She turned and laughed. “We’ll see, Chance. We’ll see.”
CHANCE CARRIED A still-sleeping Rosie up to his old room. A room that had undergone a massive personality transplant. He blocked his mind to the frilly canopy bed—he didn’t know they still made those—and the swirly pink wallpaper. His old scarred dresser had been transformed, as had the desk that had gotten him through grammar school and high school that sat wedged beneath a window and looked out onto endless pastures and countless cattle. His closet, now stuffed with boxes and junk that had no connection to him, was ajar because of the slightly uneven floor.
And there, on his bed, sat his old hat.
“Subtle, Jon.” Or Hadley. Or maybe his veterinarian brother, Ethan, or his new bride, Grace, had gotten sneaky and creative? Ben wouldn’t have been so subtle; despite his brother’s formal lawyerlike tendencies, Ben would have been more likely to smack Chance in the face with the Stetson. Ty would have put him in a headlock and shoved the hat on his head.
Maybe it had been Katie. That grin on her face as she’d backed away from him had been full of more than humor. He might not have dwelled on a lot of memories from the ranch, but he’d known Katie well enough to know when something was amiss. And despite her easygoing smile and steely-eyed determination, something hovered beneath the surface. She was worried.
No. Chance held Rosie a moment longer than necessary as he watched out the window as Katie hiked over the hill and up toward the foreman’s house. She was scared.
“Daddy?” Rosie mumbled and sighed as he laid her down on the creaky mattress. “I rode a horsie.”
“I know you did, Bug.” Chance kneeled on the floor beside the bed and stroked her hair and sweaty face. “Did you like it?”
She blinked sleepy eyes at him and smiled. “Yes. But my butt hurts.”
“It won’t hurt so much next time.”
“Tomorrow?” Rosie yawned. “I can ride again tomorrow?”
“We’ll see.” He pressed his lips to her forehead and squeezed his eyes shut to ride the wave of emotion that swept over him. “You take your nap and we’ll have dinner later, okay? Then tomorrow you’ll start to meet your family. Your aunts and uncles and cousins.”
“I have family.” Rosie beamed at the thought as her eyes drifted closed. “I love having family. Where’s Clyde?”
“In the car. Here.” He reached for his hat and pushed it into her hands. “You keep this safe in dreamland for me and I’ll go get him. Be careful, though. This hat is special.”
“It is?” Rosie hugged the gray hat to her chest and patted it like a pet.
“Your mommy helped Big E pick it out just for me.” Or so the story went. Probably Big E’s way of making sure Chance held some appreciation for it.
“Mommy liked it here. I like it here.” Rosie’s arms went lax and she dropped back into sleep, her mouth open just wide enough to emit little-girl snores.
He pulled the folded blanket from the bottom of the bed and draped it over her before leaving the room. Chance stood in the hall, brushing off ghosts and an early-evening chill. The house felt...different. Not at all what he expected after all these months, all the years of dreading returning. His mother and father had doted on this place, but that had been when appliances went on the fritz and the wallpaper peeled from the corners of the room. It hadn’t been perfect, or designer chic. But it had felt like home.
He peeked into the bedroom next to his old one, the one Ethan had once occupied, and decided he could settle for that. The floorboards still squeaked in familiar spots, the sound an echo from the past that made his lips curve. The bones of the house were still here. He could hear them creaking as he headed downstairs, as if calling to him, and begging for help. It was the house’s soul that was barely hanging on as its heartbeat slowed beneath the avalanche of emotionless detachment and overwhelming color.
The house was no longer a home. But it wasn’t only Big E and Zoe who had done the damage. It was as if it had lost its will to live after the boys’ parents had been killed, truly gasping its last breath when the final Blackwell brother left.
“Good riddance,” Chance whispered. Because Chance, more than anyone, knew there was no turning back time. No matter how hard one tried.
* * *
“DAD!” HIP NIPPING at her heels, Katie pushed open the back door, wiped her boots on the porch mat and stepped inside. “I’m home!”
Silence greeted her, as usual, and drew her into the darkened, dated kitchen. She snapped on the light and sighed. There went any hope of a long soak in the tub before she headed back to the ranch to lock things down. Not one item had shifted since she’d left before sunrise and the mess had only been added to. Yesterday’s dishes were stacked in the chipped farmer’s sink. Toast crumbs sat like dead ants on the counter, mail and bills were piled on the breakfast bar. A pot on the stove proved her father’s talents with oatmeal had not progressed in his sixty-eight years and had, in fact, deteriorated to the point that she’d need to buy new cookware. She smelled burned food and sour milk, due in part to the half-empty milk container left out on the counter.
“At least you lick your plate clean,” Katie told Hip, who was sitting patiently at her eating spot, waiting for the rice-and-chicken dinner Katie stored in the fridge. After a quick zap in the microwave, she set it down, refilled Hip’s water bowl and smiled at the dog’s grateful whine when Katie gave her the all clear to eat.
Disgust mingled with despair when she returned to the refrigerator and found only two bottles of beer left in the door. She couldn’t remember when beer hadn’t been considered a food group in her home, which meant it must have started before Katie’s mother had died twenty years ago. Only a few months before the Blackwell brothers’ parents were killed when their car got caught in a flash flood on Blackwell property.
She was down to the last containers of guest-ranch leftovers, which meant it was time for another pilfering run. She wasn’t entirely sure what she’d do in the off-season for belly-warming, delicious food. But she’d worry about that later. For now...
“He can go through a case of beer but won’t touch the lasagna.” Katie’s mutter echoed in the kitchen. Part of her knew she should ask the manager at White Buffalo Grocers to stop making the deliveries, but was that a battle with her father she wanted to wage? She’d given up cursing long ago. What was the point of turning the air blue when it didn’t change anything?
Hip, done with her dinner, wandered over to her plush bed by the sliding door and settled in to watch the sunset. Ah, the life of a dog, Katie mused. Must be nice.
“Dad?” she called louder this time and headed into the living room.
The large-screen TV Big E had given Lochlan last year for Christmas was on but muted. The shopping channel displayed some gaudy jewelry set that made the Blackwell house look tame by comparison. Newspapers going back a week were strewn on the floor and crinkled under her feet as she approached where her father slept in his easy chair. A half-dozen empty beer bottles were lined up like soul-sucking soldiers on the coffee table that years ago had displayed family photo albums and certificates of merit.
Years ago. A lifetime ago. Losing their mom had started Lochlan on his rapid descent into depression and alcoholism. Maura leaving had shifted him into warp speed.
She dropped down and gripped the arm of the leather chair. “Oh, Dad.”
Tears burned the back of her throat. Lochlan Montgomery, fourth-generation ranch foreman, the biggest and—once upon a time—the best man she knew,