3
GABE
“She will be ours,” I said.
“Without question,” Tucker replied.
After the wedding reception, Tucker and I returned to Bridgewater. We worked for two days, riding the fence lines, fixing downed sections, herding stray cows, all the while stewing on the conversation with Abigail. Talked through every word she said, every tilt of her chin, the way she angled her head to hide her scar, the emotions I could see in her eyes.
“Who?” Andrew asked, carrying a stack of dirty plates in from the dining room.
He was one of many men who lived at Bridgewater and shared the communal dinner with everyone who wasn’t working. These days, a large group met for the meals so the chores for it were shared and rotated. Tucker and I were on dishwashing duty, and I had my hands in a sink full of hot wa
