A Family In Wyoming. Lynnette Kent

four of you grew up without your parents. And you’ve learned to manage all this—” she said with a gesture at the view of the rolling pastures framed by the window “—on your own.”

      “Henry taught me pretty much everything I know.”

      “Is this what you always wanted to do? Did you dream of being a cowboy as a little boy?”

      His gaze seemed to turn inward. “Not that I remember. We played soldiers, or ball games, I think.” He shrugged. “But ranch work was available when I needed a job, so that’s what I did.”

      “Still...” The scope of his responsibilities amazed her. “You raised your brothers by yourself. From such a young age.”

      “We raised each other. That’s why we stick together.”

      Some men were just born to be responsible. And some men weren’t—like her husband.

      Coming out from behind the desk, she didn’t realize she’d revealed her state of mind until Wyatt said, “What’s brought that frown to your face?”

      “Oh.” Her turn to confess. “Thinking about Travis, of course. His parenting skills—or lack of them.”

      “A good reason to keep him out of your life as much as possible.”

      “That’s not—”

      A sudden clatter sounded in the front of the house, followed by Amber’s voice. “Uh oh.”

      Susannah rushed down the hallway and into the dining room. “What happened?”

      Amber stood by the wall, a coloring book dangling from her hand. At her feet lay a laptop computer.

      Wyatt’s laptop computer.

      “I tried to go over it,” she said, pointing to the cord, which was plugged into the wall. “But my foot catched it.” Judging from her big eyes and frightened expression, she understood the seriousness of the problem.

      Wyatt joined them. “I can’t get down there with this stupid brace on,” he said in a quiet voice. “Could you set it on the table?”

      Susannah bent to pick up the computer. As she straightened, she glanced at the machine and gasped. The screen was cracked and crazed, the image totally destroyed.

      A long, low whistle escaped Wyatt’s lips. “That doesn’t look good.” She put it on the table and he pressed some keys, typed a string of letters. The screen went dead. “Not good at all.”