Detective Caleb Nash switched his jeans for jogging shorts and hoped to high heaven no one he knew saw him. It was a particularly pleasant day in Overlook. The humidity was down and the heat wasn’t too bad. He’d have to clean the pollen off of his truck before he went to the department unless he wanted his partner, Jazz, to give him grief again. She always reminded him that they represented the sheriff’s department, vehicles included. It was easy for her to say. She drove an obnoxious gray four-door that barely showed any pollen. Not to mention her husband detailed cars for a living.
Caleb drove an old dark blue pickup that showed every speck of yellow, and as for a spouse with a helpful job? His last girlfriend had split because the only real marriage he was interested in was to his job. Her words, not his. Though he couldn’t deny they held some truth. She’d also never been a fan of small-town Tennessee. The last thing she’d be worried about was him driving around town with a pollen-coated junker.
Though that insignificant mark of shame would be nothing compared to what would be said if any of Overlook’s residents saw one of the Nash triplets jogging in the short shorts he was currently sporting. Good, bad, or embarrassing, the town already had enough to talk about when it came to the family. Adding his bare legs to the mix was something he wanted to avoid. Never mind keeping the sheriff away from the image. That grief would last for months longer.
But what was a man supposed to do?
The reappearance of his short shorts from track in school had been his mama’s fault. Her latest drop-in had resulted in a surge of spring cleaning he hadn’t asked for but couldn’t stop. The casualty in the latest cleaning war had been the accidental destruction of his normal workout wear. Now he was popping in his earbuds at the mouth of Connor’s Trail with more skin than he was comfortable showing, hoping that none of the people living or working on the Nash Family Ranch would find themselves up that way.
On a scale of one to five, one being a kid-friendly walk meant to enjoy the scenery and five being a laborious attempt at training for trails that went up the Rockies, Connor’s Trail was a three. It began where the woods that were scattered across the back half of the hundred acres of ranchland curved, forming a crescent-moon shape that rose and dipped the farther you went inside the tree line. The uneven terrain warranted several new signs warning guests from the Wild Iris Retreat to be careful. Caleb knew for a fact that there were three in total surrounding the trail because he’d been the one to stake them in the ground. It was supposed to have been his brother, Declan, who did the deed, but work had pulled him away. There wasn’t much Caleb could do about that. He could argue until he was blue in the face with his eldest brother, but he didn’t dare try the same tactic with the sheriff. Even if they were one and the same.
Caleb leaned into the beat of his music as thoughts of his brother led to thoughts about work. Caleb had been a detective with the Wildman County Sheriff’s Department for five years. In that time he’d learned the importance of routine, especially when it came to exercising.
“There’s never enough time to do every single thing you want to,” his father, Michael, used to say. “But there’s always time to do at least one thing. You just have to make that one thing count.”
While his siblings, Madeline and Desmond, thought that was a bunch of bologna, Caleb had taken his late father’s words to heart. That mantra had served the patriarch well throughout his life.
Until it hadn’t.
But that hadn’t been his fault.
Caleb’s thoughts started to darken. The upbeat music did little to stave off that darkness. No matter how many years passed, Caleb knew there would always be moments where what had happened clawed its way to the forefront of his mind. Where it would sit. And wait.
A horrifying collection of memories from what felt like a different lifetime. The Nash triplets stuck in a loop of helplessness, fear, and pain.
His feet dug into the dirt as he made physical distance from the home behind him. It had taken years for him, Madi, or Desmond to go back into the woods. To move between the trees without fear. Without worry.
Yet, sometimes, when Caleb thought about his father he couldn’t help but think about the man with the scar along his hand. Then, suddenly, Caleb was a child again. He’d hear Madi scream. Hear Desmond cry out in pain. He’d hear his own voice quaver in anger and fear.
Then Caleb would remember that, even though the memories felt so real sometimes, that’s all they were. Memories. Ones that had no place on the ranch at the end of Winding Road.
“But, how can it be over if the man with the scar is still out there?” asked Caleb’s inner voice. It was a question that always followed the memories, darkening them even further.
Today, though, Caleb refused to entertain them for long. He leaned into the beat of his music and focused on the comfort of routine.
The burn of exertion didn’t kick in until Caleb was passing the third mile marker. Scots pines lined either side of the dirty trail, their roots gnarled and reaching every few yards. Caleb had run the trail since he was fifteen and knew when to jump over or step around the ones that threatened to take a jogger by surprise. Just as he knew the exact spot to veer off the beaten path and forge over a less-known one to his favorite place across all of the ranch. The trees clustered closer but Caleb wove around them and kept going.
He heard the stream before he saw the water.
The trees thinned out and the ground dipped. Caleb jumped off a dirt ledge and slapped the trunk of a tree that had his initials carved into it. Rocks worn by erosion lined flowing water that was clear enough to see more rocks making up the bottom in the distance. It wasn’t a particularly wide waterway, neither was it that deep, but it was always cold.
Caleb was already thinking about stripping down, wading to the deepest point and dunking under for a quick refresher before he rounded the last line of trees. He stopped in his tracks. He wasn’t the only one who had been thinking the same thing.
A woman was already standing in the middle of the stream. Her back was turned to him but there