Mistakes that, in the end, could save others.
His resolve kicked in. Unfortunately there was no turning back now.
Rose Worthington had to die.
Sheriff Maddox McCullen did not want his father to die.
But he was dying anyway, and Maddox couldn’t do a damn thing to stop it.
He clenched the doorknob to his father’s bedroom door, his stomach fisted into a cold hard knot.
He’d looked up to Joe McCullen his whole life, admired his father’s love of the land and the way he’d run the family ranch, Horseshoe Creek. It had been passed down from one McCullen to the next for generations and had made men out of all of them.
His father was as tough as steel and had worked hard. He’d bred thoroughbreds and raised cattle and treated his ranch hands with respect and authority.
But he would be gone soon, and Maddox had to take over. Not that he wasn’t prepared. The ranch was in his blood. Taking care of it and the town gave him a purpose.
Mama Mary, the housekeeper and cook who’d practically raised him, met him at his father’s door. Short, plump and sturdy, she’d squished him in her big loving arms since he was a child.
“How is he?”
“Resting,” she said, her hands gripping a tray holding a teapot and empty cup. “But he wants to see you.”
Maddox rapped gently on the door, then pushed it open, forcing himself not to react to the changes in the big, strong man who’d taught him how to shoot a rifle, ride a horse and rope a calf. His father had lost more weight, his eyes looked sunken and his hand shook as he raised it to cover a cough.
Dammit. Maddox was a take-charge man, a doer. He fixed people’s problems. He didn’t like this feeling of being helpless.
But his father needed him to be strong. He sure as hell didn’t need to see his oldest son break down.
“Dad?”
“Come on in, Maddox. We need to talk.”
God, not another discussion of his will and how and where he wanted to be buried.
“What is it? Can I get you something?”
A sheen of sweat coated his father’s pale forehead. “No, but there is something you can do for me.”
His dad waved him over, and Maddox crossed the room, his boots pounding the wood floor. He dragged the straight chair in the corner next to the bed, straddled it, then removed his Stetson.
“Anything, Dad. You name it.”
His father pushed himself to a sitting position, then raked what little hair he had left back from his forehead. “It won’t be long now—”
“Don’t say that, Dad.”
His father’s hand shot up to cut him off. “Let me finish. It won’t be long, but before I die, I need to see your brothers. There’s something I have to talk to each of you about.” He coughed again, then struggled for a breath, making Maddox’s own chest ache.
“I know you all don’t get along,” his dad continued, “and that’s partly my fault, but it’s important I see Brett and Ray.”
Maddox swallowed to temper his anger. How could he deny his father’s last request? He had a right to say good-bye to each of his sons.
But resentment made him seethe inside. Brett, two years younger than him, had always been irresponsible, a love-’em-and-leave-’em womanizer who’d left home seven years ago chasing his dreams of fame on the rodeo circuit.
And Ray...hell, Ray was the rebellious son. Ever since he turned thirteen, he’d clashed with their father. Maddox had no idea what Ray was up to now, although his youngest brother had skirted the law a few times.
Neither Brett nor Ray had been home to see his father since...well, he couldn’t remember when.
That had suited Maddox just fine.
“Will you call them, son?”
Maddox gave a clipped nod.
A weak smile tilted the corner of his dad’s mouth. “Families need to stick together. Try to bridge the gap between you and your brothers, son. You all need each other.”
Maddox gritted his teeth. He might just be asking the impossible.
“Maddox?”
Words hung in his throat, but he forced them out. “All right, I’ll try.”
Relief softened the harsh planes of his father’s face, and Joe visibly relaxed and closed his eyes. “Just let me know when they get here.”
“I will.” Maddox strode to the door, but his father’s request haunted him.
He would track down Brett and Ray—at least they owed his father the courtesy of a goodbye.
But he didn’t expect them to stay. And he didn’t need them. He didn’t need anyone.
Hell, he’d assure them they could go their separate ways as soon as they paid their visit.
* * *
ROSE WORTHINGTON HAD been alone for so long that she couldn’t believe she was finally getting married.
She inhaled the lavender scent of the bubble bath, laid her head back and soaked in the decadent claw-foot tub.
Her fiancé, Thad Thoreau, was on the other side of the door putting together a romantic midnight picnic for the two of them to eat in bed. Since neither of them had family to speak of, they’d opted to save money and elope. Pistol Whip, Wyoming, was small-town, a blip on the radar of Wyoming, and was reminiscent of an old Western movie set—not exactly the setting Rose had envisioned for her nuptials.
So they were on their way to Cheyenne for the ceremony. But Thad had pulled off the highway and driven to a cabin off the beaten path, saying they’d have a romantic night before the wedding.
She opened her eyes and glanced at the vintage ivory dress she’d bought for the special occasion tomorrow, her heart fluttering with excitement. The string of pearls Thad had given her lay in the velvet box beside the pearl comb she’d bought for her hair.
She held her hand up and splayed her fingers, admiring the way her French-cut halo diamond sparkled in the candlelight.
Tomorrow she would become Mrs. Thad Thoreau.
Not only would she have a husband to hold her and love her every night, but one day they’d also have a family.
A pang of regret nagged at her for not calling her parents and telling them about her engagement. But they hadn’t gotten along since she was a teenager. For some odd reason, ever since she was little, she’d sensed she didn’t belong with them. That they were a wrong fit. That she was a problem they didn’t know how to get rid of.
And then there had been the awkward conversations she’d overheard, the whispered comments, the looks...
The secrets.
They’d wanted to send her away. She’d heard them plotting that one night.
So as soon as she’d turned eighteen, she’d packed and left. Her parents hadn’t stopped her. In fact, they’d said it was probably for the best.
Who thought it was best not to talk to your own child?
When she had a baby, she’d make sure her little one knew he or she was loved, that she’d do anything for her child.
The water turned chilly,