch him drive off.

"This day just keeps getting better and better." I laugh humorlessly. "Poor Pixie. Maybe if I hadn't told Randy?—"

"Don't you dare." Dad's tone is thick with annoyance. "He made his choices. He should be thankful we're not pressing charges for theft. But I'm not one to kick a man when he's down."

Mom gives me a one-armed embrace. "Seems you got that trait from your father."

I blow out a breath and look at Porter. "How about we go get Pixie before school lets out so she doesn't hear about this from anyone else?"

The entire Sullivan family is on her emergency pickup list, so that's a blessing for times like this.

Mom winks. "She adores the two of you, and something tells me there's no other place she'd rather be right now."

"We'll make sure she feels loved," Porter says, and then we head to his truck.

I slide in the driver's side. "You're amazing, you know that?"

"How so?"

I pull down the drive and toward the road. "Not only are you staying put and facing all this, but I also know full well you'll be willing to take care of that little girl if the opportunity arises."

"I know what it's like to feel all alone, and I don't plan on letting her experience that." His lips turn down. "I'm glad Randy survived the accident, and I hope he's able to fight his demons, but damn straight I'd be willing to raise her."

"God, I love you, Porter Dixon."

His eyes soften as he nudges my shoulder. "Love you too, Bishop Sullivan."

I stare straight ahead but don't really register the road as I imagine what our future might look like. "Dixon Sullivan," I whisper to myself.

"What's that?" Porter asks.

"I don't rightly know. Just testing out how our names sound together."

"You trying to marry me someday, Sully?" he teases.

"And what if I am?"

"I might consider it." He leans over to kiss my lips. "They do sound good together, don't they? Suppose that's how my great-grandfather thought it would be too—the Dixons and the Sullivans in business together."

Frustrated, I push a hand through my hair. "Wish I could make it right with him—with all your family."

"Hey." He knots our fingers together on the seat. "Something tells me you already have."

Of course, I can only wish that to be true, but as it stands now, it's not. "How so?"

"Well, I made my way back to Laurel Springs and the Sullivan Ranch. Can't help thinking that someone was looking out for me and lit the way." His lips tilt upward. "I've always been wild at heart. Turns out, I only needed to find my way home."

I relax against the seat and let out a dreamy sigh. "I like the sound of that."