Williams Nicole Three Brothers (ang)

* * * * Three Brothers Copyright © 2014 by Nicole Williams Cover Design by The Cover Lure Editing by Cassie Cox Formatting by JT Formatting All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products, bands, and/or restaurants referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners. License Notes This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.



Title Page Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve Chapter Thirteen Chapter Fourteen Chapter Fifteen Chapter Sixteen About the Author



IF I’D KNOWN then what I knew now, I wouldn’t have fallen in love with him. If I’d known at thirteen what I’d learned in the twelve years since, I’d have known that the people who need the most help either don’t want to be fixed or are past the point of fixing. The people who seem to be making the biggest cries for help aren’t really crying out at all. They’ve accepted who and what they are, and it’s those of us who stumble along by them—wanting, needing, and having to fix them—who are the ones who need help when all is said and done. At least that was my experience. In the seven years since I’d left Red Mountain Ranch, I’d found help in distance, independence, and reinventing myself as a competent, capable woman. I wasn’t the same scared, impressionable girl I’d been when I walked through those doors the first time. I’d never be that girl again. But the closer I got to the place where I’d spent five of my most impressionable teen years, I felt the twenty-five-year-old woman I was shrinking away and the girl I’d once been shoving to the surface. It might have been the familiar gravel roads the cab was crunching over—the first time I’d traveled them in years—or it might have been the reason I was coming back after living with the impression that I’d seen my last of the jutting peaks and sweeping valleys of Jackson Hole. Or it might have been because in the call I’d gotten a few days ago, pleading me to come back before it was too late, I’d learned that he would be here. The he I’d toiled five years away trying to help—trying to fix. The he I’d wasted five years trying to fix. My hands twisted in my lap as I worked to empty my mind because I needed a clear head for what was waiting for me. I needed a clear head to face him and make sure those same misguided feelings I’d had for him wouldn’t drain me of energy and hope as they had before. I needed the strong woman I was to be at her best from the moment I climbed the porch steps to the time I bounced down them when I left. It was June. The days were long, but they had never seemed as long in that part of the world. My flight had gotten in a bit late, so it was closer to eight than seven when the cab took the left turn at the end of the road. Already shadows were creeping across the green fields. That was because of the mountain. By itself, it seemed monstrous in size, but Red Mountain didn’t hold a candle to the sharp, snow-capped spires of the Tetons surrounding it. But it was tall enough to swallow the sun early, so everything in the valley spent more time veiled in shadow than most places. It was the mountain’s fault the long summer days were cut early, and the owner of those fields and the thousands of acres stretched out around it claimed the mountain was at fault for just about everything that had gone wrong in his and so many others’ lives. Maybe it was true that the mountain hadn’t been named Red Mountain just because the soil at the top was reddish, and maybe it wasn’t. But I had learned in my years spent in Jackson Hole that whether people used the mountain as a ramrod for tragedy or if it really was the origin, something was tragic about

that mountain. I turned my gaze away from the looming mass of rock and superstition as the car crawled to a stop. I was there. I’d spent more time away from that place than I’d spent there, but I’d learned that some places and people leave a deeper impression than others, regardless of time. That place and the people inside it had done just that—left an impression on me that went so deep that sometimes I couldn’t tell the difference between where I ended and they began. The driver was already unloading my luggage from the trunk and walking the bags up the very porch steps I’d been having nightmares of for three nights. Despite the nightmares, this place was the origin of more happy memories than unhappy ones. But for some reason, the unhappy memories had a way of towering over the happy ones, punctuating my time at Red Mountain Ranch. I hoped this visit wouldn’t be defined the same way. I hoped this visit would be different. Entirely different. I wasn’t off to a good start though. My hands still twisted in my lap, my back pasted to the seat, my body almost clammy with fear . . . I was more that girl than that woman. I was more the same girl who’d first arrived at this place than the woman I’d spent years gritting my teeth to become. I might have been in a peony-pink eyelet dress then instead of the worn-in jeans and WSU School of Veterinary Medicine shirt I was in now, but the same nervousness settled in my stomach. I felt the uncertainty and fear of the unknown trickle into every corner and crevice inside me. When the driver knocked on my window, I flinched, but by the time he pulled open the door, I’d collected myself enough to swing my legs out of the car and take my first step in the right direction. Or the wrong direction, if history was any indicator of my future. After tipping the driver, I stood at the base of that porch. It led to a door as vast and solid as the rest of the place, which led to the rooms where I’d find the four men I’d spent my teen years with, one as a father-figure and the other three as brothers . . . in a way. John had been a decent enough father-figure, although I didn’t really have anyone to judge him against. Even though I’d never had a brother, I did know enough to accept that my “brothers”—one in particular—had behaved as much as a brother as they had not. Chase, Chance, and Conn Armstrong—all strong, one-syllable C names. It probably should have taken me a year of calling them all the wrong name before finally getting it straight, but it hadn’t. Each of them was so unique—as different as the relationships I formed with each one—that I don’t think I got their names confused once. There was plenty of confusion in other areas however . . . One of the few grains of wisdom I’d gleaned from my mom before she ended her life the summer I turned thirteen was that there were three types of men: The kind who appealed to our heads—the good guys who were safe, smart picks who’d never hurt us but would never really excite the hell out of us either. The kind who appealed to our hearts—typically the broken, damaged ones we couldn’t help but fall hard and fast for and the ones we yearned to fix. And then there were the kind who appealed to the below-the-belt region. Those were the guys with swagger in their step and a knowing glint in their eyes. They lit our worlds on fire, but like any fire that burned through its tinder, it extinguished as quickly as it had erupted. Mom had also said there was a fourth kind, although they were so rare they were more myth than reality: the kind who appealed to all three parts of a woman. She said if I ever came across one of those, I should tie myself to him so tightly, no matter what storm came, we’d never be ripped apart. The three Armstrong brothers fit into those categories. Unlike the rest of the girls in Jackson Hole, I hadn’t fallen hard and fast for the hip brother who oozed unhealthy amounts of sex appeal. Chase was more the big brother meets aloof next-door-neighbor type to me. I did fall hard and fast for a different brother though—the youngest one, Conn. I’d gotten tangled up with the heart brother for so long it had taken me years of separation and determination to free myself. During all of that, the head brother, Chance, had been my best friend. But that had been then. I’d let years of radio silence and isolation sever whatever bonds I’d formed

with them all. It was the only choice I’d seen at the time, and I hadn’t given it a second thought. The relationships I’d formed with the men inside that house were as frayed and twisted as a rope that had spent a century rolling along the ocean floor. That was the past though, and as far as I was concerned, that was where those relationships could stay. I was there to say good-bye. After that was done, nothing else would tie me to Red Mountain. I would finally be able to pretend the place I’d spent five years of my life was nothing more than a memory that had become so distant it might have been a dream. But before I could say good-bye and put that part of my life behind me, I needed to walk through that front door, which meant I needed to get myself up those steps . . . but like all beginnings, it needed to start with a first step. The moment I’d taken mine and the heel of my boot connected with the weathered wood of the first step leading up the porch, I was transported back in time. I was swept back to the summer I’d been thirteen and thought wide-open spaces and real-life cowboys only existed in books and movies. I’d felt so grown up, so wise to the ways of the world. All it had taken was one summer to discover just how naïve and innocent I really was.



IT HAD BEEN twelve years since Chance and I had become best friends, and it had been close to seven since we’d seen each other. That wasn’t his fault—he knew the ins and outs of being a true friend better than anyone. It was my fault. After how I’d left things there, having any connection with Red Mountain was difficult, Chance included. So I’d done my best to dodge his calls and take my time replying to his emails, always answering as vaguely as possible without coming across as rude. Chance had been the best part of my experience at Red Mountain—he’d been the sunshine in a place where it rarely seemed to shine—but even Chance and all his smiles and sincerity couldn’t lure me back. When I thought about what finally had brought me back, it seemed strange that a looming death would do the trick, but I couldn’t let John leave this world without saying good-bye and thanking him for what he’d done for me. Chance had left the message on my phone earlier that week, letting me know that John was nearing the end. I’d gotten online and purchased an airline ticket the minute after. John had been diagnosed with Parkinson’s shortly after I moved to Red Mountain, but he’d gotten along pretty well while I’d been there. Of course, that could change in a matter of months, not to mention the passing of a decade. When I’d heard Chance’s recorded voice mention the time the doctors had given John, after restarting my heart, I made it my mission to get to Wyoming as soon as possible. But now that I was here, stalling on the front porch steps, I could imagine a hundred other places I’d rather be. My time here had made me tough though. Five years spent with four Armstrong men, living through five grueling winters, had been more effective at toughening me up than five years spent in the military’s basic training. I wouldn’t turn and run away when I’d made it this far, not even if I had a dozen other demons waiting to confront me as soon as I stepped inside. So I climbed to that second step and forced myself up the third. By the time I’d made it to the fourth, I’d found my stride. The stairs still creaked as though they were ready to give out, and the front door was so tall and wide a giant could have passed through without having to stoop. Everything looked the same except for a note taped to the door. Please knock in lieu of ringing the doorbell. It wasn’t familiar handwriting, not that I needed to see that to know one of the boys hadn’t written it. “In lieu” weren’t words in the Armstrong boys’ vocabularies. I guessed the no-doorbell policy had to do with John sleeping throughout the day and not wanting to be disturbed, but from what Chance had said in his message, the drugs his doctor had put him on to ease his pain were strong enough to keep a man asleep even if a symphony were playing Beethoven’s Fifth a foot from his bed. Knocking lightly, I listened for the chorus of voices I’d been used to hearing. All four men had voices that carried and, when raised, could seem to rumble a room. But I didn’t hear anything. Waiting a minute to see if anyone would come, I knocked again. I’d let Chance know what time my flight would be in, so

they should have been somewhat expecting me. I’d been delayed, but even if I’d missed dinner, the guys should have been sprawled in John’s library, throwing back expensive scotch and smoking equally expensive cigars. At least, that used to be their tradition after a big family dinner. Chance, who rarely drank or smoked, would make an exception and join in, and Conn, who avoided his father and brothers as much as possible, would put aside their differences and tolerate them long enough to throw back a couple and snuff out a few Cubans. It was as if John’s library and the Armstrong tradition built within brought with it some kind of neutral territory, a place where they remembered they were more ally than enemy, and a tradition that gave them permission to laugh together instead of argue. They’d been drinking and smoking inside that library for as long as I could remember, far before any of the boys were at the legal age to drink. As I realized those library traditions would end when John took his last breath, the sadness I’d been trying to keep at arm’s length finally shoved through and blanketed me. I felt tears stockpiling, just waiting to be released. But not yet. Not tonight. Hopefully not even tomorrow. But they could only pile up so far before they had to spill over. When no one came after my second knock, I just opened the door and let myself in, leaving my suitcases on the porch. I’d haul them up to my room later. The foyer looked the same, almost exactly as it had the first time I’d walked through it. The timbers lining the walls still gleamed, and the animal heads still loomed eerily on the walls. “Hello?” I called softly, just in case John was asleep. No answer. Even if John was asleep, one of the boys should have been close by. Maybe Chase was playing pool in the cavernous library. Conn was probably wrapped around his guitar, hiding in some quiet, dark corner. If he wasn’t just finishing up dinner, then Chance got a free pass because he was likely out somewhere on one of the thousands of acres owned by the Armstrongs, fixing some piece of machinery, fence, or animal. Red Mountain Ranch wasn’t a working ranch by necessity, but as an homage to the past in that part of the country. The devil only knew how much money was stuffed in accounts bearing the Armstrong name, but the bulk of it hadn’t come from raising cattle. The bulk of it had come a century and a half ago and, in John’s words, had been earned by spilling innocent blood and rewarding immoral men. The story wasn’t exactly bedtime-approved, but it was one of the few John knew by heart and never seemed to grow tired of telling. Especially when he’d been heavy-handed with the scotch pours that night. Finding the foyer empty, I headed down the hall toward the dining room. If it was just as empty, my next stop would be the library where I was hoping I wouldn’t find four men passed out from the libations. Well, three men. Chance’s idea of excessive drinking was having a second beer. That policy, combined with his impressive stature, meant he’d been drunk a total of zero times. Conn and I used to give him a hard time that their parents must have adopted him from a Quaker community—because being an Armstrong and drinking yourself close to a coma went hand-in-hand—but Chance had always laughed it off. He was good at that—laughing things off and making sure he never took himself too seriously. It was something one of his brothers could have benefitted from emulating. When I rounded into the dining room, I caught sight of the first signs of life in this house . . . although life wasn’t quite the right word. John stooped in that big, old high-backed chair he had once seemed to overtake; it had now overtaken him. His full head of hair that had been more pepper than salt the last time I’d seen him had changed into spotty clumps of white. Shoulders that had seemed as though they didn’t know how to hunch were sagging, wanting to curl together. He was dressed in his typical dark jeans and wool blazer, but where before he’d filled them out, he swam in them now. His skin was pale, his cheekbones sunken, and his hand looked more like a skeleton’s than a man’s. He’d seemed like the size of a bear when I’d first met him, and now he was a shadow of that man. The tremble of Parkinson’s I’d grown used to in my later years had evolved into violent, intermittent quaking.

I was afraid to take another step. His back was to me, and from the looks of it, he was asleep in his chair. I realized I could just turn around, slip out the door, and life at Red Mountain would continue to go on just as I had remembered it. I didn’t have to face this new reality. “Sorry it took me so long to get here, John,” I said as I approached the table, my words as tentative as my steps. He stirred, and his gaze almost immediately moved in my direction. Even his eyes looked more corpse than living. What I guessed he meant to be a smile dawned on his face. “Scout.” My name took a few tries to get out, and one syllable became three. I could tell he wanted to say more, but I also knew talking had become difficult, if not impossible. Parkinson’s was a bastard, the devil in disguise. It attacked a person’s motor and sensory functions for years, even decades. It crippled them to the point where a person might have preferred death, but the son of a bitch wouldn’t give the host that one small mercy. Parkinson’s didn’t kill a person, not directly at least, but it made a person wish it would. Instead, Parkinson’s eventually invited someone else to the party and let them be the executioner. Parkinson’s had annihilated John, but something else would ultimately kill him. People said that a person died with Parkinson’s, not from it, as if that should be comforting. Nothing about that sentiment was comforting to the people who lived with the disease or lived with the loved ones who carried it. Chance hadn’t mentioned in his message what would be listed as John’s cause of death on his death certificate, but I didn’t have to be a doctor to know that John Armstrong was advancing to his grave at a rate that only gave me weeks, maybe days, to say good-bye. “I missed you.” When I found myself close to choking on the last word, I looked away from the man I didn’t recognize and focused on the fireplace and the blazing fire crackling within it. “Me.” John’s voice didn’t sound the same either. It wasn’t even a shadow of what it had been before. “Too.” I nodded, swallowing back the ball that had formed out of nowhere in my throat. I was still focused on the fire, but from the corner of my eye, I saw his hand extend. He was reaching out for me. He wanted me to take his hand and give him a hug and sit next to him and pretend like the reason I was there wasn’t because he had a fast-approaching appointment with his maker. I hadn’t known seeing him would be so difficult. If I had, I might not have gotten on that plane. Remembering one of the most important lessons I’d learned during my time there, I didn’t do what was easy and flee from this room—I did what was hard and moved closer. I forced a smile and reached for his hand when I was a step away. I hadn’t expected his hand to still be warm—the sagging skin draped over jutting bones didn’t look warm or even alive—but I exhaled when I realized that even if John didn’t look it, he was still alive. If nothing else, I’d get to share one last dinner with him. “I like what you did with your hair.” I touched a piece of his white hair. It felt fine and brittle, like it wouldn’t take much to break it. “Very stylish.” His hand tightened around mine. Even though I could tell it didn’t possess a fraction of the strength it had once had, he gave me enough of a squeeze to make me feel as if I were that young girl again when John had promised to look after and protect me as he would his own children. It was like that was what he was trying to relay right now. “Welcome . . .” The word came out in a rush of air, as if John had to force it up from deep within his chest. “Home.” I nodded because that was all I could respond with unless I wanted all those tears to stream down my face now. “You didn’t have to wait for me to have dinner, you know. Don’t want this feast Mrs. Baker prepared to get cold.” I swept my arm down the table at the spread that looked as though it was meant for a party of fifty instead of five. Or, well, four. John’s meal had already been dished onto his plate, but it didn’t look like any of the foods in the

serving bowls and trays spaced down the center of the long table. Instead, pureed was the theme of his dinner, the colors as unappealing as the texture. It looked like baby food had been spooned onto a plate, although, God bless her, Mrs. Baker had tried to make it look not so miserable. A chunk of butter leaf lettuce was situated at the top of John’s plate, where a plump raspberry surrounded by a circle of blueberries all topped by a sprig of mint was sitting. He might not have been able to chew, swallow, or digest any of it, but the fruit gave his plate a touch of dignity that I knew a man like John Armstrong appreciated. The swinging door that led from the kitchen burst open, producing a squat round woman decked out in a lavender sweat suit and matching eye shadow. “Dinner started thirty minutes ago. You’re late.” The woman was on the crest of middle age and had hair so red it didn’t look real. Her narrow lips got narrower when she pursed them like she did now. “My flight got in late. I’m sorry.” I stopped myself from saying anything else when I realized I had no idea who the woman was or what her role at Red Mountain was. Back when I’d lived there, Mrs. Baker ran the kitchen, which we kids thought was too hysterical given her last name, and Mrs. Benjamin kept the household. “I’m Scout. Who are you?” I supposed I could have phrased that more politely . . . She didn’t stop hustling until she was beside John. “I’m Faye. I’m Mr. Armstrong’s nurse.” She was carrying a small clear cup with a plastic spoon and some substance that looked even less appetizing than John’s dinner inside. “You must be the adopted daughter of sorts he talks about all the time.” John nodded, but his head bobbed more violently than I was sure he intended. If Parkinson’s could magically turn into a stick, I’d have broken it over my knee and flung it into the fire. “That’s me.” I watched as the nurse scooped some of the goo into John’s mouth. “What is that?” Besides toxic sludge. “His medication. Everything has to be pureed or liquefied or else he’ll choke on it.” She winked at John. “And we’re not going to let him escape that easily.” What I guessed was a laugh for a person in the late stages of Parkinson’s vibrated in John’s chest before he opened his mouth to take his meds. “Do you know where the guys are? Where did they scatter to after inhaling their dinners?” I asked, hoping Faye knew where I could find one Armstrong man I could hug without wondering if it would be the last. I loved John, but he wasn’t the man I remembered. The disease had taken the man I remembered and left one I’d have to get used to in small doses. Otherwise, all of that strength I’d worked to accrue all these years would run out fast. “What dinners? You’re the first one to show up for the seven thirty dinner John was so looking forward to and Mrs. Baker took so much time and care to put together.” Faye glanced at the old grandfather clock across the room, her eyes narrowing when she saw the time. “They haven’t even been here yet? None of them?” I had an excuse. My 747 had gotten delayed in a holding pattern—there wasn’t exactly much I could do other than strap a chute to my back and jettison out the exit door—but the three Armstrong brothers? Someone had better have lost a limb and be in danger of bleeding out. “Where the hell are they?” Faye’s narrowed eyes flicked my way, probably because I was a woman who had just threaded a “curse” into a sentence as though it was second nature. She struck me as the kind of person who didn’t think women should curse, drink, or have sex in any position other than missionary. “That has been the question I’ve been asking myself ever since I started visiting John,” she said. “Other than the sweet one, I’ve barely seen hide or hair of the other two.” I didn’t need to clarify who the sweet one was. Unless a woman was crying in bed, the word sweet didn’t apply to Chase, and the opposite of sweet had been created to describe Conn. “Good-byes are hard, but you only get so long to make them before you lose your chance.” Faye inclined her head at John in his chair. He looked asleep again. “See if you can get that message across to

them better than I can, okay?” Faye and I shared a silent exchange right then, one that helped me see past her stern looks and nononsense approach. I knew she wasn’t just concerned about John’s physical well-being but his mental too. “Okay,” I replied, backing toward the hall. I wasn’t sure where I’d find any of the boys, but I’d start in the library and work my way around the place from there. That was where he kept the good scotch, and his sons knew it. Times like those warranted digging into the good stuff. My inspection started at the back corner of the library because if any of them were in there, they’d be staggered around the pool table. I didn’t expect to find what I did. His back was to me, his head fallen far enough forward I couldn’t see it, but I knew who he was. I’d have recognized that wide back anywhere. “Chase?” I approached him slowly. The library was dark, the only light scattered coming from the fire dying in the fireplace. He didn’t seem to have heard me, so I moved closer. Chase was sitting on the pool table, smack in the center of it, staring at something in his hand. The firelight wasn’t bright, but it was enough to see that, like John, this wasn’t the Chase I remembered. No, this Chase looked as if he’d been terrorized by tragedy for so long he might not be able to recall the sound of rushing water or the feel of the early summer sun on his back or any other good, pleasant memory. “Chase?” I said it louder, and combined with my hand connecting with his arm, I finally got his attention. His body shifted in my direction some, but his focus stayed on whatever it was in his hands. With him angled more my direction, I made out the gleam of the eight ball in his grip. “It seems so small and insignificant, doesn’t it?” His voice was a note above a whisper, raspy from what I guessed had been a prolonged amount of silence. “What?” I asked slowly, as though I was approaching a caged animal. “The eight ball?” “It’s just a shiny black ball with the number eight stamped on it. By itself, it’s nothing to worry about, but when you play its game, it becomes dangerous.” Chase still hadn’t acknowledged me with his eyes. For all I knew, he was talking to himself, but I kept going. “Why’s it dangerous, Chase?” He traced the number eight with his thumb. “Because all it takes is one wrong move to lose the whole game. Put this thing in a pocket before you’re supposed to, or put it in the wrong pocket when it’s actually in play, and you lose. Just like that.” Chase snapped his fingers, turning the ball over in his other hand. “It’s just a ball until you decide to play its game, and then it owns you. It’s . . .”—I knew the word he was searching for before it formed on his lips—“cursed.” I exhaled through my teeth. I’d heard enough about curses, one in particular, during my five years there to last five lifetimes. It wasn’t a topic I was eager to broach during the first conversation I’d had with Chase in years. “What are you doing in here? Dinner was supposed to start over a half hour ago.” When it became clear that Chase had no intention of moving off that pool table, I hopped up with him, hoping I’d be able to get through to him sometime this century. The way he was behaving was more along the dramatic lines of Conn. I wasn’t sure what to say or do to pull Chase from such a funk. “I don’t want dinner.” He sounded more like a stubborn five-year-old than a grown man. “Well, too bad, because dinner wants you. Not to mention so do your dad and I. You know, Scout, that girl who lived here for half a decade? The one you used to sneak an extra scoop of ice cream to and yell at when she left her wet towels on the bathroom floor?” I nudged him but still got nothing. He was somewhere else with someone else, and I guessed it was a place I couldn’t find my way into. “I can’t do it. I just can’t do it.” Chase’s hands swallowed the eight ball, squeezing it so hard his hands quaked. “Can’t do what?” I winced when I saw the veins and sinews of his muscles break to the surface of his

forearms as he fought a losing battle. The only way he was going to crush that eight ball was if his hands magically turned to steel. That was when the light of the fire caught on something else I hadn’t noticed: a wide golden band circling Chase’s finger. The ring finger of his left hand. “Holy shit, Chase, did you go and get married?” I didn’t blink as I stared at the ring, unable to make it compute. As the marrying type went, Chase Armstrong was at the very end of the line. “I went and got married, yeah.” He finally stopped trying to decimate the eight ball and studied his ring with me. “To who? Please don’t tell me yourself because that would just be far too disappointing, even though I believe I prophesized it years ago.” Besides the fire itself, Chase’s ring was the only thing that seemed to light up the room. It was a simple band, no diamonds cut into it or patterns etched on the surface—just a smooth, thick band on a finger I never thought I’d see occupied. “To a woman named Jenny Fairbanks.” Saying her name, Chase finally smiled. It was a good smile too, the kind that was made to stop and admire. “And is this Jenny Fairbanks someone I might know? Perhaps one of the girls I ran into sneaking out of your bedroom or one who used to befriend me for the sole purpose of running into you during a girls’ sleepover?” I nudged him, putting on my own smile. When you were the adopted sister of the most eligible bachelors in town, you had no shortage of fake friends who wanted to come hang out on any given night. “No, she’s no one you would have known. She didn’t grow up here. She moved here after college when she got a teaching job at one of the elementary schools. I met her at a library in town.” Chase’s voice and expression were changing back into the ones I remembered. Yeah, he might not have shaved in weeks and the hollows under his eyes were especially impressive, but every minute of talking about Jenny brought him back to the guy I remembered. “Wait, did you just say library? As in one of those things that carries books and lets people check them out with things known as library cards? I didn’t think you knew what one of those was.” I curled my leg beneath me and scooted closer. “Let me guess. There was a strip club right next door, and you got confused?” He shook his head, his smile still in place, although it was fading. “No, I was there to help dedicate the new library since a good chunk of it had been paid for by the Armstrong Fund.” “Ah, so hospitals, universities, and community centers weren’t enough? You Armstrongs had to go and get your charitable paws in another pot?” “I guess. I don’t know. Dad or Chance take care of all that. They just let me know where to go and when to be there.” “You weren’t born with a pretty face to keep it hidden in some dark library, right?” I said, not completely joking. When Chase didn’t say anything else, I asked, “So that’s when you met Ms. Jenny. Let me guess. Love at first sight?” Chase shook his head. “No, but it was definitely lust at first sight. The moment I saw her standing in the crowd, I knew I had to . . .” Chase paused to search for a substitute for the word he’d been about to fire off. John had threatened his boys with the penalty of having to muck out stalls if they were lewd or crass in front of me about the topic of sex. With Chance, it wasn’t an issue since all he knew about it was what he’d learned in Sex Ed. As with any rule John implemented, Conn found a million ways around or through it, but Chase actually listened. Other than the hoots and hollers I’d heard cursed from his room, I hadn’t heard him utter anything sexually “lewd or crass” since John laid that rule down a few weeks after I moved to Red Mountain.

“Have her,” he substituted. “But from the moment I approached her, it was like she saw through my whole act. She turned me down at every corner. She even said no when I asked her to meet me for coffee on a Sunday morning. Coffee. Sunday morning. How much more innocent does it get than that?” “I like this girl already.” I’d been under the impression that girls and the word no when Chase Armstrong propositioned them lived on different planets. “So how did you finally get that first date with her?” Chase finally looked up and stared into the fire. I tried not to gasp. I knew the sharp light and shadows the fire cast weren’t helping, but Chase had gone from looking his age to aging twenty years in the span of seven. He didn’t just look old—there was something else. Exhaustion, maybe? The gleam in his eyes that I’d been certain was a permanent fixture had been snuffed out. That thick golden hair that countless women had stroked, gripped, and pulled looked as dull and lifeless as the rest of him. I remembered him being so full of life that I’d wished it had been contagious, and no warm-blooded woman had been able to pass him without letting her gaze linger on the divinity that had been Chase Armstrong. So much of that brother was absent from the one hunched beside me. For the second time that night, an Armstrong man almost had me crying for reasons other than saying something hurtful. “It ended up being in that coffee shop after all. Although it was a Wednesday night and neither of us had known the other would be there.” Chase squinted into the fire as if he was trying to sharpen his focus to see something far off. “Only after we’d run into each other a third time at the drug store, after nearly smashing our carts together at the grocery store on the second, did she cave and go on a real date with me.” “There’s a happy coincidence,” I said, wondering what part of this happily ever after was making Chase look so lost. “So what happened after that? How many dates did it take before you—” “Eight.” Chase lifted the black ball he was still wringing. “Eight dates before she agreed to marry me.” That had to be some kind of a record. “Actually, I was going to ask how many dates it took before she let you lure her into bed, because I’m already liking the sound of this Jenny. If she was one of those onedate bed-hoppers, I’m going to be seriously disappointed.” Chase’s mouth moved as though he was trying to stifle a smile. “Eight.” My eyebrows hit my hairline. “No way, Chase Armstrong. You’re telling me this woman you married didn’t let you get her into bed until you were engaged? I didn’t even think that was possible.” He wasn’t doing a good job keeping that smile stifled. “Me neither.” Hopping off the pool table, I backed up toward the door. One brother accounted for, two more to go. “So when do I get to meet this ball-buster of a Mrs. Armstrong? Soon, I hope. I can’t decide whether to lead with the chest bump, high five, or fist pump. What would you recommend?” The smile slid from Chase’s mouth and left behind something that made me take another step back. When he stayed silent, his expression eclipsing further into darkness, I cleared my throat. “Where is she Chase?” I wasn’t sure when they’d been married or how long it had lasted, but clearly the honeymoon phase was long over. “On the mountain.” His voice sliced through the still air. “On the mountain as in the one right out front? Your wife is on Red Mountain?” I peeked out the window at the looming mass. It was dark, but that mountain pierced darker into the blackness. “She’s there.” “Like, by herself? That place is creepy in the day and just plain terrifying at night. What’s she doing there? What are you thinking letting her go there in the first place?” I was about to go shake some sense into him—if there was room left for some—when the eight ball dropped from his hands, rolled across the floor, and disappeared under an arm chair.

“She’s dead,” he whispered, appraising the fire as though he wanted to battle it, along with everything else in the room and outside it. I froze in place. “She’s . . .” Chase finally looked me in the eyes. I wished he hadn’t. “Dead.” My heartbeat drummed in my ears. None of this was right, from Chase getting married to his wife dying. “But you just said she was on the mountain.” “She is on the mountain, the very top of it, save for about six feet of soil.” Chase glanced out the window, his whole face creasing in an anguish I’d never witnessed. “She’s up there with my mom, my grandma, and about every other female ancestor who had the bad fortune to fall for an Armstrong man from about 1850 on.” I couldn’t look at him any longer. The pain coming from him was too much to bear. I’d forgotten all about the cemetery near the top of Red Mountain. I’d only visited it once, and that had been because of a dare from Conn. He’d bet me I couldn’t spend half the night among those half dozen tombstones by myself, and I’d challenged him back, saying I could spend a whole night. I was seventeen then and had long ago lost my fear of this strange country, but we were both way off. I’d taken one look at those headstones staggered around the west side of the mountain, turned, and couldn’t get off that mountain fast enough. I hadn’t seen any ghosts or specters floating about up there, but the place felt haunted. The chills running like cold fingers down my back and the hair on my arms standing on end had been proof that whatever that place was, it wasn’t just where bodies were laid to rest in peace. “So if you want to meet her, you’re going to have to climb a couple thousand feet to do so.” Chase gave me a smile I’d never seen on him before, a tear streaming down his cheek. “Sorry if she’s not much for conversation these days. Don’t take it personally. She won’t talk to me anymore either.” When another tear slipped free, cutting a jagged line through Chase’s facial hair, I wasn’t sure what to do: wrap my arms around him and let him say whatever he needed to or leave the room and give him the solitude he so clearly sought. “What happened?” When it seemed he hadn’t heard my question, I took a step his direction. “I don’t want to talk about it. Living it was enough for me—I don’t want to recap it over and over.” Chase let his head fall into his hands and closed his eyes. “My wife’s dead. My dad’s dying. I don’t really feel like sitting and eating dinner while we all pretend life’s just fucking great. Sorry.” I swallowed the ball in my throat. It didn’t go away. “Is there anything I can do?” My voice sounded as small and powerless as I felt. “Just stay away from us. Keep your distance. We’re all cursed. Don’t sign your own death certificate by hanging around here. Get away and do what I know you were planning to do before Chance called you back—stay away.” His words weren’t unkind—in fact, I knew he’d said them because he cared about me—but that didn’t mean they didn’t make me feel bad. “Chase—” “Please go,” he said, pleading. “Please just go.” Holding back the ten rounds I still had in me, I backed out of the room until my feet landed in the hall. The air out there was easier to breathe, less like it was trying to choke me instead of revive me. My heart was still pounding, my head spinning, and my memories of that place teetered on a precarious ledge. I’d grown up believing John and Chase were invincible—monuments of men who couldn’t be broken. But one night had decimated that whole foundation I’d set my feet on. Chase had been broken by a woman’s death and John by a cruel disease. They may have been more invincible than most, but every man had a weakness. They each had a weak spot in their coats of armor, and fate had found John’s and Chase’s. The foyer was just ahead, and that meant a door leading out of this place. Perhaps if I left and fell into a deep sleep at one of the hotels in town, I could wake up and convince myself the entire night had been a dream. I could live and die remembering John and Chase as the men I’d known up until an hour ago. They

could go on being invincible, and I could go on with my misguided beliefs. I was rushing to the foyer, through it, and through the front door before I realized I’d taken my first step in that direction. The temperature had dropped a good ten degrees since I’d arrived, and that chill, combined with the breeze just gentle enough to tease the ends of my hair, worked its way inside me and cleared out some of the haze. I stood there, sucking in deep breaths until I felt something that resembled calm. And that was when I noticed a faint red glow coming from one end of the porch. That I hadn’t smelled the familiar scent that came with it was an indication of just how not myself I’d been when I fled out that door. “You might want to keep running. Things are only going to get worse in there. There’s no happy ending waiting for anyone on the other side of that door.” His voice blew past the walls I’d been so sure had been impenetrable and threaded through me as it always used to. Instead of feeling like the twenty-five-year-old woman I was, I became that impressionable girl who had worshipped the ground beneath a boy who had no right to be worshipped. I closed my eyes and bolstered my strength. “You were always the one who was better at running, Conn. That’s more your style than mine.” Instead of down the stairs or back inside, I went toward him. I wanted him to see that he didn’t have power over me any longer. At least, I wanted him to see the façade of him not holding power over me. “Yet how long were you frozen on that first step when you arrived? I kind of lost count at five minutes.” His voice was just as smoky and smooth as I remembered it, and age had deepened it a key or two. The porch lights were out. With just the light coming from the buildings and barns dotted around and the orangey glow of his cigarette, I could barely make out Conn’s face. Not that I needed light to remember it. I’d memorized the perfections and imperfections of it years ago, and despite my efforts to forget, it had revisited my dreams too frequently. Where Chase had been big, blond, and beefy, Conn was the opposite. He was taller than me but only by a couple of inches, and his hair was the same dark chestnut John’s had been before the silver took over. Conn’s body could have been described as lanky and lean, and his dark long-sleeved shirts and pants gave off just the right degree of sinister meets tortured. That, matched with his brooding expression, had alerted me from the beginning that he was the kind of boy I should keep my distance from. The kind who had let so much darkness into his life that it suffocated all of the light “You were here the whole time? Camped out in your chair, smoking your cigarettes, watching me, and you didn’t say anything?” I stopped when I was still a good ten feet back from him. Distance was a good thing when it came to Conn, both mental and physical. “I should probably be surprised, but I’m not.” Conn’s jagged smile crept into place, meaning there was still too much light. “So? Are you keeping your fingers crossed for a repeat of your sixteenth birthday?” I didn’t have to see the image flash through his eyes to know exactly what he was talking about. “Nothing happened.” I crossed my arms and stood taller, trying to convince myself at the same time. “And is that why you disappeared for seven years?” The cigarette dangled from Conn’s lips. The bottle in his hand was already a third empty, and even though I could barely see them, his eyes were both calling me closer and shoving me away. Everything about him flashed danger. Everything screamed stay away. I’d never read the signs when it came to Conn. This time, I’d promised myself I would. I’d promised myself that I wouldn’t come back here if I wasn’t sure I could keep him at an emotional and physical distance. “I came back because John, aka your father, is dying. I came to say good-bye.” I leaned into the railing along the porch, keeping a safe distance without making it seem as though I was concerned about how close or how far I was from Conn. “Unlike you, I’m not trying to discover what gives out first: my lungs

or my liver.” “I’m hoping they go at the same time.” Conn plucked the cigarette from his lips long enough to take a pull from the bottle. Unlike his father, who was adamant that scotch was the only thing to drink when a person needed one, Conn chose tequila. It wasn’t a simple matter of a difference in taste. No, whatever John liked, Conn preferred the opposite. What was sad though was that in Conn’s effort to defy John at every turn, he was only proving just how significant a role his father played in his life. He was just as in tune with his dad as if he’d been mimicking him at every turn. “Why aren’t you at dinner?” I asked, reminding myself to keep our conversation short. Conn was a master at wordplay and could lure even the greatest of cynics to his side. “Because I don’t want to go.” He held out the bottle. When I shook my head, he let the bottle hang between us for a few moments before taking another long drink. At this rate, Conn would be shit-faced before that cigarette burned out. “That seems to be your go-to answer to every question.” “That’s because that’s my go-to feeling for most everything, family most of all.” Conn looked off into the distance where Red Mountain rested. Unlike the rest of us, who dodged looking at it or venturing up it, Conn seemed to view it as a refuge. “Still haven’t gotten over your daddy issues?” I closed my eyes, instantly regretting my words. I was just about to apologize when Conn leaned forward in his chair. All I could see were the whites of his eyes, but that was all I needed to see to know he was staring straight at me. When I’d been younger and under the impression that Conn could do no wrong, I’d measured my life in the moments when Conn had looked at me and me alone. There were only two ways he looked at me: straight through or straight on. Now I would have preferred he look straight through me because his eyes pulled things out of the place I’d buried deep inside myself. “I don’t know. Have you gotten over your Conn issues?” His words were biting. So much so I flinched. “Tell you what,” he continued. “I’ll get over my issues when you get over yours. Sound like a deal?” A decade ago, those words would have reduced me to a hysterical mess. “I’d tell you to go fuck yourself, but since I know that’s on your daily docket since you push everyone away, I’m just going to walk away.” My back was to him and I was striding away when his low, sharp laugh filled the night. I used to be able to feel that laugh in my every nerve, as if my body were hardwired to respond to it. It felt different now. “You’ve never been able to walk away from me. Not for very long anyway.” I blew a rush of air out of my nose. I spun around and flailed my arms at him. “What do you call seven years? And just so you know, had it not been for me wanting to pay my respects to John before he dies, I would never have set foot in this place or around you for the rest of my life.” I hated that he was getting to me, riling me up. Even from a distance, I could tell he was absolutely loving it. “So put that in your damn bottle and drink it.” Conn’s laugh restarted, but instead of marching back and slapping his face as he deserved, I kept going. Conn might have pretended to hate everyone, but he loved being hated. Ignoring him was the worst kind of punishment I could dole out. I was almost to the front door when a figure at the bottom of the front steps caught my attention. The instant my eyes latched onto him, I almost cried. But they would have been happy tears. Unlike his dying father, his mourning older brother, or his malicious younger brother, when I saw Chance, the first thing I wanted to do was smile. I didn’t run away or wonder where the person I remembered had gone or resist the urge to slap the smirk off his face.

With Chance, Red Mountain Ranch was simple and beautiful. “Hey, stranger,” I said, feeling as though I could breathe again. Chance’s smile pulled up even higher, and he lunged up the stairs toward me. My surprised yelp didn’t have a chance to pierce the air before he had me in his arms, swinging me around as if I weighed twenty pounds. His laugh hit me differently than Conn’s. Instead of feeling like his laugh was grinding me into the ground, I felt like it was lifting me into the sky. It made me laugh with him. He looked the same, he smelled the same, he smiled the same. Chance had been the pillar I could rely on then and, not surprisingly, now. After a few more spins, he let my feet touch the ground, his laugh tapering back into his steady smile. “You better not call me stranger ever again,” he said, stepping back to look at me. Which gave me a chance to take a good look at him. He looked exactly like the boy I remembered saying a hard good-bye to years ago. He might have grown his hair out some, and his chest was a little wider from throwing around dozens of bales of hay, and the boyish softness of his face had worn away to reveal straight lines and sharp angles, but he was still the Chance I remembered. His hazel eyes still shone with hundreds of yet-to-be-lived adventures, and his smile still fired to life so naturally it was as if he’d been born with it on his face. I’d rarely seen him without one of his brothers close by, but on his own, he was capable of making a girl feel that tightening deep in her stomach. Why he’d never settled down or gotten serious with any of the five hundred girls just waiting for him to wake up and smell the potential was beyond me, but if he didn’t soon, he would become the most eligible bachelor in Jackson Hole. If he wasn’t already. “You really shouldn’t have let yourself go like this.” I waved at him. “I’m embarrassed for you.” He slid off his tan cowboy hat. His bronze hair was damp and matted down from what I guessed was a long, hard day of working a ranch. Really, though, every day on a ranch was a long and hard one. “Enough about me. Look at you.” His brows peaked. “You look—” “Like I really, really let myself go?” I glanced down at my worn-in jeans, simple T-shirt, and the boots Chance had mailed me for Christmas a few years ago. My hair was in a ponytail that had become a hot mess one layover ago, and my lip gloss had worn off before I’d gotten through baggage check. I liked to fly comfortably, but I was also dressed to un-impress because of Conn. I hadn’t wanted him to get the impression that I’d dressed up for him. That I’d highlighted my brow-bones for him. That I’d agonized over the right outfit for him. Because in my past life, I had. I’d agonized over nail polish color, sock thickness, and lingerie in hopes of impressing a man who was impossible to impress. “If this is letting yourself go, then sign me up.” Chance waved his hat at me as though he saw something I didn’t. That was cool though. If he saw some vixen when I saw a slob, I’d take it. “So since I’ve interrogated your brothers with the same question, I’m going to fire it your way, although I’m pretty sure I already have the answer. And I’m guessing it doesn’t have anything to do with trying to grind an eight ball into powder or see which vital internal organ you can get to give out first.” He shook his head. “Sadly, my life isn’t that exciting.” “So why aren’t you at dinner?” I crossed my arms, but any attempt at acting stern with Chance was impossible. He was a goddamn saint who would stop traffic to make sure a couple of ducklings crossed the road safely. He’d missed dinner or been late plenty of times in the past, and every reason why could have been added to the Book of Exceptional Excuses for Missing Dinner if there was such a thing. “No, wait. Let me guess. More fun that way.” Chance made a proceed motion before sitting on the top stair to tug off his boots. I took advantage of his momentary distraction to assess him, what he was wearing, what he was covered in, et cetera. He was in his standard cowboy gear, so he’d been working with the livestock. However, which livestock? Chance wore plenty of hats at Red Mountain Ranch, and even though the Armstrong clan didn’t need to generate any more wealth, Chance ran the ranch as though they did. He acted as though every last steer meant the

difference between starving and eating and made every last purchase as though pennies and nickels mattered. Which hat had he been wearing today though? “Branding day?” I guessed, although I knew that was wrong before he shook his sweat-matted head. “If it had been a branding day, I’d be sitting here with a beer in hand.” Chance twisted his forearm around, but I didn’t need to see the old scar to understand what he meant. Ever since the brander had slipped and bumped part of the brand into Chance’s forearm, who had been holding down the calf, Chance had been a little jaded about branding day. Conn had been the brander that day. “Too late in the season for calving,” I said, tapping my chin. He nodded. “Calves are all happily calved.” “You would have already gotten all the weak spots in the fences fixed from winter, and if you were just doing a count of the herd, you wouldn’t look so beat.” Chance tugged off his other boot, sighing as he stretched and wiggled his toes. “And to think you were some big city girl who didn’t know the difference between alfalfa and straw.” I laughed. “You would have thought I’d committed high treason when I dropped that bale of straw in that cow’s pen.” “In the cow’s eyes, you had.” Chance laughed with me. “Okay, okay. So back to why you were a no-show at dinner. Does it have anything to do with the cattle?” I didn’t think so, but I wanted to make sure I was on the right track. “Nope. Not the cattle who got me up before sunrise and kept me out past sunset today.” When he yanked off his socks, he balled them up and tossed them in my direction, but he missed. Chance always missed when he threw his stinky socks at me. I used to think it was due to bad aim, but I’d figured out the opposite was true. He had just as good of aim as his two brothers, who had no problem flinging their stinky socks in my face. Chance just chose to be a gentleman instead of a jerk. “So you were with the mustangs.” “Getting warmer,” he said, twisting around to look at me. “Were you moving them into a different pasture?” I collected Chance’s socks and balled them together to remember to toss them into the laundry later. “Wrong. Although we’ll be moving them soon if that’s any consolation.” Chance glanced at the starspattered sky. One of the first things I’d come to appreciate about the country were the starry nights. We didn’t have anything close to them in the city I’d grown up in. “Those things burn through grass like Conn burns through a liquor cabinet.” I’d forgotten all about Conn and our “amiable” catch up not even five minutes earlier, but at the mention of his name, I glanced down the porch. The glow from his cigarette was gone, but that didn’t mean he was gone. Conn could hide in the shadows like no one else I’d ever known. “Introducing new members to the herd?” I guessed again. Red Mountain Ranch had hosted several thousand mustangs for over a decade, and that number had grown over time. It was part of a deal with the Bureau of Land Management, and while the payout of a dollar plus a mustang daily seemed to add up to a nice sum at the end of the month, the overhead was so much that there was barely ten percent profit in the whole venture. But Chance didn’t do it for the profit. He did it because it was the right thing to do, and in his eyes, letting the wild mustangs roam the same land that had once been their home was the right thing to do, pathetic profit percentages aside. I scanned my brain, searching for other alternatives that had kept him so busy today. “You singlehandedly braided every last mare’s mane in the herd?” He was still looking at the stars when he started laughing. “Considering they’re all mares, save for the few stray colts born this year, I would still be out there braiding horse hair.”

It was his answer, combined with him hoisting himself off the porch with a slow wince as he rubbed his side, that gave me my answer. “You were sorting the colts out from the herd.” I didn’t need to cap my guess with a question mark because I was that confident. “There’s the countriest city girl I’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing.” Chance winked as he walked closer to me. “What gave it away? My wince or my walk?” Now that he was up, he was moving just fine, but he’d gotten stiff enough sitting for just that short amount of time to give away he’d taken a beating out there. “Both,” I answered, stepping closer. I pulled his shirt free from his jeans before hoisting it up his side. “I think you’re like supposed to buy me a drink first. Or I’m supposed to buy you one first. Or something drink-related before you start ripping my clothes off.” I wasn’t looking at his face, but I heard the smile in his voice as I traced the giant purple bruise that stretched from the middle of his ribs down to the tip of his belt. “It looks like you’ve already had your share of getting nailed today. I’ll spare you.” I glanced up to find him looking at me with a look in his eyes that I wasn’t used to seeing there. It made my fingers freeze and the back of my throat go dry. I averted my gaze, dropped his shirt back over his side, and stepped back. My head felt strange, light and heavy at the same time. While that wasn’t a foreign sensation, I’d never felt it over this brother. “If you’re working with the mustangs again tomorrow, try not to get kicked, okay?” “Not getting kicked is my primary objective every time I work with the mustangs.” Chance tucked his shirt back into his jeans. He seemed to be as concerned about looking away from me as I was from him. “Chance . . .” I wasn’t sure how to start. How did one apologize for giving someone they cared about the brush-off for seven years? How did I explain why I had? How could I tell him that while he’d made me believe I could do anything, another Armstrong son had made me feel as though I was worth nothing and at the end of the day, I went to bed remembering the bad? I supposed there was really only one way to start that apology—just like any other kind. “I’m sorry.” Chance shook his head. “You don’t have anything to apologize for. I get it. I understand. Really.” When I exhaled, he added, “You had to do what was right and best for you. I’ve never blamed you for that. It’s the same thing anyone would have done in your situation.” I lifted an eyebrow. I felt strange keeping a safe distance from Chance as well, but after that shared look and the feeling that followed, maybe distance wasn’t the worst idea. “Not everyone, Chance Armstrong. In fact, I’m pretty convinced that you’ve never done anything with yourself in mind first.” He slid his hat back into place and looked at his hands, which were creased with dust and dirt. “You’re wrong, you know. If I hadn’t thought of myself first, I wouldn’t have left a couple of hired hands to finish sorting the last couple hundred mustangs.” My forehead creased. “You actually left a job before it was done?” He nodded once. “Why?” This time when he smiled, it was more like Conn’s—the one tilted due to the tug of guilt. “Because I couldn’t wait to see you.” He shifted, clearly uncomfortable. Whether that was from his confession or having to live with bailing on a job before it was done, I knew I had to ease whatever was weighing him down. I’d never been able to just watch one of the brothers suffer. They were older and they were men, but I possessed just as much, if not more, of a protective nature over them. I gave a shrug. “But you knew how much I couldn’t wait to see you and that if you didn’t get here soon, I would have saddled up Dark Horse and gone out looking for you. Then I probably would have wound up falling off and getting stampeded by three thousand pissed off mares with beautifully braided hair.” His smile became less Conn’s and more his. I let out the breath I’d been holding. “So really, you weren’t thinking of your own best interest but mine.”

Chance stepped toward me. “Twisting my words. Making me out to be this great, selfless guy. Bossing me around at the same time you mother me. God, I’ve missed you.” He’d just slung his arm around my shoulders and was leading me into the house to finally make it to dinner when a shadow dodged in front of us. “Aren’t family reunions just the best thing since having a serious thing for your adopted brother?” Conn’s arms spread across the doorway to block our path, but had Chance wanted to get past him, he would have had no problem doing so. But Chance paused beside me, giving Conn a captive audience. Why Chance had suffered Conn as long as he had, I didn’t know. I supposed it was for the same reason I had—when I was sure Conn didn’t have a single redeeming quality and was prepared to wash my hands of him for good, redemption showed up at the last possible second. It had happened so many times I’d started to wonder if that was yet another calculated move in the man’s game of manipulation. “Would you please just hurry and drink yourself into a stupor already?” I waved at the tequila bottle still clutched in his hand. It was down to the halfway mark, but putting him into a stupor would take the rest of that half and some of another bottle if he was still the experienced drinker I remembered. “This whole dark act is getting old and boring, Conn. Find another one.” With the light of the foyer streaming behind him, I could see him better, but his look was nothing I’d never seen before. Whether it was navy or steel or black, he was always dressed head to toe in something dark. You know, in case the pissed-off-at-the-world expression didn’t get the message across. His dark hair had grown long enough that he could tuck it behind his ears, which he didn’t because he preferred a wild mess falling in chunks across his face and forehead. His eyes matched the whole wild theme, perhaps being the example of what the rest of him should aspire to. He was still a good-looking son of a bitch, and he was more aware of his advantageous genetic disposition than any other man out there. I wanted to slap him. I wanted to kiss him. Shit! I backed into Chance, somehow hoping he’d protect me from Conn . . . or more like protect me from myself. Conn was a black hole, a place I’d never come back from if I let him consume any more of me. I’d known that for a long time, so where the urge to love him came from I didn’t know, but I would have paid in blood and limbs to have it cut away once and for all. “We’re heading to dinner. Why don’t you join us?” Chance’s ever-calm voice settled the charged air. Conn’s smirk leapt into place. “Tell you what, I’ll come to dinner with you guys when that bastard known as my father chokes on his pureed venison and puts himself out of his and our misery.” “Conn,” I hissed, back to wanting to slap him. That should have been a measured improvement over wanting to kiss him, but the less emotion I felt about Conn, the better. No emotion would have been the best. “We’ll take that as a no. Okay. I’ll let Mrs. Baker know to save you a plate.” Chance squeezed my shoulders and steered me back toward the door, but all that did was make Conn bolster himself in the doorway even more. “Can we get by please?” My blood was boiling. “Sure.” Conn butted his shoulder into the doorway and crossed his ankles. “When I’m ready to let you pass.” “There’re a few dozen ways to get inside, Conn. You don’t want to let us in this one? No problem. We’ll take the back door or climb through a window. You want to police this door, knock yourself out.” Chance spun me around and was guiding me down the stairs when Conn’s haunting laugh filled the night. “You finally moved on, did you, Scout? From the piece-of-shit brother to the one who shits gold, according to dear old dad.” Chance’s hands stiffened on my shoulders, but they were still nowhere close to as tight as my hands

balling at my sides. “There was nothing to move on from,” I said. “Get over yourself.” “Oh, please, don’t play it down now. I thought our twenties were all about accepting who we are and who we were and getting all Zen with it and shit.” Conn paused long enough to take another swallow from his bottle. “First it was me you were all hot for, and now you’re moving on to another Armstrong brother. I’m not judging—Chance deserves a turn. He’s the one destined to save the world, after all. He might as well enjoy the spoils of it.” Impulse led me toward Conn, but Chance helped stall my impulse until reason had a chance to catch up. “Don’t,” he whispered, bracing his hands on my shoulders to keep me from lunging up the stairs at the man smiling at me as though this was the most amusing game he’d ever played. “It’s what he wants. Don’t give it to him.” Chance lowered his head until his eyes were level with mine. A second later, I was calm, and another after that, I was heading back down the stairs with Chance. I’d successfully shrugged off Conn’s words. “Good-bye, Conn,” was all I said as we walked away. “Do you actually mean it this time? Or should I hold my breath for another seven years?” I bristled, but I kept walking thanks to Chance steering me away from Conn. “Yeah, you do that. Hold your breath for seven years. Then I won’t have to stay away from three people I care about because one person is a total jackass.” “Do you think that if you say that enough times, you’ll actually believe it?” Conn asked. “Because, Scout, come on. If I slipped you the key to my bedroom right this minute, you and I both know you’d be wet and naked between my sheets before Chance could take a swing at me for disrespecting a woman.” This time, it was Chance who broke to a stop, creating a cloud of dust around our feet. He turned toward Conn. “You don’t want to be here. You’ve made that clear from the moment you showed up. So why don’t you leave? You’ll be happier, and I think everyone else will be too.” “I know everyone else will be,” I mumbled, grabbing Chance’s hand in case he decided to charge Conn. Chance was the least violent person I knew, but nothing about this night had followed the theme of normal. “Nah, I’m having too much fun here. I think I’ll stay a while. Besides, I only just got here.” Conn’s last couple words echoed in his bottle. “I think you should leave,” Chance said in a level voice. “What are you going to do if I don’t, brother? Hog-tie me, throw me in the back of your piece-of-shit truck, and drive me all the way back to California? Maybe kick my ass until you’ve broken a few bones? Or strap a couple cinder blocks to my feet and toss me into Falcon Lake?” Conn was an outline in the doorway. From the yard, for the first time in my life, he looked so small and insignificant it seemed I could squish him between my thumb and index finger. Chance shook his head. “There’s nothing worse I can do to you, Conn, than what you’ve already done to yourself.” For a moment, it was quiet. Just when I started to believe those were the words that would shut Conn up, I was reminded that nothing would ever shut Conn Armstrong up. “That was cold, brother,” he called after us. “I thought you were supposed to be the nice one.” We had rounded the side of the house, out of Conn’s hearing range, when Chance bumped his shoulder to mine. “I am the nice one. If I was more like him, he’d be choking on his front teeth right now.”



THIS NIGHT WOULDN’T end. Chase was still hovering by the pool table, but instead of sitting on it in a dark room, he was leaning into it, pool stick in hand, with almost every light on. He didn’t look excited to be playing or have that typical easygoing feel about him, but he was upright and at least pretending to play a role in humanity. When I wandered over to the pool table after helping Mrs. Baker clean up after dinner, I smiled at Chance leaning across the table, lining up his stick behind the green-striped ball. I’d never played much pool when I lived there, and when I had, I’d never been good at it. I knew the difference between solid and stripes and the whole point of the eight ball—which Chase had given me an exhaustive recap of earlier. The only other person in the house who hadn’t been a pool shark was Chance, and his tongue sticking out ever so slightly as he concentrated on the ball made a small laugh sneak out of me. Of course, that laugh had to come at the very moment he slid his stick back to make his hit. Chance’s gaze cut my way, his pool stick cut to the side, and his ball went all cattywampus in what I guessed was the opposite direction of what he’d intended. Chase clapped his hand over his brother’s shoulder, almost smiling as the green-striped ball slowed to a stop in almost the exact same spot it had just been. Chance gave the ball a look as if he were expecting an explanation from it. “Sorry about that. You know it makes me laugh when you stick your tongue out like that.” I came closer and stopped when I was across the table from Chance. “I keep thinking that’s something you’ll outgrow, but if you haven’t yet at twenty-seven, I’m guessing you’re stuck with it.” Chance straightened, biting his tongue again as a look of concentration fell over his face. I laughed—I had no choice. It was hardwired into my system. “If it makes you laugh every time, I don’t want to outgrow it.” He shrugged and moved aside as Chase went to line up his shot. “In addition to making people laugh, you seem to have taken on the role of miracle-worker as well.” I indicated Chase with my eyes before lifting an eyebrow. “What’s your secret?” If he had one, I needed to know it. Chase had seemed to go from worse to worst between my conversation with him and dinner. At the table, he’d been an empty vessel, staring at his plate but never eating anything from it. Somehow Chance had gotten him to go from that to playing pool, and I wanted to know how to do the same when and if Chase found himself in a similar funk. “No secret.” Chance spun his pool stick between his hands. “I just asked.” “You just asked? And that actually worked?” I watched Chase line up his shot, the skin between his brows drawing into a deep crease. Chance shrugged again. “Well, yeah.” I shook my head. Chance always made things seem simple. Where the trend seemed to be viewing life as one complicated string of twists and turns that resulted in little to no rhyme or reason, Chance made it

seem just the opposite. He’d been that way ever since I met him. He thought if I needed something, it was as simple as asking someone for it. If I wanted to do something, it was as simple as going out and doing it. If there was a problem, then I just had to solve it. In Chance Armstrong’s world, life wasn’t a convoluted mess, and as much as that had irritated me growing up, it was a refreshing concept at this point in my life. “He’s playing pool, isn’t he?” Chance replied as Chase sunk the red solid ball into one of the corner pockets. “He’s playing pool all right,” I said while Chase lined up his next shot. “Hey, I can hear, you know? Have some respect and at least talk about me when I’m out of earshot.” Chase’s voice startled me. Not because of what he’d said, but because the tone he’d said it in was the one I was used to, not the one that was too tight and far too toneless. “You got it, Chase. No more smack-talking unless your back’s turned.” Chance winked at me while Chase grumbled before sinking the blue ball as well. “You’re quite the pool shark tonight. Glad to see you’re doing better.” I watched Chase study the table. The man I was so certain would never marry that I would have staked my life on it had fallen in love with a school teacher, married her, and been widowed. I didn’t know any more than those particulars, her name, and how they’d met, but I guessed that when he was ready to talk about it, he’d lead the way. I had so many questions, but they’d have to wait. “What I’d rather be doing is kicking, punching, and taking out every shred of anger I have on one of those damn trees outside, but Chance asked me to play pool instead.” Chase took his next shot, sinking his third ball in a row. “I suppose this is what people consider a more constructive alternative.” With all the lights on, it was easier to tell just how much his wife’s death had taken out of him. Chase’s clothes that used to cling in all the right places now hung off him as if they were a size too big. He was still handsome in the way Chase always would be, no matter what tragedy life threw his way, but his boyish charm and easy smile seemed to be gone for good. “How about when you’re done playing here, I’ll take you out in search of the perfect ass-kicking tree?” I said. Chase studied the lay of the table. I didn’t miss the way he seemed to flinch when his eyes rolled across the eight ball. His shoulders fell. “Thanks for the offer, but I think I’ll just hit the sack after I finish reminding my brother why he should never bet a hundred bucks against me in pool.” I crossed my arms. “You just asked him to play pool, huh?” Chance rubbed his neck, smiling. “Well, yeah, after mentioning some money would be on the line. Oh, quit giving me that look. He’s playing, isn’t he?” Chance thrust his arms at Chase lining up his shot. “He’s communicating in more than grunts and frowns and moving like a man instead of a zombie, so why don’t you get off of that high horse of yours and give credit where it’s due.” Chance’s smile didn’t dim one bit as he waited for me to give him the credit he was so convinced I owed him. “Hey, dipshit, he is five feet away from you.” Chase glared at Chance. “If I have to tell you again not to talk about me like I’m some invalid drooling in his wheelchair, I’m going to break my pool stick over your thick head.” Both my and Chance’s eyes widened for a moment—I was surprised and relived that some of the old Chase was breaking through the surface—before we burst into laughter. Real, honest laughter was so desperately needed after that long dinner that had felt like it would suffocate me. When a tear leaked out of one of Chance’s eyes from laughing so hard, that only made me laugh harder. I could tell Chase was trying his hardest to look as though he was pissed at the two of us, but it looked more like he was trying to keep from joining us. “Eh, fuck it.” Chase threw his pool stick on the table. “You two can keep chuckling like a pair of hyenas for the rest of the night if you want, but I’m going to bed.” As he passed his brother, he swept Chance’s hat off his head. “Do you want a nightcap or something first?” I called, recomposing myself and starting toward the

crystal bottles John kept filled with expensive liquor. “You know, to help you sleep better?” I tried to sound casual, but I knew everyone could see through what I was really getting at. Do you want to drink until you pass out so that when you close your eyes, you don’t have to see your wife and every good memory you have of her? “Thanks, but I’ve got a special sleeping pill of sorts that does a good job of knocking me out.” Chase waved at us before leaving the library. I watched him leave while Chance retrieved his hat. “Thank God for script-happy doctors. They make tragedy a bit easier to cope with.” When I’d gone to a doctor shortly after my mom’s suicide in search of some kind of relief from the sleepless nights and days haunted by depression, he’d told me I needed to deal with her death, not mask it with pharmacology. What he called “masking” I considered temporary relief, but I had managed to make it through. That didn’t mean Dr. Pick-Yourself-Up-by-Your-Bootstraps wasn’t a dickhead. “The sleeping aid he’s referring to isn’t a pill.” Instead of placing his hat back on his head, Chance set it on the pool table. “From what I’ve heard coming from his room the past few nights he’s been here, I’m pretty sure Chase’s ‘sleeping aid’ is him banging his head against a wall until he knocks himself out.” I sighed. I felt like all the men I cared about were being torn apart, brick by brick, and there was nothing I could do to stop it. Well, all the men except for Chance. He was his same old self, although I guessed the burden of watching his dad and brothers go through hell was wearing on him. Chance might have been optimistic but not to the point of being blinded to reality. “What happened to her? What happened to his wife?” I checked the doorway to make sure Chase hadn’t reappeared. Chance’s head bowed, his forehead creasing. “She died.” I guessed I didn’t want to know—because what way could a young woman die that wouldn’t be tragic?—but I still asked, “How?” Chance was quiet for a while. I knew he was gauging if it was his place to tell me and, if so, how much. But I couldn’t ask Chase—there was no way I would make him relive whatever had happened just so I’d know—and John wasn’t exactly in a position to explain it to me. Even if Conn knew, he’d toy with me until I was ready to strangle it out of him, so Chance was really my only option to find out what was responsible for doing a one-eighty on the Chase Armstrong I remembered. “She was driving home from work a couple of weeks ago.” I fell into the chair behind me, needing its support. I hadn’t realized she’d died so recently. No wonder Chase looked more corpse than man. “When a tree on the side of the road fell on her car.” Chance looked as though he was choking on the words. “She died instantly, but it took them a while to get . . . everything cleaned up.” I couldn’t feel my toes or my fingers. I probably couldn’t have stood without falling. My entire body had gone numb. “Chase couldn’t get a hold of her, and with her being late and everything, he went out looking for her.” Chance’s eyes clamped shut. From his expression, it was almost as if he’d lost his wife. “So he saw what had happened. He saw Jenny’s body still . . . trapped in the car.” One side of Chance’s face pulled tight in a grimace. “He didn’t think she was dead or he didn’t want to believe it. He just kept trying to pull her out, to get her out of that car, to save whatever life he thought was left in her. He was still trying to get what was left of Jenny out of her car when I arrived.” My speeding heart froze. Not only had Chase seen Jenny and what I could only imagine a tree had done to her poor body, but so had Chance. “The sheriff called me when he couldn’t get a hold of Chase right away, but he’d just told me that there’d been an accident and to get there quickly. He hadn’t told me what had happened or who it had happened to.”

“What did you do?” My whisper was so silent I could barely make it out. One of Chance’s shoulders lifted. “The only thing that was left to be done. I tried to console my brother as best as I could, and I punched the face of some reporter who kept making his cameraman pan in on Jenny’s body while he crowed about one-in-ten-million odds and some other bullshit.” My eyes lifted. “You punched a reporter?” Chance was as rough and tough as they made them, but I’d been under the impression he didn’t possess a single fiber of violence. “He deserved it.” “With the sheriff nearby?” “The sheriff was the one who suggested I nail the jerk.” Chance was gripping the edge of the pool table as though he was contemplating ripping it off, but his eyes were open again. “God, Chance. How did you get Chase away from there?” “I couldn’t. A couple of sheriffs and a set of handcuffs had to.” He rolled the pool stick across the table, his gaze locked on the blue tip. “Was that really necessary? He’d just found his wife dead. Couldn’t they have given him some time before hauling him away?” My fists balled as I imagined it. Chase and Chance had grown up hanging out with some of the guys in the sheriff’s department. They’d all seemed like solid, decent guys, but right now, I didn’t feel very gracious. “If they hadn’t escorted him away in cuffs, Scout, I’m certain he’d still be wrapped around Jenny’s body in the middle of that highway. He wasn’t going to let her go. Someone had to make him. She was gone.” I drilled my fingers into my temples, rubbing them in slow, hard circles. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry you had to see that and . . . experience that.” He shook his head. “I’m sorry for Chase. He lost the woman he loved.” Life wasn’t just unfair—it was cruel, mean-spirited, and downright nasty. Life got off on witnessing people’s pain. It thrived on doling out tragedy. It wasn’t some unbiased entity—it possessed a black heart and a hollow soul. “I suppose that explains his comment about ripping a few trees from the ground after pummeling them with his appendages.” The temple massage wasn’t working—my headache kept getting stronger. “You should see what he’s done to the trees down by the lake. Give that guy a chainsaw and a jug of gasoline, and he can turn a forest into a clearing in an afternoon.” Chance’s brows lifted. “Trust me, I’ve got proof. And about fifty years’ of firewood before he went out for his afternoon session today.” “If that’s what Chase needs to do in order to get through this, let him.” “Sure, yeah, great. But what happens when we run out of trees? At the rate he’s going, all ten thousand acres of Red Mountain Ranch will be cleared in a couple more weeks. Where will Chance turn for ‘therapy’ when the trees run out?” Chance continued to roll the pool stick back and forth, staring at the tip as if he hoped it would point out some answers soon. “You’re serious, aren’t you? About running out of trees before Chase finds some sort of peace?” On the ten thousand acres of this ranch, they had tens of thousands of trees. But it didn’t take a psychology expert to look into Chase’s eyes and realize he wouldn’t find peace for decades to come. If ever. “I’m not sure Chase will ever recover from this,” Chance said. “He hasn’t been able to set foot in their home in town since she died. I had to go in and pick an outfit for her to be buried in. I picked up her pajamas from the bathroom from earlier that morning, washed her breakfast plate that was still in the sink, and hid the note she’d left on Chase’s briefcase with the name and room number of the hotel she’d booked for their six-month anniversary that weekend.” Chance jabbed the end of the pool stick at the eight ball, sending it rolling across the table. “It’s only been a couple of weeks since she died, but there’s something I see when I look at him that makes me doubt he’ll ever make it through. I can’t seem to pull him out of this. Not even a little bit.”

He’d arrived at the same conclusion I had. Chase was so lost he may have no way back. “Okay, I’ll think about it, see if I can come up with something that might help Chase cope better.” When I looked up, I found Chance watching me with something on his face that had been missing since we’d started talking about Jenny’s accident. “What? What?” I repeated. He just kept staring at me with that hint of light easing his expression. “Oh my God, I just sounded like one of those delusional people who thinks they can fix the world and everyone in it, right?” I said. Chance smiled. “You’ve been that way for as long as I’ve known you. A sucker for anyone or anything that needs fixed.” I wanted to argue, but I knew a heap of evidence proved he was right. “I’m in therapy for my fix-theworld problem. Extensive.” “And what did you just complete all of those years of schooling to become?” I narrowed my eyes at him. “A veterinarian.” “Which is what exactly?” He wasn’t even trying to hide his amusement. I started and ended my answer with a sigh. “A person who fixes animals. I’m hopeless, aren’t I?” Chance’s head tipped. “What you see as your weakness, I see as your defining strength.” When Chance seemed to stop himself from saying something else, I waited. Part of knowing each other so well was knowing what the other was or wasn’t saying. I got tired of waiting. “But . . .?” His smile turned sheepish. “But it can be unhealthy when taken to extremes,” he answered with a clap. “There, that’s what I was going to say. Happy now?” Feeling steadier and mostly sure I wouldn’t wipe out if I put any weight on my legs, I stood. “Are you referring to Chase? That it would be unhealthy to try to fix him?” Chance’s face went blank for a moment. He shook his head, meeting my eyes. “No, not that brother.” He didn’t break eye contact with me, as if he was trying to relay the rest of his message through our eyes alone. I didn’t have enough time to process his meaning before someone joined our party of two. “No need to quit talking about me because I’m here. Keep right on dishing it out. Makes for good entertainment.” Conn weaved into the room, a drink in his hand still, although this time it was a glass pot instead of a glass bottle. “Coffee, anyone? Lord knows I needed some. This is my second pot.” He raised the pot in one hand and a few cups dangling from the fingers of his other hand. “Nice of you to show up at dinner. Chase was there, and his wife was killed a month ago. What’s your excuse for not showing up?” Chance rarely spoke to Conn with such disdain. I was watching Chance when I felt Conn’s gaze drift in my direction. That made Chance’s eyes narrow. Conn yawned, clutching the coffee pot over his mouth. “I wasn’t in the mood. That’s my excuse. Now, coffee?” Chance shook his head. “Not in the mood tonight, brother. Not in the mood.” Shoving away from the pool table, Chance headed to the door. I was about to wish him a good night when he came to a stop. Conn was right beside him, but it was like Chance didn’t even see him. Instead, Chance studied me. “I’m heading out to inspect the herd tomorrow morning, make sure everyone’s settling back down after the colt sorting today. Horse leaves at five sharp if you want to come.” It was still too early in the summer for the early mornings to be anything resembling warm, and if I leapt into bed right away, which was unlikely with Conn hovering close by, I’d get a whopping four hours of sleep. I’d be lucky if I didn’t fall asleep in the saddle and get trampled by a thousand hooves. “I’ll make the coffee if you saddle the horses,” I said.

Half a smile broke on Chance’s face. “Deal.” His gaze cut to Conn, his face sharpening. “You might want to get to bed soon though. Don’t let the dark monster keep you awake all night.” “Hey, I love you too, big brother.” Conn pretended to be insulted, thumping Chance’s arm as he continued out of the library. “I was talking about the coffee, Conn. Don’t take everything so personally.” Chance winked at me before stepping out of the room. “He wasn’t talking about the coffee.” Conn lifted the pot toward me with a raised brow. “I know.” I headed for the hallway too, keeping as much space between Conn and me as the room would allow. “Hey? Coffee? Give me a chance to apologize?” Conn held up the cups. “A chance to catch up?” I slowed long enough to give him my answer, but I didn’t stop. Our “catch up” earlier tonight had been the solid reminder I needed that where Conn was concerned, I had to keep walking. If I stopped, that would allow him the chance to catch me, and I’d lived enough of that in five years to know nothing good could come of it. “Thanks, but I don’t think there’s anything to catch up on.” My eyes ran down him, not missing the eyes still glazed from tequila or the very same boots he’d been wearing the last night I’d seen him before I ran away from this place. “Nothing really seems to have changed.”



“YOU MADE IT.” Chance’s smile was on full tilt when I wandered into the barn with a Thermos full of fresh coffee and a serious case of sleep deprivation. “After taking a break from tossing and turning last night long enough to maybe catch an hour and a half of solid sleep, I can still make out the doubt in your voice.” I stifled the yawn that begged to be released after the mention of last night’s insomnia-fest and worked on a smile of my own. “Not doubt but maybe surprise.” Chance tightened the girth on his horse, Honor, while Dark Horse whinnied his greeting. Chance already had him saddled and ready to go. “Why surprise?” I asked as I headed toward Dark Horse. It had been years since I’d seen him, and I already felt tears wanting to form. One of the few pieces of evidence that Conn wasn’t entirely evil was that horse. His dad had given the white horse to him the summer I arrived, but being the rebel anti-cowboy who’d rather strangle himself with a pair of Wranglers than shimmy into them, Conn had refused to ride the gentled mustang. Instead, Conn gave him to me. Dark Horse was one of the best gifts I’d ever been given. At the same time, he was one of the gifts I most regretted accepting because that was what had started my long, unhealthy obsession with a person who made me wonder if he was more monster than man. Of course, the name Dark Horse had been symbolic of the person who’d given him to me. A dark name for a light horse, Conn had said back when I’d told him what I’d named the horse. That might have been true for the horse, but it wasn’t true for Conn, as much as I’d hoped it would become so. “I left you with Conn in the library, and Conn has a way of getting his hooks into you.” Chance stopped and let out a loud exhale. “I’m sorry. That came out wrong. What I mean was—” “No, what you said was right on. Conn has always known how to get his hooks into me so that when and if I tried to get away, all he had to do was reel me back in.” I rested my hand on Dark Horse’s muzzle, and he bounced his head, his “subtle” way of telling me he wanted me to scratch it. “That was something I figured out when I left. Something that took me a while to understand. Something I won’t forget now that I’m back in the same house as him.” “Sounds like you’ve got it all figured out then.” Chance adjusted the reins on Honor’s bridle then glanced at me. “Does it?” I whispered, staring into Dark Horse’s eyes and remembering that night Conn had given him to me, as if he wasn’t the best gift in the world given by the best person in it. Conn had moments when a person could wonder if he was the most generous, kind person on the planet, but they had to fight through a maze of thorns to get to those few-and-far-between moments. “Because there were a few times last night when he looked at me and I wasn’t the woman I am now, but the girl I was then, and I swear if Conn had asked me to saw off my pinkie with a butter knife, I would have done it.” The rustling and movement of Chance getting Honor ready went silent. When he didn’t say anything, I turned around. “I’m

sorry. Too early to be talking about my Conn insecurities resurrecting themselves.” Chance’s back was to me. His thick tan canvas jacket swallowed him from the hips up, but even through that, I could tell his shoulders were tense. “If that’s the way he can make you feel when he looks at you, then don’t look at him.” “Probably not a realistic option given we’re under the same roof.” If it were that easy, my Conn problems might not be so hard. “That’s not what I mean. What I mean is that when you look at him, don’t see the Conn you remember as you were. Instead, see the Conn he is today as you are now. Don’t let memories and nostalgia skew what you’re seeing.” Chance went back to making the last few adjustments on Honor’s tack. “I thought you were the one person in the world who was on Conn’s side no matter what, through thick and thin.” When Dark Horse’s gentle nudges turned a bit bossier, I relented and got back to scratching his nose. He was a persistent thing. “I am that person. But I’m on your side too, and from what I’ve seen you two do to each other for so many years, I wonder if you’re both just better off leaving each other alone unless it’s saying a quick hi or good-bye. You’ve done enough damage to each other—just be done with it all. Don’t pick up right where you guys left off.” Chance turned to face me slowly, his face pulled up in a way that made me guess he was waiting for me to fire something back at him. Instead of yelling at him as he expected, my voice came out barely a whisper. “How can you say I hurt him like he hurt me? How can you imply what he did to me was equal to anything I ever could have done to him?” I grabbed Dark Horse’s reins and approached Chance. I knew disbelief was written on every plane of my face. “I’m not discrediting what Conn did to you, the games he played and the way he led you along one minute only to give you the cold shoulder the next. I’m not saying he’s blameless.” Chance shook his head, seeming afraid to look me in the eyes. “But neither are you, Scout. You knew how damaged he was, and you still played his games. You knew how he felt about you, and you did your share of pushing him away when he got too close. You both hurt each other. It’s a pattern in your history—don’t make it a pattern in your future.” The barn was a huge, vast space, but I felt the walls shrinking in around me, the roof pressing down on my head. There was no air left to breathe. “I hear what you’re saying, and you know how much I appreciate your input and advice.” I swallowed, trying to shake the feeling that I was moments away from gasping for air. “But can we not talk about Conn? Can we just ride and laugh and talk like neither one of us has a single care in the world? Can we just pretend life is perfect for one morning?” Chance inclined his head toward the barn doors before leading Honor through them. I followed him, leading Dark Horse into the still, dark morning. Once we were outside, Chance waited for me to mount. After I was settled in the saddle, his eyes found mine. The lightness I’d been missing in the barn was in them again. My shoulders sagged with relief. I wasn’t used to dealing with a brooding Chance who argued circles around me. I’d had enough of that from his brother. Chance stroked Honor’s muzzle, his words flowing from him like he’d been rehearsing them for a lifetime. “I don’t want to spend any time talking about you and Conn in that way. You and I both know we’ve spent enough time talking about it before, and if I never again have to wrap my arm around a miserable Scout because Conn said or did something to hurt her, I’ll be good. When you left and didn’t come back for all those years, I knew why. It didn’t make it easier or make my missing you go away, but I knew you were doing what you had to to put as much physical and emotional space between you and Conn as possible. So why, after all that, would you come back and let him weave his web around you when you’ve barely been here for twelve hours?” Chance leaned his forehead into Honor’s nose. The horse seemed as comfortable with the touch as he was having with Chance on his back. “Don’t make those seven years count for nothing. Don’t let them be a waste now that Conn’s within arm’s reach and already

trying to mess with your head. You’re stronger than that, not to mention smarter than that. You left to stay away from him—now that you’re back, do the same.” Chance had summed up in a handful of sentences what it had taken me years to figure out. It wasn’t the happiest realization I’d ever stumbled upon. “I can’t keep my distance—” “Physically, no, you can’t.” Chance shook his head. “But you can keep those other distances from him. What you and I know are the important distances.” I rolled my head from side to side. I hadn’t realized showing up for a morning ride meant getting schooled on Conn by Chance. “Listen, I know you’re right. I know it. But knowing what’s right and doing what’s right are two such different things. I’ve done them wrong my whole life. I want to keep my distance from Conn in those important ways, but the only way I could figure out how to do it was by moving a few states away.” I couldn’t seem to look Chance in the eye while we discussed Conn. We’d never had a problem with that before, but it seemed that had changed. “I want to believe I can keep him out . . . keep him from fucking me up all over again . . . but I’m not sure I know how. My record and history show otherwise.” Chance was quiet after that. When he finally removed his forehead from Honor’s nose, I saw the easy smile back on his face. “Good thing I’ve got faith in you then.” I huffed so loudly Dark Horse flinched. “You’re the only one.” “If I was the only one, I think we both know you wouldn’t have come back. Even knowing John was reaching the end,” Chance added when I opened my mouth. “If you didn’t have faith in yourself that you could do this, you would have found some excuse to keep away for another seven years.” I dropped a hand to my hip. “I’ve been in school for seven years. Jerk.” Chance chuckled at the term of endearment. “Exactly. Totally weak excuse.” I shook my head as I zipped up my jacket and made sure the Thermos was safely tucked inside. “Are you done now? Can we get on with pretending to have a perfect morning?” “Who says we have to pretend? This morning is a perfect morning.” Lifting the collar of his jacket to protect his neck, he climbed onto Honor, gathered the reins, and walked him toward the east end of the property. This was my favorite direction to go because it led away from the mountain, and this time of year, acres upon acres of wild flowers were sprouting up, creating a blanket of color and texture that consumed the valleys. I eased Dark Horse beside Honor. They fell in line next to each other easily, having gone on countless rides together back before I’d left. “The only thing perfect about this morning is that I brought coffee,” I teased. “Well, that, and my hair this morning.” Chance lifted his hat, revealing a head of hair that wasn’t yet matted due to long hours and sweat. Already a dent circled just above his ears where his hat hugged his head. “Perfect might be a stretch.” I smiled at that dent. I’d forgotten all about it. No matter if Chance had just come from the shower or taken a comb to his hair, that dent seemed to be permanently embedded. “Let’s see whose hair’s perfect at the end of the morning.” Chance’s eyes flicked to the stocking cap on my head. “I predict a rat’s nest when you take that off. You?” I kicked his boot with mine. “I predict shiny, loose waves that tumble down my back without a hair out of place.” Chance snorted, earning another kick. My hair and Chance’s were so alike, if he grew his out, it would probably look eerily similar to mine. That was something Conn had noticed right off the bat and had never missed an opportunity to tease us about. “So, Shiny Locks, how long’s it been since you’ve been on a horse?” Chance asked. I bit my lip as we rounded one of the holding pens. “Honestly?” Chance lifted a brow. “I’m the brother who does the whole honest, truthful thing. Remember?”

I lifted my eyes to the sky. There was no easy way to put it. “It’s been about seven years since I rode last.” From the corner of my eye, I saw Chance’s mouth drop. “I’m not sure whether to weep or be outraged,” he said, sounding more appalled than anything. “I thought you’ve been in vet school, specializing in large animals.” “I’ve been around them and learning how to treat and fix them, not taking them out for joyrides.” Chance reined Honor to a stop, so I did the same with Dark Horse. “Then you’ve got seven years of joyrides to catch up on.” I popped the collar on my coat too, anticipating what that spark in Chance’s eyes meant. It always preceded some kind of adventure. “Better make it a good one then.” “Planning on it.” Honor’s hooves stomped the ground, anticipating what was coming. Chance looked at me, inspecting me on Dark Horse as though he wasn’t sure what he was seeing was real. “Seven years without being on a horse. That’s like committing high treason out here. Do you remember what a trot is? How to stay in the saddle without gripping the saddle horn for dear life?” I rolled my eyes as I tightened the reins. Dark Horse quivered in anticipation. “Try to keep up, cowboy.” When I squeezed Dark Horse’s sides, he burst forward into a breakneck gallop before Chance realized we’d taken off. Somehow I heard Chance’s tongue cluck, followed by Honor’s sharp whinny, and I knew it wouldn’t take long for them to catch up. Dark Horse was a spry, fast little thing, but he was just barely fourteen hands. Compared to Honor’s sixteen, his little legs couldn’t outrun Honor for long. What had been cool morning air back at the barn turned into frigid shafts cutting across my face, doing a better job of waking me up than an entire Thermos of strong coffee. I felt my heartbeat in my ears as adrenaline dripped into my veins as Dark Horse tore across the land. His hooves pounded the ground, seeming capable of waking it from its millions of years of slumber. There was something primal about riding a horse, something that made life and all its complexities fade away until it seemed possible to leave one’s problems and worries far behind. It had been seven years since I’d been on a horse . . . and it had been seven years too long. I wouldn’t let that much time go by again. Chance and Honor eventually caught up, but either Dark Horse had really been tearing it up at an unholy pace or Chance had guessed I wanted a few minutes alone with nothing but the thrill of living for and in the moment to keep me company. When he did fall in beside me a couple miles later, I felt as though I’d just gone through a couple years of intensive therapy. I felt free and alive and like no problem was bigger than my resolve to tackle it. There was no fear in my life more intimidating than my ability to squash it. “It took me a while to get here,” he hollered, his smile as wide as I’d ever seen it. I returned his smile, letting Dark Horse take me to a place of peace I’d been sure I’d never find in this lifetime. “It took me a while too.”



IF THERE WAS such a thing as reincarnation, I wanted to spend my next life as a horse. Not just any horse, though—a wild one. The kind that still traveled in a herd and had no one to tell him where to go or when to go or how to go. I wanted to be driven by instinct and survival and let every other whim or consideration become a distant second to those basic needs. I wanted to feel the soft ground beneath me, feel the sun warm my back in the summers, and feel a crust of snow cover me in the winter. I craved the simplicity that only an animal’s life could provide. I’d lived enough complexity and confusion to last my next ten lifetimes. “Beautiful, right?” Chance stopped beside me, his cheeks flushed from the ride. My breathing was more labored than his, but since neither of us had done much of the work to get us there, we shouldn’t have been breathing hard. But at least for me, the short pulls of breath came from a place of excitement, not exertion. Dark Horse’s and Honor’s breaths steamed up the air around us, their chests and necks frothy with sweat. From where we were perched on a bluff, we had a perfect viewing spot of the herd meandering through the valley. This was the mare herd, and it was, I guessed, close to two thousand large. Every color in the horse world was represented, creating a vibrant quilt that undulated through the valley. “Beautiful doesn’t even come close to describing it,” I answered him at last, watching the herd move as if they were all of one mind. “My feelings exactly.” While I stared at the herd, I felt Chance’s stare aimed at me. “And the mustangs aren’t bad either.” For some reason, I felt a flush of heat settle behind my cheeks. I did my best to ignore it. “If that’s your attempt to make up for the controversial topic you brought up earlier, you’d better keep the flattery coming.” His stare didn’t falter. “That wasn’t an attempt to make anything up to you, nor was it flattery.” “Then what was it?” I noticed the steam roll from his mouth as he answered, “The truth.” “That’s right. You’re the truth guy.” I tipped my head toward the herd, wanting a distraction from the way he was watching me. Or maybe the distraction I craved wasn’t due to Chance’s stare but the way that stare made me feel. “Is it okay if we ride closer? Will they let us wander around without starting a stampede?” He popped his shoulders. “Probably.” “Your confidence is astounding,” I said dryly. He adjusted his insulated calfskin gloves, smiling. “That’s the truth, though. The herds are used to riders checking in regularly, so they probably won’t stampede, but that doesn’t mean they won’t stampede. You know horses—a baby gopher might peek out of its hole and send the whole herd into a frenzy.”

“So many warm fuzzies happening right now.” I stroked Dark Horse’s neck, smiling as he looked at the herd in the same way I had—with longing. Dark Horse hadn’t been taken from this herd, but it seemed pretty obvious that he remembered what it had been like to be a member of one. His hooves stomped at the earth. “So what if they do stampede?” Chance asked after a loud yawn, reminding me of the Thermos warming my core. “Then we risk being thrown from our horses and trampled by eight thousand hooves?” “Yeah, but is the small risk of death worth exchanging living life for?” he said, admiring the herd. I knew “true” cowboys were supposed to be cattlemen first and foremost, but even though Chance had never admitted it, I didn’t doubt he was more of a horseman. If that led someone to think of him as a second-rate cowboy, then I’d challenge them to show up every pre-crack of dawn to witness Chance already on his second cup of coffee and third task on his daily checklist and have them stay until the sun had gone down and he was still crossing items off his list. Chance Armstrong had been born into a life of privilege—a life few of us would ever get to experience—but his work ethic was unparalleled. He often took the chores even the hired hands weren’t eager to tackle. I’d admired Chance as a friend for so long I’d forgotten that he was a man. But ever since I’d shown up last night, I’d been reminded of that fact every time I’d caught him looking at me when he didn’t think I was paying attention . . . or when I looked at him when I thought he wasn’t paying attention. “I’m guessing you’ve managed to weave some little life lesson into ranch life again, but while I consider what that is, are you up for the fractional risk of being trampled today?” I’d already nudged Dark Horse forward when Chance answered—by following me. “In my world, getting trampled is a daily risk. Kind of a work-place hazard,” he said. The ground the horses were covering was rocky, and their hooves clinked with every step. It was a beautiful sound. I’d missed this place. As convinced as I’d been that I had no reason to return to Red Mountain, all it had taken was one horseback ride to remind me why I’d fallen in love with that wild land. My memories of the people there might have tainted how I remembered this place, but my experiences towered over the bad memories. I’d just needed a little memory reboot to focus on those experiences. Chance and Dark Horse and the Beta herd and the chill of an early morning had unleashed the memory floodgates. I’d let one person and the memories of him keep me from this place for seven years. I’d never make that mistake again. Chance and I rode silently into the valley, keeping our horses at an easy walk so as not to unsettle the herd. As we got closer, a few mares on the outer edge cocked their heads back to investigate us, but most got right back to their grazing. One of the sorrels arched her head back and let out a shrill whinny. Dark Horse answered with a soft neigh. “They’re really amazing, Chance, you know that?” “Yeah, I know.” His eyes were bright as he looked at the herd as if each of them were a child. “I know most ranchers let wild horses on their land for the BLM money, but since I know the Armstrongs aren’t lacking in that department, why do you have so many on Red Mountain?” I nudged Dark Horse as close to the herd as I dared. I would have loved to weave through it, touching the colorful manes and velvety coats, but even though I’d accepted the remote possibility of getting trampled, I wasn’t going to open my arms to it. “The money we net on these guys isn’t too bad, but we pour that right back into the community, so really, it’s a wash.” Chance reined Honor a little farther out from the herd. Both Honor and Dark Horse were gelded, but Honor seemed to be having trouble accepting that while surrounded by a few thousand mares. “You take all your net profits and give them to the community?” My nose wrinkled as I considered

that. The Armstrongs were well known for being charitable with various international and domestic organizations, but if they were making nothing off the horses, it seemed strange they’d keep so many. “Then why keep so many mustangs?” “If that’s the way you think of it, then why do we keep the cattle, or farm wheat and corn, or have a cherry, grape, and apple orchard?” Chance tipped his hat back a bit so his eyes weren’t so shaded by it. “If you can’t understand why we keep the horses despite not profiting from them, you probably won’t understand why we do the rest.” “You don’t profit off the cattle?” I’d just passed a mare with the most perfect diamond on her nose. I wished I’d brought my camera to snap a photo of it. “Nope. Again, what profit we make, we give back to the community.” I knew enough about ranch life to know the cattle business was the bread and butter of a rancher’s income. “So you don’t make money off the horses. Or the cows. Or the crops. Why exactly do you do all of it then?” He chuckled. “Because I’m an idiot. That’s the answer my dad used to give me when he could still put together sentences.” I couldn’t join Chance’s laugh, as much as I could tell he hoped I would. John had been hard on all of his boys, Conn most of all and Chance least. He’d been such a different father figure to me than he had been to his sons, and a part of me wondered if the boys resented me for that. I knew if I’d been in their shoes, I might have. “And what’s your answer for why you do all of this?” I pulled back on the reins to stop Dark Horse and fished out the Thermos of coffee. The sun was rising high enough it warmed our backs, and the coffee could do the rest of the warming. Chance and Honor stopped beside us. Chance’s brows came together as he examined the land and animals around us. “I do this because this place has a history of taking. A devastating history of taking. I thought it was about time someone created a different history, a history where this land gave back to the community instead of bleeding it dry.” A sharp gust of wind whipped through the valley, tousling manes and gusting the tall, green grass to the ground. I didn’t need Chance to explain what he meant. I knew the history of their land, the natives who’d belonged to it and the outsiders who’d come to claim it. I knew the first and last name of the man who’d led the army responsible for massacring hundreds of Shoshone people on this land. It was the same first and last name of the man who’d raised me as a teen. Same name but a different man. “You might be the best person in the whole world, Chance Armstrong.” I dropped my gloved hand on his. He rotated his hand and wove his fingers through mine. “Yeah, well, the blood of the worst kind of person flows inside me, so I have to be more purposeful than the next man when it comes to performing those random acts of goodness.” He winked, but there was no shadow of jest in his words. Chance lived as though those hundreds of dead bodies were his responsibility. He lived as though he was trying to atone for lives he’d not taken, blood he’d never spilt, curses he’d never been responsible for creating. Unweaving my fingers from his, I was just about to open the Thermos when one plus one came together. “Oh, shit. I get it now. I didn’t see it last night, but I see it now.” The wind had vanished, but an unsettling stillness clung to the air around us. “Chase thinks Jenny was killed because of the curse, doesn’t he?” Chance took a moment to answer. “No, Chase doesn’t think that. Chase thinks he knows that.” “But it was an accident.” The worst kind of accident imaginable but an accident nonetheless. “Like our mother’s death, like our grandmother’s before her, and a few more back down the line.” Chance tipped his hat so low I could barely make out his eyes. “Whether there’s a curse on our family or not from what a monster of a man named John Armstrong the First did to this land and these people

doesn’t really matter.” “Why doesn’t that matter? Of course it matters.” “It doesn’t matter because curse or no curse, Chase believes there’s one. That’s where the power rests —in the belief in existence, not the actual existence.” My forehead had just begun to crease when Chance saw the signs of my confusion. “Take the whole God thing. Whether there is some higher power up there or not is beside the point because people believe there is. There’s power in what a person believes, and it has nothing to do with if whatever that belief is founded on is real or not.” I shook my head, not sure if he was making so much sense it should have been illegal or if he was blowing so much smoke it should have been just as illegal. “So you’re telling me that whether there actually is a curse on the men of your family is beside the point because Chase believes there’s one and that this curse was responsible for killing his wife?” Chance shifted in his saddle. “Chase isn’t the only one who believes in the curse.” “Yeah, I know John does too, but just because two people believe in a curse doesn’t mean I’m going to believe in it.” I snapped the cup off the Thermos and twisted off the cap. I poured a cup and handed it to Chance. Steam billowed from it in warm clouds. He raised the cup in thanks then took a long drink. “John and Chase aren’t the only ones.” My eyebrows pushed into my stocking cap. “Are you trying to get me to believe that Conn believes in this curse? Conn? The guy who is so not superstitious he doesn’t even jokingly knock on wood? Yeah, not buying it.” Chance took another drink from the cup before handing it back to me. “Fine, don’t take my word for it. Ask Conn for yourself. Or don’t. Doesn’t matter to me because I know he does.” I gave him a look before lifting the cup to my lips. I usually took cream and sugar in my coffee, but whenever I rode with Chance, I always made it black. For some reason, being out on a horse, surrounded by unending valleys and towering mountains, required one to drink black coffee. It was an official rule of the Wild West, I was sure. “Okay, so John, Chase, and Conn believe in this curse,” I said. “But you’re the most level-headed of the bunch. Your take on the curse thing is equal to all three of theirs.” I’d finished pouring my second cup before I realized Chance was being too silent, sitting too still in his saddle. My eyes cut up to his. From the look on his face, I already knew the answer. “You don’t believe in it, right? Please, for the love of God or no God, don’t tell me you believe in some ancient curse that people want to blame for the tragic deaths in your family’s past.” One of Chance’s eyes closed. “I could tell you that, but that doesn’t mean it would be true.” “Unbelievable.” I threw my head back and stared at the lightening sky. “You really believe that some curse John Armstrong the First claimed some powerful Shoshone medicine man tied to your family after dear John the First massacred his tribe is what’s responsible for killing your mom and Jenny?” I blinked at him a few times. “Because I’m all for a good story told around the fire in your family’s living room, but I thought that was as far as that story spread. I didn’t realize any of you, other than your dad, actually believed in it.” Our horses were getting impatient, so we coaxed them ahead at a slow enough pace that I could still drink my coffee without spilling it. Too much. When a drop or two fell on Dark Horse’s shoulder he snorted his indignant remark. “We’ve lived through the death of our mother, who was killed by the only strike of lightning recorded in the area that night. We’ve lived through hearing the stories of how our grandmother died, our greatgrandmother died, and the wife of the man who started it all died. None of them died of natural causes or old age. Or even because of sickness. They didn’t die of heart disease or cancer. They died in nature, from nature, on the same land that battle was fought one hundred fifty years ago.” Chance exhaled, and his back curled forward some, as if a heavy weight had just been dumped on it. “And now we’ve witnessed

what happened when Chase married the woman he loved.” “But she was killed on a highway, a road far away from Red Mountain.” I wanted to argue with him until I’d proven to him and myself that the curse wasn’t real. It was just some legend created to elicit a bit of fear in those who knew of it. “She was killed on a highway on land that, before the road was laid, belonged to the Armstrongs before they sold it to the state.” My eyes closed. Just because Chance said the curse was real didn’t make it so. Just because he believed didn’t mean I had to. “Oh my God. That’s why Chase looks like he was the one who killed his wife? Because he actually believes he did?” When Chance just clucked Honor forward a bit faster, I added, “Right?” Chance’s head tipped back, but he didn’t look at me. “Yeah. Chase thinks that by falling for her and marrying her, he’s responsible for Jenny’s death.” “But that’s insane!” I hadn’t meant to shout, and even though I hadn’t startled our horses, a few in the herd jumped. “It’s not insane if you’ve grown up being told and believing what we do.” Chance’s voice was quieter than usual, probably hoping he would rub off on me. Like a pattern of dominos, realization after realization fell into place, toppling one over the next until. . . “That’s why he dated all of those lame-brains, so he’d never be in danger of falling for one of them.” I’d had a conversation with Conn in the barn over a decade ago, and he’d said something similar about Chase and his superficial relationships. “That’s why Conn did the same.” “And because he was an ass,” Chance muttered. “And that’s why you’ve . . .” I looked at Chance. A man in his twenties, a hard-working, loyal man who was easy on the eyes and knew more about love and compassion than people twice his age, a man in his prime. He was single and always had been. To my knowledge, he’d never had a companion or a lover or even a bed-warmer like his brothers had. “That’s why you’ve never settled down, isn’t it? Because you’re afraid some ancient curse will kill whatever woman you love and marry?” Chance didn’t sigh. He didn’t pause before answering. Instead, it looked as if the weight that had just strapped itself to his back lifted. “If it’s taken you this long to figure that out, then I must be doing a pretty good job of disguising it.” I took a moment to think about it. “I guess I always just assumed you were too busy between school and work to date.” Chance motioned toward the herd. “That has definitely always played a part in it. You saw what my schedule was like when you lived here, and it’s only gotten worse. I work a minimum of twelve hours a day, six, sometimes seven, days a week. I can barely find time to refuel my truck, let alone date, and if I can’t fit in a date, then how could I ever find the time to be in a committed relationship?” We’d been riding next to the herd for a while, at least five minutes, with no end in sight. From our vantage point, it seemed like we were in the midst of an endless sea of horses. The sun had risen high enough that its warmth was cutting through the morning air. The heavy canvas coat Chance had dug out of storage somewhere and hung on my doorknob this morning was suddenly too hot. I pulled each button loose, exhaling when I felt a rush of cool air blanket me. “I’m just putting this out there—and feel free to throw it back in my face if I’m wrong—but do you think you’ve created so much work for yourself and taken on such an active role at the ranch instead of just hiring a few extra hands because it gives you an excuse to not date, which might lead to a committed relationship, which might very well lead to marriage?” “Yes, of course that’s one of the reasons why I keep so busy,” he said. “If I don’t have any idle time, I can’t think about what I want but can never have. If I didn’t keep my day so busy with chores I’m asleep before my head hits the pillows, I’d have time on my hands to think about the woman I care about but will

have to watch some other man marry.” Chance’s head shook. “I can’t afford idle time. You’ve seen what it’s done to Chase and Conn. The last guy in the world I expected to settle down fell in love, got married, and lost his wife in the span of a year. The other one keeps people at such a distance he’s forgotten what it’s like to care or be cared for. I don’t want either option, so I’ll keep doing what I’ve been doing: presunrise to post-sunset.” I nodded but only to show I’d heard him and respected what he’d said, not because I believed for one second that the woman he might be tempted to marry would be snuffed out by some curse. “Wait, you said ‘the woman I care about’ in a present-tense kind of way. Is there someone you care about? Someone you’d be with if you didn’t live in fear of some curse?” When Chance looked at me with expectation on his face, I added, “And if you weren’t so busy running a ranch so you can give every last penny to charitable causes. Underachiever,” I finished with a mumble. Chance smiled, seeming mollified as he unbuttoned his heavy jacket. “I didn’t mean that in a presenttense kind of way, but in more of an in-theory kind of way.” “So there’s never been someone you’ve thought about in that way? Never anyone you found yourself caring about despite your ironclad will and schedule?” Chance looked off, focusing on some distant spot. It took me a moment to realize he was staring at Red Mountain. How could one place hold so much power over four of the strongest men I’d ever known? “There’s always someone, Scout. Even if I didn’t want there to be, there’s always someone.” “Who?” I asked, steering Dark Horse a bit closer to Honor. “If I wanted you, or anyone for that matter, to know specifically who, I wouldn’t have just replied with a vague ‘someone,’” he said. I blew out an exasperated breath. “But you’re the forthcoming, honest one.” “About all things except this. A person is entitled to one secret at least.” I leaned down so I could look up at his face under the bill of his hat. “Back there, you were preaching to me about not letting the threats of death overtake your life, and now you’re telling me you’re letting something as unlikely, unfounded, and unproven as this curse keep you from spending your life with her? Whoever this ‘her’ might be? You’re really going to let something like that keep you from love?” Chance’s hazel eyes were purposefully avoiding me, probably because I could almost see through him like Conn could see through me. “Of course I am.” “Of course you are?” I repeated, the words falling heavy between us. “Why?” Chance distracted himself with adjusting Honor’s reins. “If you believed what I did—what all of us do—and witnessed the actual events or heard the stories of the women who had all been killed prematurely and tragically—even if you believed in it just barely—could you ever do that to someone you loved? Could you let yourself love them and let them love you while knowing that that love might be a death sentence?” Chance’s eyes drifted to meet mine. “Would you let yourself love someone if you were convinced it would be your love that would kill them?” “I don’t believe in the curse, so that’s a baseless question.” “Forget about the curse. That wasn’t a part of my question. What I asked you was if you knew your love would be what killed someone, would you still choose to be with that person?” I gave it a moment’s thought for Chance, not because I wanted to spend much time thinking about such a gruesome topic. “Yeah, I think I would. If I loved someone enough and they loved me back. . . We’re all going to die at some point, right?” Chance nodded. “We’re all going to die at some point, yeah, but if you choose the option I did, you’ll never get close enough to let that person know you love her, and she’ll be able to go on, fall in love with someone else, and live a much longer life with him.” I found myself studying Chance’s hands—specifically, his left hand resting on his thigh. If he stuck with what he was saying, that meant he’d never have a gold band on that hand. Chance Armstrong, the guy

who defined marriage material, would never exchange vows with the woman he loved. He’d live and die a bachelor. It might not have been the saddest thing I’d ever realized, but it was close. “I can’t decide if that’s the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard or the least,” I said as I pulled off my stocking cap. Now that the sun was up, it was getting warmer by the minute. “It’s probably a little of both,” he said. I ran my fingers through my hair—he’d been right; it was a rat’s nest—and moved on to another sobering topic. “So we haven’t had much time to talk about your dad. I know it isn’t good—I can see that and could tell by your voice when you left me that message a few days ago—but what’s the prognosis? How much longer does he have?” Chance looked at me. “From talking about curses and forsaken love to impending death. Aren’t you just full of light, happy topics this morning?” I didn’t let myself smile back. “When we get through the abundance of dark and heavy topics, we can move on to the light and fluffy ones. Like what color I should paint my toenails.” Chance chuckled, knowing as well as I did that neither of us did light and casual conversations well. We’d both have rather enjoyed a rare moment of quiet than fill it with white noise. Quiet, profound, or giving each other a hard time—that had always been the tone of Chance’s and my relationship. I didn’t see now being the time for a change. “You’ve made your point,” he said. “I usually do.” When Chance rolled his head from side to side, I knew what he was about to say wasn’t good. The head roll was a classic sign that what was coming was hard to get out. “At Dad’s appointment last week, his prognosis went from a few more months to maybe a few more weeks.” My grip tightened on the reins. “It’s not looking good, Scout. That’s probably why I sounded the way I did in that message. We’d just left the appointment, and I’d gone from thinking I’d have my dad around for one last summer to finding out he’d be lucky to make it into July.” I wanted to grab his hand, but we were too far apart. “I’m sorry. I know all of you guys’s relationships have been . . . strained with John, but I know you’re the closest to him. This has to be the hardest on you.” Chance’s shoulder rose. “Dad loved us as much as he was capable. He just wasn’t capable of much. Mom’s passing made that even harder.” I blew out a breath. “Why didn’t you call me sooner? Why did you wait until he was almost gone?” I wasn’t blaming Chance—I was blaming myself for staying away for so long. “Because I knew you’d left for a reason and that you’d stayed away for a reason. I also knew that the moment you heard how much worse he was, you’d be on a plane. Just like you were.” Chance brought Honor to a stop and angled himself right in front of me. “I didn’t want to call you. I wanted you to stay away. I wanted you to be happy and to live your life and to forget about all of this.” He slid off his hat, not seeming to blink as he watched me. “But I also knew you’d want to know, that you’d want the chance to say good-bye. I made that call for you, but it was a call I wish I’d never felt obligated to make.” If we hadn’t been in the midst of a few thousand wild horses, I would have climbed off Dark Horse, pulled him off Honor, and given him the best hug I could conjure up. For the first time I could ever remember, Chance looked like he needed a hug more than I did. “I’ve told you before that you’re the best person in the world, right?” He tried to work up a smile, but it barely settled. “I don’t think the best person in the world would feel as conflicted as I do.” My head tipped to the side. “Conflicted about what?” He reined Honor back around, and our horses wandered farther through the valley. “Conflicted about something I shouldn’t be conflicted by.”

“Aren’t you the forthcoming one today? I think you’ve been spending too much time around Conn.” I winked at him as he settled his hat back on his head. “I think you’re right. I love my brother, but I love him most in small doses. He’s even more lovable when he’s a couple states away.” I could have held back my laughter, but I didn’t. It had taken me a while to figure out that if I was going to hold something back, it wouldn’t be the good stuff. “I wasn’t sure who was more surprised to see who: me or him. I really thought that of the two of us, I’d return before Conn did.” “Well, he arrived a whole three hours before you, so it was close. Because, you know, playing his guitar on the beach and blowing his trust fund money was so much more important than being with his family while we say good-bye to our dad.” Chance’s sigh was almost silent, but I picked up on it. I wasn’t the only one who’d reached their fedup level with Conn. “Living the dream,” I muttered. I hadn’t known what became of Conn after I left, but I could have guessed California—it was as un-Wyoming as a person could get. “More like too busy dreaming to live,” Chance replied before, all at once, something got the horses’ attention. Hundreds of heads whipped up, ears pricking forward. Chance and I looked around, but there was nothing our eyes or ears could detect. “So why did he come back? I know this is going to sound bad, but we both know it’s true . . . Conn isn’t the kind of son who wants to be holding his dad’s hand as he takes his last breath.” Even Dark Horse and Honor were acting like something was up. Their nostrils flared as they tested the air. “Dad’s lawyer called all of us to let us know he had something important to go over with us, which means it’s something likely related to the will, which means dollar signs, which means Conn’s attention is piqued.” I sighed with Chance, knowing he was right. “And I think he knew I’d be calling you, and you know how he feels about you,” Chance added. “I think that was all he needed to pack up his guitar and emergency booze supply and head back to his favorite place in the whole world.” “How does he feel about me?” I’d said it more to myself than to Chance, but I could tell he was working up a reply. “You’re like . . . I don’t know . . .” His head tipped back as he seemed to search for the right words. “You’re like fire to him. He’s fascinated by you. He can’t not look at you when you’re in front of him. You’re that light glowing in the darkness he focuses on to keep himself from getting swallowed up by it . . . but . . .” Chance’s breaths seemed to freeze in his chest. “But what?” I had to ask, even though I shouldn’t have. “But he knows if he gets close enough to touch you, he’ll get burned. He knows that if he gives all of himself to you, he’ll be consumed by the fire and reduced to ashes. He knows that when faced with fire, he’ll lose.” Chance steered Honor a bit away from me. “That’s why he keeps his distance—just not too much. He knows he can’t turn away without falling the rest of the way into the black abyss, and he knows he can’t move forward without being burned alive.” I felt as if the breath had been pulled from my lungs. I couldn’t decide if I wanted to remember those words for the rest of my life or forget them as soon as possible. “That was . . . beautiful. In a dark, haunting way. You’ve given this some thought.” Chance focused on the same spot on the horizon the herd was, squinting in concentration. “I’m just a good listener who has a photographic memory when it comes to certain things.” “I don’t understand.” I moved Dark Horse closer to Honor, trying to concentrate with Chance on had

caught the herd’s attention, but I was focused on something else. “Those aren’t my words. Not my analogy.” He sat up higher in the saddle. “Whose then?” His shoulders stiffened. “Conn’s. Conn said that to me. He was the one who compared you to fire, the one who said he couldn’t walk away or move closer.” As was my pattern whenever I was presented with a vulnerable piece of Conn, I felt my heart thaw. I didn’t want it to thaw though, not where Conn was concerned. He’d encased my heart with too much ice for me to pretend anything I learned about him could melt it. “When did he tell you that?” “A couple years ago. I was visiting him in California for a weekend, and he was, of course, shitfaced. He was going on and on about you, and when I confronted him about why, he just couldn’t get over you or go after you. That was his answer.” “He was shitfaced. He didn’t mean it,” I said, trying to convince myself as much as Chance. “In my opinion, the only time Conn isn’t full of bullshit is when he’s shitfaced. It’s like the alcohol opens the tiny, solo window to his soul and lets truth pour out. I’ve learned more about my brother when he’s been stumbling drunk than I’ve learned on a boys’ weekend camping trip. Tequila is his truth serum.” I urged Dark Horse into a trot to keep up with Honor. Chance seemed to have made out something in the distance. “Conn’s right about something for once at least.” When Chance looked over, waiting for my answer, I shrugged. “I will burn him alive if he tries messing with me again.” A smile broke across Chance’s face. “That’s the same thing I told him.” He urged Honor into a canter, and Dark Horse didn’t miss a beat. We’d passed the last of the herd a half mile back or so when I finally noticed what the horses must have been so focused on. It looked like a small puppy, but there were no dogs out this far. The only thing that far out in the wild that would resemble a puppy was . . . “It’s a wolf pup,” Chance said a moment before I realized it. “Alone? Out here in the daylight by itself?” No wonder the herd had been so tense. Wild horses had few natural predators, but that didn’t mean they liked the smell or sight of a wolf close by. “He’s too little to be out on his own.” Chance muttered a curse I rarely heard come from his mouth as he slowed Honor. “One of the hands brought in a female wolf a few days ago. She’d been trampled to death, probably when she got too close to the herd. They found her right around this valley too.” “The mother, you think?” I slowed Dark Horse to a walk, not wanting to scare the pup as we got closer. “There aren’t enough wolves roaming these parts anymore for it to be a coincidence that we found a female wolf close by where a lone pup is wandering.” “What are we going to do?” I stopped Dark Horse to study the little thing. It was smaller than I’d thought and weak. Wolves were apex predators, and the pup should have been bolting from two people approaching on horses, but it seemed barely able to hold itself up. “You’re the almost-vet here, Scout. I was kind of hoping you’d have the answer,” he said. “An almost-vet for large animals, not wild ones. I’m going to need a little team effort here, Chance.” I crawled off Dark Horse, who was visibly unsettled by being so close to something that smelled like danger. He’d probably never come in contact with a wolf, and it didn’t matter that this one might have weighed five pounds. Everything about a wolf—it’s sight, smell, howl—was hardwired into a horse. “Happy to help with the team effort thing, but mind filling me in on what you’re thinking?” Chance slid out of Honor’s saddle and took Dark Horse’s reins as I moved closer to the pup. “We should look for a den. Judging by how small he is, it has to be close.” “Why are we looking for the den? To put him back in it?”

That Chance was so knowledgeable about ranch animals but hopelessly clueless when it came to any other creature almost made me smile, but I could see he was trying, and I didn’t want to hurt his feelings. “He’s thin, almost emaciated. We put him back in the den, and he’ll die just as fast as if we left him out here. The mother must have been that female you found trampled. Either that or she died some other way, because mother wolves rarely just abandon their pups.” “So why are we checking for a den?” Chance stayed back with the horses while I moved closer to the pup. “To see if there are any others in it.” The pup couldn’t seem to focus, which meant he was probably dehydrated too. “And what will we do if there are more?” I patted the air back at him, trying to get him to lower his voice. The pup might not have been able to run away, but I could tell it was terrified. “Help them,” I answered quietly. “Help them? They’re wolves.” “They’re pups.” “Wolf pups, not golden retriever pups.” Chance thrust his arm in the wolf’s direction. “It’s not going to grow up to be a lap dog who’s happy with kibble and playing fetch with a ratty old tennis ball. They’re killers, Scout.” “I know that, Wikipedia. I’m a vet, for Christ’s sake.” When the pup yipped and howled as I moved closer, I stopped. I’d let it get used to me and my scent before I moved closer. “You’re almost a vet. Specializing in large animals, not wild ones.” I threw a quick glare back at Chance before kneeling. The pup was grayish-black and still had the haunting blue eyes of a young pup. It was clearly distressed by me being so close, but if I walked away, it wouldn’t make it through the day. “Why don’t you stop being a snarky comedian and go see if you can find that den?” I lifted my eyebrows at Chance and waited. After an exasperated sigh, Chance led the horses toward a rock outcropping, exactly where I would have headed if I was trying to locate a den. So he wasn’t entirely clueless when it came to animals other than the barnyard variety. After a few minutes, I sat in the grass. In a month, it would be so tall it would tower above me, but so early in June, it was barely up to my knees—or my shoulders when I was sitting. My sitting seemed to calm the pup considerably, and after another minute, its yelps of protest and calls for help diminished. I checked over my shoulder on Chance and the horses. He was to the outcropping, and he dropped the horses’ reins to let them graze as he started up it. I was so focused on watching Chance navigate the outcropping I almost didn’t notice something moving closer. The pup seemed as curious as it was distressed, taking hesitant steps in my direction. Every few steps, it staggered to the side or tumbled to its stomach, but it kept getting back up and moving closer. I’d never seen anything like it in my life, nor would I ever probably again, but that little wolf pup kept coming closer, stumbling toward me as if it knew I was its last chance. Wolves ran from people instinctively, yet that one forced itself closer. Its coat was muddy and matted, but I saw its shoulder bones poking through. At that age, pups needed to eat regularly—every few hours or so. Going three days plus without food had made the little one a skeleton with fur. When it was just out of reach, it stopped. It tried to stand, but it seemed to have used the last bit of its energy coming to me. The pup whined, a wild whimper, before appraising me with a nearly expectant expression. It seemed to say, “Hey, I made it this far. Your turn.” Reaching out slowly, I tested the pup to see what it would do when my hands came close. It might have been small, but I knew its needle-like teeth could still pierce me. The pup inspected my hands, his

nose lifting toward them. No growl, no snarl, nothing indicated that the animal did not want me so close. I knew touching a baby animal was a big no-no as some mothers would come back and reject their young if they smelled human scent on them, but it was evident this pup’s mother was dead or had long abandoned it. So very slowly, I moved my hands closer until I could feel its fur. The pup flinched, but it didn’t lunge away or snap at my hands. “It’s okay, little one. No one’s going to hurt you,” I said in a calm, quiet voice. My fingers gripped its scruff, where its mother would have grabbed hold to move it. “I’m going to get you fixed up.” When I lifted it from the ground, the pup whimpered again, but it didn’t struggle . . . not that it had much energy left to put up a fight. Touching it and having it up close, I could tell that the pup was worse off than I’d guessed. Its skin was hanging loose from its frame, and its heartbeat was so faint I could barely detect it. Cradling it close, I tucked my jacket around it, keeping a firm hold of its scruff to keep it calm. Rising, I glanced at where Chance had stopped toward the top of the outcropping. When he kneeled and moved a few rocks away, I knew he’d found something. I headed in his direction, keeping a firm hold on the pup that had started to quiver inside my jacket. The horses took a break from their grazing to watch me with cautious eyes, no doubt smelling the danger on me. “Did you find anything?” I asked, climbing toward Chance. “Yeah,” he replied, kneeling beside what looked to be a den, his hat clutched in his hands. “I found something.” I could smell the den before I could see it. I shouldn’t have gone any closer when I’d first caught the scent of something rotting, but my feet kept moving me forward. When I came up behind Chance, I came to a stop. Staggered around the edges of the den were three other wolf pups, all dead. The only difference between those three and the one I was cradling was that the one whimpering in my jacket had a heartbeat. A faint one, and who knew how much longer it would keep going. “Poor things.” A tear ran down my cheek. I’d long ago accepted the reality of death for all things, and going through vet school had trained me to offer the release of it when old age or illness necessitated it, but those little things had barely started their lives before they’d ended. “How did they die?” Chance’s back was to me, but from his tone, I would have guessed he was almost as sad as I was. “They starved.” I didn’t have to perform an autopsy to confirm their cause of death. The one in my arms was as emaciated as they were. “What about the other one?” Chance slid his leather gloves back on and carefully moved the dead pups’ bodies deeper inside the den before he piled large boulders at the entrance. “You mean, this other one?” I opened my jacket just enough for Chance to peek inside. When he did, his eyes went wide. “What are you doing with a wolf in your coat, Scout?” Chance thrust one hand in my direction, continuing to stack boulders at the den’s entrance with his other. “I’m going to save it, that’s what I’m doing with a wolf in my coat.” “From the looks of it, there’s not much left to save. It won’t survive the ride back to the ranch. Why don’t you leave it here so that when it goes, it can be in a familiar place and not stuffed inside some human’s coat, probably freaking out? Let it die in peace instead of fear.” Chance’s breathing grew labored as he stacked rock after rock. “It’s not going to die. I’m going to fix it.” Why did I sound so defensive? Why did I feel as though if Chance tried to take the pup from me, I’d fight him tooth and nail? “You can’t fix everything. I thought you learned that lesson a while ago.” Chance froze long enough to look back at me, his meaning written on every plane of his face. I cradled the pup closer. What was my major malfunction? I was about to go all mother bear over some wild wolf pup that was more dead than alive. “I can fix this.”

Chance sighed, stacking a few last rocks to seal up the den. “What if you can’t?” I stepped away from the den, heading for the horses. The sooner we got back, the sooner I could help the little thing. “I can.” Chance rose and dusted his gloves off on his jeans. “One of these days, you need to learn the meaning of a hopeless case.” “Fine,” I called back. “I’ll learn that lesson someday. Just not today.”



IT WAS STILL alive. I hadn’t lost it. The pup had been surprisingly still and calm on the ride back to the house. The horses had been less so, clearly on edge and jumpy with the scent of wolf shadowing their every step, but we’d all made it back alive and in one piece. I was barely four hours into this day, and from when I’d woken up to now already seemed like two different days, like two different decades. From brewing coffee and enduring Chance lecturing me on Conn to carrying a corpse of a wolf pup in my coat with one thing and one thing only on my mind—I had to save this life. Emphasis on the this. After climbing onto our horses, Chance and I hadn’t said a single word to each other. The speed of the horses flying made carrying on a conversation next to impossible, but even if we could have, I wasn’t exactly eager to talk with Chance after what he’d suggested. How could he just let something die? How could he not try with everything he had to save a life? The moment I swung off Dark Horse, Chance was there to take the reins before I rushed up the porch steps. “What do you need?” “What? Now you want to help the pup instead of leaving it out there to finish dying?” I kept going up the stairs, not even glancing back. “I want to help you,” was his answer as I threw open the front door. I felt the pup shiver against me—now wasn’t the time to indulge my put-out side. “Grab the first aid kit from the barn, and I’ll round up the rest.” “It’s a livestock first aid kit.” I glanced back at Chance. He stood at the bottom of the stairs, a horse’s reins in each hand, looking a little lost. It wasn’t an expression I was used to seeing on him. “Close enough,” I said. “Besides, I don’t know about you, but if my life was on the line and a livestock first aid kit was the only thing I could find, that wouldn’t stop me from rifling through it.” Chance nodded, leading the horses toward the barn. “One first aid kit coming up.” “I’ll be in the library. Meet me back there.” “Of course you will be. Where better to take a dying wolf pup than a library?” There was a hint of amusement in Chance’s voice, telling me that whatever issues he’d had with me trying to save the wolf pup, he was getting over them. Good. I needed his help much more than I needed his devil’s advocate. Once I was inside the house, I rushed through the foyer and headed for the library. I smelled bacon and eggs coming from the dining room where I guessed, or hoped, a couple of brothers were having breakfast with their father, but I found that to be a false hope when I ventured farther inside the library. I sighed when I found Chase leaning into the side of the pool table, hyper-focused on the black eight

ball. He glared at it as if that ball and it alone were responsible for taking his wife away from him. I cared about Chase—I loved him as a sister would a brother—but I didn’t have time to be gentle and handpick each word. “It’s just a ball, Chase. A thing made out of resin, shaped into a sphere, doused in black paint, and stamped with a number eight. It’s nothing else.” I didn’t slow my pace as I hurried to the pool table. “It’s not just a ball, Scout.” Chase shook his head, his hair disheveled and, I guessed, fresh from a night of endless tossing and turning. “It’s the difference between winning and losing. The difference between life and death.” I stopped at the edge of the pool table. “You really believe that?” Chase didn’t seem to blink as he stared at the ball. “Yeah, I think so.” I felt a flash of white-hot anger—anger that Chase had been reduced to what he had, anger at the reason why, anger that the strongest men in my life had been broken by bad luck and superstition. I’d expected John to be in bad shape when I’d arrived. I hadn’t expected Chase to be almost just as bad or Conn to have somehow gotten worse or to learn why Chance would never become the family man I’d always seen him as. It wasn’t how I’d wanted to see these men’s lives turn out. I’d wanted them to thrive, not deteriorate. I snatched the eight ball from the green felt table, arched my arm back, and sent that sucker sailing. Straight through the window. Chase flinched before giving me a look like I’d gone mad, but at least he wasn’t staring at some black ball, hypnotized by the baseless power he’d ascribed to it. Chase motioned at the broken windowpane. “What the hell, Scout?” “What happened to you and your wife is horrible. The worst kind of horrible.” I locked eyes with him. “But little black balls don’t kill people. Neither do curses.” I whipped my head from side to side. “Trees kill people. Lightning kills people.” Chase’s face pulled into a grimace, but he didn’t look away. He didn’t retreat into that place deep inside him I didn’t know how to get to. “Pills kill people.” I swallowed, pushing aside the image of my mom on the bathroom floor. The movement and whimper of a little something helped get the rest of the image out. “Dehydration and starvation kills people. It’s about to kill this little guy—at least, unless you help me.” I opened my coat to give Chase a peek. His eyes went even wider than Chance’s had gone when he’d seen what I was hiding in my coat. “Is that what I think it is?” Chase stepped closer. “Given I don’t have any clue where your mind’s been or what you’ve been thinking, I’m not sure what you think it is.” Chase exhaled through his nose. “A wolf. Is that a wolf?” “It’s a baby wolf.” “Yeah, all I heard was wolf.” Chase moved a couple steps closer, lowering his head to get a better look at it. The pup didn’t squirm deeper into the folds of my jacket. Instead, it lifted its head and tilted it a bit, appraising Chase as if it could almost sense the huge being looming over him was clinging to life as much as the pup was. “Do you want to help me or keep reviewing this whole wolf-shock thing? Because Chance tried that too, hoping I’d leave it where we found it, but look who’s carrying a wolf pup in her jacket?” Chase almost smiled at the pup. It couldn’t quite qualify as a smile, but it was the closest I’d seen on Chase since arriving. “What do you need?” My smile, however, couldn’t be mistaken. “I need a few flat sheets, some towels, and a couple of hot water bottles if you can find them.” I reviewed a checklist in my head, hoping what I found in the first aid

kit would check off the rest. “I think that’s it.” “Sheets, towels, hot water bottles.” Chase counted off on his fingers. “Got it.” After he hurried from the room, I heard Chase’s thunderous footsteps driving up the stairs to the second floor. It was a sound that had been a regular part of living there and one I’d missed since arriving last night. Chase had been moving so noiselessly through the house, I’d almost started to wonder if he was the ghost he appeared to be. Those booming steps proved otherwise. I took a few laps around the library, trying not to check the clock. Chase and Chance burst into the room at the same time. “Think this will be enough?” Chase asked, sheets and towels piled so high in his arms, he could barely see over the top. “I think so, yeah.” Chase had taken “a few” to mean “a few dozen.” Chance lifted the large first aid kit. “Here it is. Where do you want it?” “On the pool table.” I nodded at it. “Chase, will you lay out a few sheets first, then stack a couple of towels on that?” He answered by jogging to the table. “The pool table?” Chance was less accommodating than his brother. “Your plan is to nurse a wolf pup back to health on a pool table?” “Unless you have a surgical table hiding inside that huge hat of yours, then yes, the pool table will work. Unless you’d rather I use the dining room table?” Chance headed to the table and settled the kit on top of the sheets Chase had just laid out. He winked at me. “But now where will Chase go when he wants to brood? You’re taking over his brooding turf, so you’ll need to find him a new spot.” Chase tossed one of the folded towels at Chance’s face. “His new spot can be right here with me, helping me save this pup.” I arched an eyebrow at Chance as I approached the table. “Busy hands, empty mind, isn’t that what I’ve heard?” “You still remember.” Chance retrieved the towel Chase had tossed at him, unfolded it, and stacked it on top of the others Chase was carefully layering. “Considering I don’t think I had one single solitary moment that first summer I arrived when my hands weren’t busy with some task you needed help with . . . yeah, I still remember.” I lifted one of my hands, palm facing him. “I still have the callouses to prove it.” I hadn’t realized it at the time, but Chance’s incessant “I need help with this, I need help with that” had been his attempt to keep my mind off my mom by keeping it busy focusing on something else. Like digging fence post holes. Or mucking out stalls. Or washing the ranch trucks and tractors. “Did it work?” Chance asked with a confident expression, already knowing the answer. I rolled my eyes and grabbed another off Chase’s tower of towels and flung it at Chance’s face. “Here, let me help you wipe that smirk off of your face.” “I’m about to start flinging towels if you guys don’t stop talking about me like I’m not here.” Chase finished layering the towels, a soft scowl on his face. When Chance’s gaze shifted to Chase, his eyes widened in surprise. “Whoa? You’re here, Chase? Sorry, I’ve gotten so used to you being absorbed with kicking an eight ball’s ass, I didn’t realize you resurfaced into reality.” I clamped my lips together to keep from smiling. “I think its ass has been sufficiently kicked now.” Chase nodded at the broken windowpane. Instead of a frown, Chance’s mouth pulled up. “Good for you.” “That wasn’t me—that was Scout. But I wish I had.” Chase nudged me before pulling a couple of hot water bottles from his back pockets. I took them and buried them under a couple layers of towels. “Good for Scout then,” Chance said, nodding at the window in new admiration.

“Okay, guys, I’ve got to get some fluids in this little one. I’m going to need your help.” I went to open the first aid kit, but it was difficult to do one-handed. Chance stepped up and opened it for me. “Our help is at your disposal.” Pulling back my coat all the way, I lowered the wolf pup onto the towels Chase had stacked. It whimpered as it left the warmth of my body, so I hurried to bunch the towels tightly around the pup once I’d laid him down, tucking the hot water bottles along its sides. “Holy shit. If dad could see this now.” Chase let out a low whistle. “A wolf in his library. He wouldn’t know whether to reach for his rifle or the phone to schedule a head examination.” After making sure the pup was tucked in cozy, I sifted through the contents of the first aid kit. “If I catch anyone reaching for their rifle around this pup, I will make sure it’s the last thing they do.” Ripping a few sanitizer pads apart, I tossed one to Chase, another to Chance, and ripped one open to wipe my own hands and wrists. Chance helped me wrestle off my huge jacket, then he wiped down his hands and shouldered up beside me. “What’s next?” I sorted through a few more things in the kit and pulled out what I needed. “The light. Will you turn it on?” I nudged my shoulder at the stained-glass light hovering above the pool table. “Chase? Will you run and grab me an electric shaver, please?” His brows knit together. “Seems like a bad time to shave your legs.” I ripped open the package containing a clear plastic tube, trying not to smile. The Chase I remembered was coming back, one slow step by agonizing step at a time. “You haven’t seen my legs.” Chase cringed and headed out of the room. “Don’t want to know. Want to see even less.” As I put together everything I needed for the I.V., Chance took off his coat and rolled up the sleeves of his flannel shirt. “Do you know what you’re doing?” “Ask me that one more time, and that’s a sure way to end up with a black eye.” I concentrated on the task at hand, keeping one eye on the pup, who seemed to have fallen into a contented sleep. Compared to what it had to have endured the past few days, a plush pile of towels and a couple of hot water bottles was probably paradise. When I felt Chance’s doubtful expression deepen with every second, I sighed. “I just finished my final year of vet school. Four hard years of learning about animals and how to fix them. So yeah, I know what I’m doing. It’s I.V. fluids, Chance, not open-heart surgery.” Chance took off his hat and tossed it onto the couch. “I can see you’re ready for the I.V. I know you’re ready for whatever problem might arise in whatever animal crosses your path. You’re smart. Brilliant. I know you could probably do this I.V. with your eyes closed. That’s not what I meant.” He gripped the edge of the table, going from studying the wolf to studying me. “What I meant was are you ready for the possibility of what might happen after the I.V.? Are you prepared for what might happen after?” I went still, unsure whether to feel irritated or grateful that he was so concerned with if I could handle this. “I can handle whatever might happen. I accept that this pup is just as likely to die as to live. I’ve learned that death is sometimes more of a mercy than suffering through life.” My eyes drifted to the pup. It was so still and quiet it could have been dead. Its breathing was so shallow that I knew it was close. “I’m not the same girl who arrived here having only seen the worst side of death. I’m the person who’s now seen the relief it can bring.” I felt Chance’s eyes studying me like he was trying to figure me out. Like I was someone he hadn’t known for over a decade. “I’m not sure whether to be refreshed by your outlook on death or kind of creeped out.” “Both responses are probably appropriate.” I pulled the last few things from the kit and laid them on the table. “I’m one of those nut-jobs who thinks euthanasia should be legal for humans in addition to animals.”

Chance shifted. “You and my dad. Once he found out his Parkinson’s was getting worse, he made it his mission to find some doctor in this state who would ‘ease his passing.’ He found out no one, no matter how much money he could throw at them, was ready to become the next Kevorkian when doctor-assisted suicide was still illegal in Wyoming.” I nodded slowly. “I can see John trying for something like that. He’s a strong man, a prideful man. Someone who wants to go out with a bang, not a long, steady fizzle.” “We don’t get to choose how we die, but we get to choose how we live.” Chance exhaled through his nose. “I think Dad’s realizing he didn’t do the living part right, nor is he getting the death part right either.” I stopped messing with the tubes and bags and needles long enough to fold my hand over Chance’s. His dad’s death would be the hardest on him, but I knew John’s life had been hard on him too. Hard on all of them. “Just so long as he goes quickly, that’s dying right in my book,” a familiar voice slurred behind us. “It’s nine o’clock in the morning, Conn. How are you this drunk already?” I didn’t glance back at him. I ignored him in every way except my words. “How are you not this drunk already? We’re all under the same roof again, brought together by a man’s slow journey into hell, and we’re tiptoeing around like nothing’s happening.” His voice got closer before a loud crashing sound made Chance and me flinch. He must have rammed into something, knocking another something to the ground, but I kept my back to him. “I’m not tiptoeing around anything,” I said, my jaw tightening. “I found one,” Chase’s voice boomed through the room. “Will this work?” After crossing the room, he held out the battery-operated shaver. “It’s perfect.” I took the razor and fired it on. The whir made the wolf pup’s ears prick up, but that was as much concern as it showed. Holding its paw gently, I lowered the razor to its leg and shaved a small strip where I hoped I could find a vein. It was a weak one, but I found a vein that should work. “Good morning to you as well, Chase. How’s the mourning process going? Still have nightmares of your wife being squashed by a Ponderosa Pine?” At the end of that, Conn burped. Even I could smell the tequila fumes. “Shut the fuck up, Conn,” Chase ordered, his voice quivering. To occupy him, I handed him back the razor and motioned him closer. “Would you hold this for me?” I held out the fluid bag. After throwing a lethal glare at Conn, who looked to be racked out on the floor by the sofa table, Chase took the bag from me. With the needle in my hand, I leaned in, focusing on the pup’s vein and praying it was strong enough to accept the needle. They were less than ideal conditions for starting an I.V. on a severely dehydrated wolf pup, but we’d made it work so far. The last part was up to me. “Chance, would you pull my hair back? It keeps falling in my face.” I blew a chunk of it back from where it had fallen into my eyes, wishing I’d kept that stocking cap in place. “Yeah, sure.” Chance worked to pull all my hair back and together, but I’d watched him rope a calf’s legs together faster than he managed to get my hair clamped in his hand. “How’s that?” I nodded. “Good.” But that was a lie. Having Chance’s strong grip around my hair, holding it back with just enough tension it was almost pulling, was not good. It was either bad or great, but definitely not good. From the way my breathing picked up, I guessed it was more great than not, but now wasn’t the time to think about Chance tugging on my hair and what it made me feel. “Holy fuck!” Conn shouted as he fought to stand. From the corner of my eye, I saw him teetering in place. “Is that a goddamned wolf on the pool table?” That it had taken him that long to figure that out indicated just how drunk he was. My guess was about

a bottle of Cuervo Silver had gone into the making of this magical moment. When no one answered him, he staggered closer, peeking between Chase’s and my shoulders to get a look. “Shit, it is. I thought we shot those around here and nailed their coats on walls as décor. I didn’t know we took them in and made them pets.” I was so used to Conn’s drunken banter that I’d learned how to shut it out a long time ago. Concentrating on the vein I was going for, I leaned in a bit closer, narrowed my eyes, and got ready to pierce the pup’s skin. “Speaking of tiptoeing, Scout . . . mind telling us which one of us you’re planning on fucking first so we can all stop wondering?” When it was clear I was going to keep on ignoring Conn, his hand dropped to my shoulder and pulled it back. The sudden twist made the needle I’d just been sliding into the pup’s vein pop out, eliciting a whimper from the wolf. “Son of a bitch,” I cursed, glaring at Conn with the needle raised in his direction. “I’m trying to save this animal’s life. Get in the way again, and it’s you I’ll be injecting with something.” “And watch your fucking mouth and what comes out of it, Conn.” Chase straightened up beside me, reminding us what an imposing figure he was. When he’d been slumped over a pool table, curled into a ball, it had been easy to forget. “Why don’t you go chop down a tree or a forest or something, you big oaf?” Conn shoved at Chase, but missed actually shoving him. Then Conn turned to me, and I remembered why I needed to keep my back to him. His eyes were so blurry they couldn’t seem to focus, his smile even drunker looking than he was, and his hair and clothes looked like they hadn’t been cleaned in over a week. He looked as though life had chewed him up and spit him out, but I still felt a familiar pull tugging me in his direction. When he smiled at me and I caught myself just as I was about to smile back, I spun around, feeling weak and pathetic. “Go find yourself another bottle, and either drink it until you pass out or knock yourself over the head with it.” Conn chuckled, shuffling closer. Chance’s grip around my hair tightened. “Come on. Just give us the fuck lineup. Chance or me first?” A sharp note of laughter pierced the room. “With the way you’re pinned between the table and Chance with your hair in his hand for the yanking, my bet’s on the golden boy.” Chase gave Conn a hard shove—so hard he stumbled back a few body lengths, but he didn’t fall. When Conn marched back in our direction, Chance held up his hand. “Easy, Conn. Get a grip. Go sleep it off.” It looked as if Conn was about to take that advice, but then his arm swung across his body, connecting with Chance’s face. Chance staggered back a step, touching his face as though he wasn’t sure what had just happened. “I’ve wanted to do that my whole life,” Conn said, shaking his fist. Chase growled and charged Conn. Chance held back a moment, still looking as if he was trying to figure out what had happened. Chase lunged at Conn, trying to pin him to his chest, but either the alcohol or the adrenaline had turned Conn into a ball of fury that couldn’t be contained. Chase would get him pinned one second only to have Conn squirm free the second after. “I can’t believe I have to deal with this shit when I’m trying to save your life,” I muttered to the wolf pup while grabbing a couple more items from the kit. Plunging the syringe into the glass vial, I measured the correct amount, pulled the needle free, and spun around. Conn had wriggled free from Chase’s hold again and was swinging his arms so violently, they were a blur. Chance had shouldered up beside Chase to help him try to contain Conn, which meant Conn was focused on them and not me. I moved up behind Conn, quietly and smoothly, lifted the syringe to his neck,

and finished the injection before he’d even realized what was happening. “What the hell?” Conn spun around, reaching for his neck. He looked between the needle and me as if he was putting the pieces together. When his face started to slacken, his arms following, I nodded at Chance and Chase. “That’s what you get for messing with me and wolf pup. A small dose of horse tranquilizer.” I lifted the needle and an eyebrow. “Have a nice nap.” His brothers were there to catch Conn when he lost control of his legs, and they dragged him the rest of the way to the couch. Conn was snoring by the time Chance had settled his head on one of the throw pillows. Chase stared at Conn, his hands on his hips and brows pulled together. “What the hell just happened?” I turned back to the pup, dropped the syringe I’d just used on Conn, and picked up the needle he’d interrupted earlier. “I solved a problem the quick way. It looked like you guys would take a while.” Aligning the needle with the vein, I blew a chunk of hair out of my face, inhaled, and slid the needle into the pup’s vein. It went in the first time. I let out the breath I’d been holding and hurried to set up the rest of the I.V. “Chase, I need you on bag duty again.” “I might not care once I see the bruise on my face tomorrow, but will he be okay?” Chance was looking at Conn, his head tilted and his eyes worried. “He’ll be fine,” I assured him, handing the bag to Chase. “Don’t worry, I’ve done it before, and the other guy woke up just fine with not much permanent damage.” “You’ve horse tranq’ed someone else, Scout?” Chance grabbed a throw from the end of the couch and draped it over Conn. “And the guy didn’t press charges or anything?” I flicked the I.V. bag, getting the drip started since everything was set up. “That would have been messed up since he was the one who’d dared me to do it in the first place.” Chase shook his head, almost laughing. “Some dude dared you to inject him with horse tranquilizer, and you actually agreed to it?” “After three years of going to vet school with him and being reminded day after day what a pompous, entitled jerk he was, I pretty much jumped at the chance to stab a needle in his neck.” I watched the I.V., making sure everything was functioning properly, then I wrapped a few circles of surgical tape around the needle in the pup’s leg. We’d done all we could do—now it was up to the pup. “And he was okay?” Chance asked, sounding doubtful as he came over. “He woke up a few hours later the same pompous prick he was before. So don’t worry.” I nudged Chance when he stopped beside me. “We’ll all be enjoying your brother’s pompous prick again soon.” Chance grinned, his gaze going to the wolf pup. “Everything go okay?” “Yeah. As far as medicine goes, we’ve done all we can. We’ll keep a close eye on it over the next twenty-four hours and reassess the situation tomorrow.” “What happens if the pup gets better? What happens if it’s fine and healthy and turns into a big, carnivorous he or she wolf?” Chance bringing it up reminded me to check. “A he wolf. It’s a boy.” I stroked his back, reminding myself that sometime today, he would need to be cleaned as well. “And if he gets better, we’ll take that one day at a time. No need to plan out every day of the wolf’s six to eight years of life if we don’t even know if he’s going to make it to see the next sunrise.” Chance rolled his fingers across the pool table. “So what do we do in the meantime? If this wolf’s going to need round-the-clock supervision, how do we kill the time?” “Can’t play pool,” Chase said, motioning at the pup. “Nope, the pool table’s out.” I’d selected the pool table for more than just being a flat surface with a bright light shining above it. Keeping Chase from mourning with an eight ball clutched in his hand was my main reason. “We could play cards?”

Chance and Chase shook their heads adamantly. “When we’re looking to get our asses kicked playing cards, we’ll catch a plane to Vegas. At least there we’d have bright lights and fountains to distract us from losing.” Chase was still shaking his head. “We could go see if breakfast isn’t over yet and have it with your dad.” That suggestion earned a frown from both of them. “Who’d stay here with the pup? Besides, I’m on bag detail.” Chase lifted the bag. “I’ll find something to hang it on. I certainly don’t expect you to hold it the whole time.” I was going to run the I.V. fluids for twenty-four hours and determine where to go from there. If the pup seemed better, I’d probably stop the drip. If he didn’t, then I’d give it another day. Chase bobbed his shoulder. “I don’t mind.” “Chance?” I said as he stared at the pup like he wasn’t quite sure it was real and sleeping on the pool table. “Are you brave enough to tackle breakfast with me?” He answered silently first. Reaching for his coat slung over the back of the chair, he shrugged into it. “Whether I’m brave or not isn’t the deciding factor this morning.” Chance found his hat and dropped it back on his head. “The ranch is. It won’t run itself. I’m already a couple hours behind thanks to little scruff-ball here, so I won’t around for dinner either.” Chance rested his hand above the pup’s back, giving it a pretend pat. “Yeah, I’ll still be busy holding this bag, so I won’t make to dinner either.” Chase’s grip tightened on the bag when I reached for it. Chance got a pass—he had a ranch to run. Chase didn’t though—an umbrella stand could fill in for him. “Come on. Why is sitting down to a meal with your dad less appealing to you than getting an enema?” I asked. Chase’s nose curled. “That’s disgusting.” “Fine. Forget the enema part. Why won’t you sit down and have a meal with your dad?” If he didn’t like the first way I’d worded it, I’d put it to him point blank. Chance’s hand dropped over my shoulder—his subtle way of suggesting I back off. I knew Chase had gone to hell and back recently, but since he was actually talking coherently and didn’t seem to have one foot inside the land of the loony, I wanted to ask him the questions I hadn’t last night. “Why are you hiding from your dad?” Chase sat on the edge of the pool table, focusing on the drip of the I.V. “I’m not the only one. Conn’s been avoiding Dad as much, if not more, than I have.” “But I’m not asking Conn, and if I were, I guess his answer would be very different from your answer.” I sat beside Chase and pressed my fingers into the side of the pup’s throat to take his pulse. It wasn’t as weak as it had been when we’d first found him, but it was a long ways from strong. Chase inhaled and seemed to hold the air inside him for what could have been the span of four whole breaths. “It’s like watching someone you care about die right in front of you and being totally powerless to save them.” His hand in his lap balled into a fist. “The way Jenny died . . . well, it was terrible, but how she went—instantly—that was the one small mercy, if there was one about her death.” Chase’s throat bobbed, his eyelids veiling his eyes, but he didn’t retreat back into that hollow place. “But with Dad, we all know he’s dying, he knows he is, and it’s like we’re all sitting around, waiting for it to happen. Wondering if it will be today. Or tomorrow. Or next week. He’s dying a slow, painful death, and we’re expected to just show up to breakfast and watch it happen? I mean, shit, Dad has never won any Father of the Year trophies or done a decent job of showing he cared about us, but he’s still my dad.” Chase blew out a sharp burst of air. “You can’t expect us to just sit around a dining room table and watch him die, Scout. If you want to, that’s your call, but I’ve had my fill of death for this lifetime and the next.” In a few simple sentences, Chase had gotten me to understand why it was so hard for him. Why it might have been so hard for his other brothers too. I covered his hand with mine and gave it a squeeze.

His hand felt cold, as if it had lost its circulation days ago. “I’m not expecting you to watch him die,” I said. “I’m not expecting anything of you or Chance or Conn. I’m just hoping you’ll take this opportunity to say good-bye.” Chance’s hand was still on my shoulder, my hand still folded over Chase’s . . . We were all connected, but by more than just our touch. “Death sucks no matter which way it’s doled out. There’s no ‘good’ form of death, but there are differences. When my mom died, I didn’t get to say good-bye. Shit, I hadn’t even gotten to consider she might be getting close to dying because she was so young. To a child, old age and cancer kill people. Since my mom didn’t fit into either of those categories, she wasn’t going to die. And then she did.” I had to focus on keeping my breath slow and controlled. It had been twelve years, but finding one’s mother dead and learning what had been responsible for killing her was something no one moved on from. Some things you just couldn’t shrug off and move on from. If he didn’t already, Chase would realize that soon. “I didn’t get the chance to say good-bye. I didn’t get the chance to tell her I loved her one last time. I didn’t get a chance to tell her what I was sorry for and what I hoped she was sorry for . . . there was no moment of catharsis. There never has been.” Chance’s thumb rubbed slow circles into my collarbone. “I’ll never be at peace with my mom’s death, but I think you guys have an opportunity to be at peace with John’s when that day comes. You can look him in the eye and say good-bye. You can get everything off your shoulders and find peace with it. One day, you might be able to think about your dad, and instead of all of those memories being punctuated with What if? and If only, you can have closure.” Chase shifted farther back on the edge of the table. “I don’t feel that way about Jenny. You know, the what-if and if-only part. I want her back so badly I’d commit all seven deadly sins on a Sunday to get her back, and I miss her so badly that’s all I seem to be able to feel, but I feel like I’ve got closure.” Chase stared at his wedding band with a pained expression. “I’m guessing that’s because she died knowing you loved her and you knew she loved you. While her death was tragic and untimely, she died because life took her, not the other way around—the way my mom went.” I tapped Chase’s wedding ring. “There’s closure in that, so you can have that one small measure of peace.” Chase nodded slowly, his forehead creased. “I hear what you’re saying, and I promise I’ll give it some consideration, but I can’t promise anything else. I can’t promise I’ll be able to say good-bye to him.” “Then what did you come back for?” I asked as gently as I could. Chase was quiet for a minute, seeming to search for an answer. Then he exhaled. “Hell if I know.” A smile crept over my lips. “Well until you do, mind watching little scruff-ball for me? I’ll find something to clip the bag to so your arm doesn’t go numb, but do you mind checking in on him every once in a while today?” I slid off the table and went to grab my coat. “Yeah, sure. But where are you going? After that big talk about showing up to the dinner table, it looks like you’re in a hurry to escape.” Chase pointed at my jacket. “Yeah, where do you think you’re going?” Chance asked, crossing his arms as he shouldered up beside his brother. “Out to help you, ranch boy,” I said, giving the pup one last once-over before heading out of the room. “You helped me with the pup. It’s my turn to return the favor.” “I wouldn’t exactly call what I did helping you. More like indulging you,” Chance replied. “Fine. Then consider what I’m about to do returning the indulging favor.” Raking my hair over my shoulder, I twisted it into a quick braid to keep it out of the way. A girl didn’t wear her hair down doing chores around a ranch unless she wanted it to end the day with it knotted in a muddy, sticky mess. “And I can’t believe you’d stoop to saying it was indulgent to save that little guy.”

Chance looked purposefully from me to the pup. “It’s a wolf. Those things ranchers would shoot on sight if it weren’t for those things known as protection laws?” “It’s a life.” I knew he was having a grand old time messing with me, and I was used to our siblinglike banter, but for some reason, this topic made me especially defensive. “In my book, any life saved or attempted to save—even if that life is an earthworm’s—is not considered indulgent.” Chase chuckled and nudged Chance while Chance lifted his hands in surrender. “Got it. Clear as crystal.” Slapping his brother’s knee as he headed in my direction, Chance pulled on his leather gloves. “Now, you ready to come help me feed the cattle so they’re good and fat before the slaughter?” Chase’s chuckling grew to a laugh while my eyes narrowed into slits. I aimed my glare at the back of the person I was following out of the room. “You’re a pain in my ass, Chance Armstrong.” “I thought that was Conn’s official title.” His whole face was lit up with amusement when he glanced back at me. “It was, but now that I can just stick a needle in his neck before he gets going, you’re doing a nice job filling his shoes.” “Should I be on the look out for needles aimed at my neck next?” Chance pulled open the front door and held it open for me. “That depends. Are you with me or against me?” I asked as I passed through the door. “Because Conn’s made it a point to be against me on pretty much any and every thing.” Chance covered his heart with his hand. “I’m hurt you even have to ask that.” I waited for Chance at the top of the stairs. “You were the one who suggested leaving the animal to die on its own out there, so yeah, I think I need it clarified.” After closing the door, he approached me, his gaze impossible to look away from. “I’m with you, Scout. I always have been, and I always will be. Even when you might think I’m not, I am.” He lifted his hands to snap the top button of my jacket. Without the sun on my back, the air wasn’t nearly as warm. “All you need to do is say the word, and I’m right there beside you. I won’t waver. I won’t turn and run. You want to save every damn orphaned wolf pup out there? I’ll be at your side, fighting the fight. Just say the word.” Whatever frustration I’d built up toward Chance crumbled away. “So you’re saying you choose to be with me instead of against me?” Chance wove his arm through mine and walked me down the porch steps. “I’m saying I couldn’t not be with you if I tried.”



ITEM NUMBER FIVE hundred forty-one I’d forgotten about ranch life in the seven years I’d been away from it? Spending a day working a ranch meant waking up the next morning with a sore body. So sore I could barely crawl out of bed. After enough time went by, that muscle soreness would fade some but only some, and the exhaustion was a whole other story. I’d spent sleepless nights studying for exams in college. I’d taken overload credits more semesters than I hadn’t. I’d worked part-time jobs while juggling vet school and a semblance of a social life, yet I’d never felt exhaustion as I did forcing myself out of bed that next morning. After we’d devoured our sack lunches on the tailgate of Chance’s pick-up, he suggested I take the rest of the day off so I didn’t wake up the next morning feeling the way I did now. Being a determined, stubborn fool who had a serious issue with showing weakness, I told him thanks but no thanks and wound up watching the sunset before finishing the checklist for the day. After Chance parked his truck at the house, I staggered up the porch steps, relieved Chase of wolf pup supervising duties, and passed out on the same sofa Conn was no longer sprawled out on. The thought of dinner or any kind of nourishment wasn’t even a fraction as appealing as sleep. Other than getting up once to change the I.V. bag, I slept so hard I doubted I would have noticed if a tornado had ripped through the house. Rubbing my eyes open that next morning, I found a couple blankets thrown over me, and my boots were propped against the wall across from me. I’d been too tired to take them off or find a blanket the night before, so someone must have come in and helped the comatose girl. Groaning as I peeled myself off the couch, I guessed who that person might have been. “How’s he doing?” My voice sounded as drawn and quartered as I felt. The sun streaming through the windows was almost painful. Chase took a break from looking at the pup to glance my way. “Seems good. Better. He’s tried getting up a few times but can’t hold himself up for long. What are we going to do when he can get up and run around? I’m guessing he won’t be all agreeable and stay on the pool table forever.” Gritting my teeth, I pushed myself off the couch and hobbled toward the table. “Yikes, you look bad. You didn’t let Conn drag you out to his favorite watering hole, did you?” I shook my head. Even that small motion hurt. “Worse. I spent all day with Chance working the ranch.” Chase grimaced. “That is worse.” “Thanks for the blankets and taking care of my boots. My feet and warm body thank you.” It took me four times the normal amount of time to cross the room, but I made it. “Oh, that wasn’t me.” Chase rubbed the back of his neck. “Not that I wouldn’t have, but Chance beat me to it.” I nodded, knowing I shouldn’t have been surprised. “With him doing twice as much work twice as fast

as me, I can’t believe he didn’t pass out harder than I did.” Chase eyed the I.V. bag hanging off the umbrella stand. It wasn’t quite what I considered running low yet, but he was clearly about to change it himself if I didn’t. “When I came down around three to check on the pup, Chance was already here, hanging out in this chair and going from checking on you to this guy. He left a couple hours ago when he guessed the sun was thinking about rising.” Chase elbowed my arm. “It’s like that guy’s got some kind of psychic connection with the sun, because it doesn’t matter what time of year it is, he’s up and out before it’s up, and he’s still out after it’s down.” After changing the bag, I checked the pup’s pulse again. It was stronger, and my light touch seemed to stir the wolf. Chase was right—he was getting better. Soon he wouldn’t be so content to stay put in his warm, cozy nest, which meant I’d have to figure out a solution that would suit everyone—the ranchers and the wolf. “Well, that was nice of him. I’ll have to thank Chance when I see him next.” I felt Chase watching me. When I looked at him, he cocked his head to the side. “You really don’t see it, do you?” he said. “Don’t see what?” I kept my voice level, distracting myself with fussing over the wolf to keep from meeting his eyes. “The way Chance feels about you,” Chase replied. My hands froze in the middle of readjusting the hot water bottles, which were still warm—Chase had taken wolf-sitting seriously. “What do you mean how he feels about me?” I swallowed. There were enough complications with my trip back to Red Mountain without stacking another on the pile. “Come on, Scout. You and Chance have been like best friends since the day you first showed up here. You were each other’s wingmen, and when one of you got in trouble, the other was there to help get you out of trouble. I can’t remember a day when you two weren’t at each other’s side for a good portion of the day.” Chase nudged me, which made me wince. Even a soft nudge hurt. “And then one day you just up and leave, and he hardly ever hears from you again. But now you’re back, and it’s like Chance’s long lost best friend has returned from the dead. He’s not going to waste a single second of your being here, even if that means tossing a blanket on you while you’re passed out on the couch.” “I missed him too.” Chase was still watching me. He had an all-seeing kind of look that almost made me wish he’d go back to talking about curses and playing with eight balls. “But you’re still going to leave when John dies, and this time, you won’t come back. Right?” He waited a minute, and when I didn’t answer, he sighed. “Just because you’ve been damaged by one brother doesn’t mean you can go and damage a different one.” My mouth fell open. “Are you implying I’m damaging Chance?” “I didn’t realize I was implying it. I thought I was more along the lines of stating it.” Chase’s voice and expression weren’t unkind, but they hit me like a slap to the face. “Let me get this straight.” I braced my hands on the lip of the pool table and kept my head down. “You’re stating that I damage Chance the way Conn damages me?” “Maybe not in the same way, but you left scars just as deep on Chance when you skipped town and his life as Conn left on you.” Chase stroked the pup while I stewed in disbelief. “That’s not fair,” I said. “That’s the truth.” When my mouth flew open to snap back, he shook his head. “You might not have intended to hurt him, but just because you don’t want it to be true doesn’t mean it isn’t. You hurt Chance. Bad. When he told me you were coming back, I hoped you wouldn’t really. I hoped you’d stay away.” My eyes closed. “Why?” “Because I knew you coming back would get his hopes up. I also knew that when you left, it would be

for good. It’s taken him seven years to be able to say your name without pausing, and I don’t want to see him go through the same shit for another seven years after you leave.” Chase leaned back in his chair, rubbing his eyes with his palms. “Sorry. You know I care about you, but I care about my brother too. I don’t want to see him go through that again. He deserves better than you acting like you’d put us all in the rearview. It was a shit thing to do, and it will be an even shittier thing to do the second time around.” The words were tough to hear and tougher to accept, but Chase was right. Just because I didn’t want to believe I’d hurt Chance didn’t mean I hadn’t. “I know it was a terrible thing to do. And I know it hurt Chance.” “Not to mention the rest of the family who’d spent five years with you,” he said under his breath. “I know I hurt all of you, but it was the only solution I could see to separate myself from Conn. In the process of doing what was right for me, I didn’t stop to consider that my decision was wrong for the rest of you.” Chance twisted his head my direction. “Is that an apology?” “Yeah, it’s an apology.” He puckered his mouth in consideration then nodded. “Then I believe someone else is in need of hearing that same apology.” My shoulders tensed. “I know.” “Good.” When Chase went to nudge me again, I moved out of the way. No more nudges until I’d downed a few ibuprofen. “Hey, listen,” he said. “I know Conn made it a point to mess you up as bad as he was back then. I know it couldn’t have been easy on you, but just because you want to tell one member of the family to fuck off doesn’t mean you have to issue the same to the rest. It kind of seems like in the midst of carving the bad away from your life, you cut off a large chunk of the good too.” I rumpled Chase’s long, messy hair. “Okay, I’ve come to expect these kinds of earth-shaking revelations from Chance, but you’re seriously messing with my worldview right now.” Chase chuckled and lifted his arms. “Just call me twenty-first century Buddha.” I smiled, backing out of the room. “I’m going to hop in the shower then pop back down for breakfast. Want to join me?” Chase’s brows touched the ceiling. “For breakfast.” I rolled my eyes. “Would you like to join me for breakfast?” Chase shook his head a few times, his expression clearing. “Who will watch this guy then?” “He’ll be okay. He won’t be terrorizing anything for another few hours, but after that, we won’t be able to leave him unattended.” Chase stayed quiet for a minute. “So? Breakfast? Will you be there?” I’d pushed the issue too far. I could tell by the way his face shadowed. “Not sure,” he replied with a halfhearted shrug. “I’ll get there when I get there.” The familiar scent of bacon and fried eggs saturated the stairwell as I made my way down one slow step at a time. The hot shower had helped my muscles, and the pain relievers were setting in, but nothing could put a dent in my exhaustion. In addition to my body feeling it, my head did. Being here, having the conversations I’d had with the three brothers—Chase’s being the proverbial straw that broke my back—had left my brain feeling as if it were swimming in a thick, soupy haze. I was having a difficult time weaving through the thought maze of who I should and shouldn’t stay away from and what exactly my role was with the Armstrongs. It was the same question I’d been plagued with when I’d arrived all of those years ago. Somewhere along the way, I’d thought I’d figured out the answer, but whatever it was, I couldn’t recall it anymore.

I’d slid into a well-loved pair of jeans and a loose-fitting T-shirt, wanting to be prepared in case Chance said he needed my help again. I couldn’t guarantee my body wouldn’t break if I did, but I was dressed and ready to go in case. The foyer was quiet, nothing but the antique grandfather clock ticks echoing off the walls. My mouth was just salivating at the thought of sinking my teeth through a thick slice of bacon when the coat closet door jerked open, a hand reached out of it, gripped my wrist and pulled me inside. “What the hell?” I half-hollered as the door shut behind me, settling us in a stifling darkness. “What is this, Conn?” I didn’t need light to know who’d pulled me inside the closet. I’d memorized the way Conn’s touch felt, the way he smelled, and the way he behaved long ago. He was the only person in the house who would pull me into a pitch-black closet without a warning. “I needed to talk to you.” His smoky voice rolled over me. I told myself the goose bumps that erupted on my arms were because of the chill inside the closet, not because of Conn’s voice and its proximity. “And your ideal spot for this discussion was inside some dark closet?” I reached for where I guessed the handle was. I wanted out of there. I needed out of there. I wasn’t strong enough to deflect such a potent dose of Conn. Like I’d learned from Chase, just because I wished I was strong enough to stay away from Conn didn’t mean that was the truth. The truth was that I could still very much feel his pull on me. Like opposite ends of a magnet, we were drawn together whether we wanted to be or not. “It’s as good a place as any,” was his reply. “Then either you need to remember to take them or go get a prescription for some crazy pills, because I don’t want to talk to you in some dusty, mothball-scented coat closet.” When my hand found the doorknob and twisted it open, Conn’s hand clamped down on mine, stopping me from throwing the door open. “What? Would you have preferred the shower?” When I tried to shake off his hand, his grip went to my wrist, and instead of loosening, it tightened. Grabbing my shoulder, he whipped me around and had my back against the wall before I knew what he was doing. “I know I would have preferred the shower.” His hot breath fogged against my neck, clouding my head and my senses. “Let me go,” I said firmly, trying to stay calm. Trying to pretend that having his body so close to mine didn’t make me feel the same things it had before I ran away. Conn kept my shoulder pinned to the door with his shoulder, his chest brushing mine with every breath I took. “I don’t want to.” “Funny, given that pushing me away and fucking with me was what you seemed to live for when I lived here.” I couldn’t see him, but I clamped my eyes closed in an attempt to put some distance between him and me. I felt Conn’s smile slide into place. That twisted, tilted one I’d been so enamored with. “You and I both know we never got to the fucking with each other part.” He stepped closer until his hips fit against mine, pressing me into the door until I felt like I would be swallowed by it. “We could change that now though. You wanted it then, but you were a naïve, gullible girl who wouldn’t have known the first thing about being with a man. Now though . . .” When I felt his lips brush my neck, I tried to shove him away. I couldn’t though. Conn was too strong. He always had been. No matter how hard I’d pushed, I could never shove him away. “Now you’re a woman who’s got some experience under her belt.” Conn’s fingers curled around one of my belt loops. “Now, instead of some pathetic pity fuck, I might actually enjoy myself.” His words were like poison . . . at the same time, they were like honey. I was like an addict. I’d thought I’d kicked the habit years ago, and I’d been clean for close to a decade, but having my drug of choice so close, tempting me, made me almost give in.

Almost. “That would make one of us who’d enjoy themselves,” I fired back, trying to twist free again. The harder I fought, the more his grip tightened. I was like a fish caught in a net, just getting more tangled up. “You can cut it out now. I can see through the act, and there’s no one around you need to convince that you’re over me.” I smelled the familiar scent of Conn’s shampoo. I could almost taste the spice from his aftershave. One sense at a time, Conn was overtaking me. Still, for every moment I wanted him to fold me into his arms, I wanted to push him away with every other moment. He was pushing through my barriers, but he hadn’t pierced them yet. “It’s not an act.” My voice was too breathy. He didn’t miss it either. “No?” He leaned in closer until I felt like every part of my body was somehow connected to him. “Then prove it.” Tequila tainted his breath and no doubt twisted games tainted his mind, but his heart . . . for the first time, it was beating as hard as mine. With his chest pressed against mine, I felt it thundering so quickly, it was impossible to distinguish one beat from the next. Since our game of push and pull had begun over a decade ago, this was the only time Conn’s body had ever responded to mine in such a way. Whether it was excitement or fear or arousal or something else, he was feeling something so strongly it was playing out physically. I knew if I lifted my lips to his, he would kiss me back. I also knew that if I wanted to do more than kiss, he would keep up. I’d wanted Conn so badly for so long he’d been the first thing on my mind in the morning and the last before I fell asleep. I felt like five years of wishing and longing and hoping had created this moment—I could have him. When I moved against him again, his grip loosened, most likely in anticipation of me doing all of these things we both knew I’d wanted to do. I lifted my hands to his chest, but instead of curling them into his shirt, I shoved him. Hard. From the sound of the thud, followed by a curse, I guessed I’d pushed him hard enough to smack into the back wall of the closet. “How’s that for proving it?” I said, twisting the doorknob. “Don’t do that again unless you want to wind up with another needle in your neck.” I didn’t wait for him to say anything, and I sure wasn’t going to wait around for him to do anything else. The moment the door was open, I flew out of it and slammed it closed. If only it were so easy to close the door on every other aspect of Conn. Once I was out of the foyer, I stopped to catch my breath and collect my wits. I’d done it. I’d walked away from Conn when he was crooking his finger, inviting me closer. It hadn’t been a solid defeat—as my entire circulatory system could attest—but it had been as close to a success as I’d ever gotten with Conn. I waited in the hallway until my heartbeat had returned to normal and my breathing had calmed, then I continued into the dining room. John was sitting at the head of the table, his body swallowed by the highback chair he used to seem too large for. A few piles of pureed slop dotted his plate, and a few other plates were set around him at the table. They were all empty. His nurse sat in a chair beside him, lifting a spoon to his lips with some of the pea-soup green slop on it. She had to feed him. My chest ached as I watched the strongest man I’d ever met be spoon-fed while it seemed to take every ounce of his strength to keep from sliding out of his chair. “Good morning,” I said as I approached the table with hesitant steps. If it was so hard for me to be in the same room with John, I could imagine how difficult it must be for his sons. It wasn’t enough to excuse them from it, but it was an explanation. “Am I too late?” John’s head turned slowly in my direction. What I guessed was a smile pulled at his mouth as he shook his head. It sounded like he said, “Never,” but I couldn’t be sure. His voice was so quiet and broken it

was like trying to interpret a toddler’s first words. When he patted the table, I understood what that meant. “Sorry, I had a late night and got . . . sidetracked on my way here this morning.” Yeah, sidetracked by a twisted son of a bitch wanting to play his twisted games. John shook his head and tried to vocalize something, but it wouldn’t come to fruition. I saw the frustration settle into his face, and I felt my own build as I watched him struggle to form a word. Finally he gave up and lifted his shaking hand. His fingers moved into a familiar symbol. “Okay?” I interpreted. John nodded, the folds of frustration falling from his forehead. I smiled when I realized the man who’d put punctuality high on the list was now flashing me an okay symbol for showing up half an hour late to breakfast. After stopping behind one of the chairs on John’s right, I slid it out and took a seat. The house was eerily quiet. I heard nothing but Mrs. Baker bustling around inside the kitchen and the breeze rustling the leaves of the Japanese maple just outside the open window across from me. I was used to that room being filled with noise: knives and forks scraping against plates, coffee cups set on saucers, and most especially, conversation. Whether it had been Chase and John arguing about who would go to the Super Bowl that year or Chance going on and on with the ranch report or Conn throwing in his two snarky cents, noise had always been in more abundance than the food at that table. That wasn’t the case anymore. Since John was replacing words with symbols, it didn’t look like noise would be returning any time soon. I could carry on a conversation well enough, but I wasn’t sure how long I could go on with a onesided conversation. “Would you like some coffee, Scout?” the nurse asked, lifting the familiar silver coffee pot. “Thank you.” I held my cup across the table, and she filled it for me. Two days ago, she’d been quite a spunky thing, but today she was quiet, and the whites of her eyes bloodshot. That meant she’d been up a good portion of the night or she’d been crying. Neither was a good sign. John’s time was running out, seeming to pick up speed with every day that went by. “Did everyone sleep well?” I asked when I couldn’t figure out what to say next. I couldn’t ask John how his day had been yesterday or what he’d worked on, as I had before. No more stories about crazy adventures on the ranch or who he’d had dinner with. John struggled to get a word out and struggled some more until he decided to make another okay symbol. I worked up a smile. “Yeah, me too.” “Some days are better than others for speech,” the nurse said, giving John’s hand a squeeze in the most natural kind of way—as though she’d spent a lifetime doing it. Knowing that someone who actually cared and was good at her job was seeing John to the end was a small comfort. “Today’s not such a good day.” I worked up another smile for her, wondering how many more smiles I’d have to force before breakfast was over. I wanted to be able to smile for real. I wanted something to be happy about, but nothing staggered around the dining room table was something to celebrate. When I continued to sit with my plate empty as I took sips of my coffee, John motioned at the table. A word that was close enough to eat to understand came from him. I was somewhere between ravenous and starving thanks to the day I’d had yesterday, but how could I just dive into the fried eggs, bacon, and thicksliced sourdough bread when John’s breakfast consisted of slop I wouldn’t even scrape into the pig trough? Another eat come from him, this one quieter and less distinguishable. I wanted to—I’d eaten hundreds of meals at that table, probably thousands—but nothing seemed right. First, John was nothing like the man I remembered. Second, three other chairs were empty. Finally, it just didn’t feel the same. I felt like I was at a funeral—when I said good morning, what I meant was good-bye.

“Well, if you’re not going to eat, I sure as hell am. Besides, it doesn’t look like Mrs. Baker made enough for the two of us anyway.” When I looked up to match the voice to the person, it took me a few seconds to believe that Chase Armstrong was in the dining room. Pulling out the chair at his normal spot. Sitting and scraping a pile of bacon onto his plate. If I looked surprised Chase was there, acting as if it was no big deal at all, John looked shocked. But in a good way. I watched him watch his son like he could watch Chase dig into breakfast for the rest of his life. “You got here,” I said, taking the plate of bacon when Chase handed it over. He looked at me as he scraped butter on his toast. There was a light in his eyes again that I’d thought had been blown out forever. “I told you I’d get here when I got here.” I dropped some bacon onto my plate while Faye filled Chase’s coffee cup. Just with the addition of Chase, I felt stronger. “One hell of a morning, isn’t it, Dad?” Chase lifted his coffee cup at John before taking a long drink. John couldn’t toast back, but he did nod, his eyes looking glassier than they had before as he stared at his oldest son. I wasn’t sure if John was getting all sentimental because one of his sons was sitting at the table with him again or if, like me, he was relieved to see Chase crawling his way out of the darkness, resembling part of the man everyone knew and loved. “Save some for everyone else, Chase,” I scolded half-heartedly as he stacked a half dozen fried eggs onto his plate. I knew no one else was coming to breakfast—Conn was probably still stewing in the closet and Chance was working his ass off in some field or barn—but it felt good to give someone a hard time around the table. Teasing had set the tone of most of our meals, and I wanted to see if that was a place we could get back to. Chase shrugged, stuffing a whole piece of bacon into his mouth. “Hey, I told you there wasn’t enough for both of us.” He crunched into the bacon. “I’m so hungry my stomach is about to stage a revolution if I don’t down some serious food.” “From the looks of that heart attack on a plate, you haven’t eaten in days.” When I stared at Chase’s plate, which could have fed a family of five, I realized that might have been true. He’d lost a lot of weight and hadn’t seemed able to recognize cravings such as hunger or thirst. After washing down another piece of bacon with some coffee, Chase nodded. “I feel like I haven’t. I’ve been too damn busy with that wolf . . .” My head whipped in his direction first, finding his whole face creased into a grimace, before both our heads slowly turned toward the head of the table where one anti-wolf ranch owner sat. From the look on John’s face, I couldn’t tell if he’d heard or understood what Chase had just said. I had planned to tell John about the wolf pup that morning—I couldn’t keep it a secret from him—but Chase casually dropping it into breakfast conversation wasn’t the way I’d planned to bring up the topic of nursing a wolf back to health on his pool table. Across the table, Chase mouthed a quick, “Sorry.” “So yeah . . .” How did I put this in a gentle way that wouldn’t shock the hell out of him? “John, I found a wolf pup out in Deep Creek Valley when Chance and I were out checking on the mustangs yesterday morning. His mother’s dead or gone and he was dying, so I brought him back with us, and I’m trying to fix him.” I swallowed, realizing that nothing about my explanation had been gentle. Maybe I should just nix the next part . . . “He’s in the house. In the library.” Chase gave me a familiar look—one that read abort or risk loss of limb or life. “On your pool table,” I finished in a rush. I was almost afraid to look at John—not because of what his answer would mean for me, but what it would mean for the wolf. This was John’s place. If he said he wanted that wolf off his land, what could I

do? I could hardly pack him up and fly him back to Washington with me. Even if I could, my apartment barely fit me and my futon. I wasn’t about to call a zoo or sanctuary. Although they were better than letting an animal die, more often than not, the animals there lived short, unnatural lives. John’s word was rule on his ranch, and even though I’d never considered him an unfair man, I knew he wasn’t the type of person whose mind could be changed once it was made up. From the corner of my eyes, I saw John’s trembling hand lift. Slowly, it formed a misshapen okay sign. I felt my mouth drop open. Across from me, Chase stopped chewing mid-bite. John’s eyes found mine, a rare warmth in them, and he nodded. “I’ll be damned,” Chase said under his breath, dropping his toast onto his plate. “They say you can’t teach an old dog new tricks, but here’s this one rolling out the welcome mat for a wolf.” “Really? It’s okay?” I couldn’t quite believe it, but unlike so many things that had changed around there, this was a welcome change. His hand stayed in the air a moment longer, the okay symbol holding for another beat before his hand went from trembling to quaking and fell onto the table. His face showed that he’d just exerted some serious effort. “Thank you. You have no idea how much this means to me.” I wanted to get up and hug him. I wanted to get up and dance. But I stayed in my seat and finally took a bite of breakfast. As usual, Mrs. Baker’s fried eggs were like silken divinity—yolks still a touch runny, fried in bacon fat. I’d gotten so used to egg whites scrambled with cooking spray that I’d forgotten what “good” tasted like. “Not that I’m not happy about this, but mind telling me who or what is responsible for getting the wolf-hater to agree to let one live under his roof?” Chase’s initial shock must have passed because he was busy stuffing another piece of toast with egg and bacon on top into his mouth. I saw that John wanted to answer. I also saw it was impossible. He looked at his nurse, a silent exchange passing between them before it ended with her nodding. “We had an early morning visitor,” she said, angling in her chair to face Chase and me. “He explained about the wolf and got John to understand how important it was to you. John’s mind was already made up before you even asked.” She winked at me. “And who says this guy doesn’t have a soft heart?” My gaze lifted to Chase. With as much care and attention as he’d shown for the wolf, it must have been him. “So what kind’s your favorite now? It seems I’ve got a case of beer to pick up as a thank you.” The skin between Chase’s brows folded. “What? If you think I’d be the first person to bring up the words ‘wolf’ and ‘pool table’ in the same sentence, then you’re living under the impression that I’ve got way bigger huevos than I’m in possession of.” Chase stabbed a fried egg and lifted it. “Literally speaking, of course.” I rolled my eyes. “If something lewd can be implied with you, Chase, it is. Nice try though. I know exactly which huevos you’re referring to.” I shouldn’t have smiled—it only encouraged him—but I couldn’t help it. He was teasing me, making light of life again and living it as if it was all one big punch line after another. Chase Armstrong was coming back. “So if it wasn’t you, who was it?” His eyes lifted to the ceiling. “That you have to ask that tells me just how clueless you are when it comes to real-life people and real-life situations.” “Why don’t you tell me who it was then, Mr. Reality? Since you’re the only down-to-earth one at the table.” I spread a layer of blackberry jam on my toast and took a bite. The bread had been made that morning, and the berries in the jam picked from the garden last summer and preserved with just the right amount of sugar. I could have moaned out loud. “If you try playing a game of twenty guesses, I’ll fling a pat of butter at your face.” Chase sliced a healthy chunk of butter from the stick, cocking a brow in the process. I looked at John for an answer, but he seemed to enjoy watching Chase and me squabble like a couple of teenagers again. When Chase loaded the pat of butter onto his spoon and tilted it back into launch

position, the nurse sighed. “Oh, for heaven’s sake . . . it was Chance. He swung by your dad’s room before he left this morning and told him everything. It’s fine. The wolf’s fine. For now. When it gets bigger and starts licking its chops when it sees my meaty white thighs in shorts, we might have to address some boundaries.” Chase barked out a laugh, spreading the butter onto his toast instead of flinging it at my face. “Everything’s good to go, so why don’t you two eat more and bicker less?” she said. “A-OK with the eat more part, but no promises on the bicker less.” Chase winked at me, shoving half a piece of toast into his mouth. “One of the few things Scout and I do really well is not see eye-to-eye.” “Except on the wolf. We seem to see eye-to-eye on that issue.” Following Chase’s lead, I stacked a few pieces of bacon onto a piece of toast, layered a couple of eggs on top, and completed the masterpiece with one more piece of toast. When I smashed it all together, yolk drizzled down the sides and dripped onto my plate. “The tie that binds.” Chase lifted his arms out at his sides. “Go figure that a scrawny, half-dead wolf pup would be the thing that brings this family together.” I finished chewing before replying. Some of us might have been okay with acting like cavemen at the dining room table, but I still had some standards. “Fixing something, saving a life, doesn’t seem like a bad way to bring people together. It’s better than someone needing fixing or someone losing a life . . .” My voice trailed off when I realized what I’d just said. The reason we’d all reconvened on Red Mountain was because of John’s impending death. He’d assembled his family at the pinnacle of his demise. How I’d been so insensitive could only be explained with utter stupidity or not enough coffee. “I’m sorry, John. Everyone. That was an insensitive thing to say, and not what I meant about us and this situation.” Of course that was what I meant about this situation, but I’d done enough damage, no need to do more. I didn’t want to be bound to the people in my life by death—I wanted life to tie us together. John muttered something I couldn’t understand then lifted his hand a few inches, hitching his thumb into the air. He was replying with a thumbs-up. I wasn’t sure if that was a thumbs-up that he agreed with what I’d just stupidly vocalized, or a thumbs-up that it was okay and he’d forgiven me for what I’d said, but either way, it made me feel better. “Am I to take the silence to mean the food’s just that good or you’re all just holding your breaths waiting for me to show my pretty face?” Chance burst into the dining room via the kitchen, wiping his hands on a towel. He had a wide smile. Chase twisted in his chair to look at Chance. “Neither, brother. We were staying quiet hoping you wouldn’t find us.” When Chance was done with the towel, he lobbed it at Chase, and it parachuted over his face. “Nice to see you at the table. I didn’t realize pajama bottoms and slippers were standard breakfast attire.” Chance winked at me as he clapped his hands over his brother’s shoulders. Chase swiped away his brother’s hands good-naturedly. “I work in an office. That means I get to wear whatever I want to breakfast and maybe think about showing up before lunchtime after I force myself into a suit and tie. Unlike those poor chumps who wake up at the ass-crack of dawn and pull on a pair of tight jeans and shit-coated boots to go work themselves to death when they’ve got a trust fund that would make a Rockefeller green.” Chance grabbed a piece of bacon from Chase’s plate and shoved it into his mouth. “I can sense your jealousy. Not all of us are cut out for day in and day out of hard labor. Some are forced to toil the day away in air-conditioned offices, with a water cooler right around the corner, nodding their heads and shaking hands.” “It’s a rough life.” Chase shoved Chance’s arm away when he reached for another piece of bacon. “I know. I wouldn’t last a day doing what you do. My hat’s off to you.” Sliding off his hat, Chance hooked it on the back of the empty chair beside me then swung by his dad’s chair. “Good morning, Dad.

Kicking ass and taking names?” As natural as if his father hadn’t been reduced to Parkinson’s worst nightmare, Chance slung his arms around him and gave him a tight squeeze. What sounded like a laugh, or close to it, fell from John’s lips. After waving at the nurse, Chance came around behind me and slid into the chair beside me. He scooted closer, inspecting my sandwich with hungry eyes. “Busy morning?” I said, already reaching for the knife to cut my breakfast in half. While I’d been sleeping those few extra hours, Chance had probably gotten a barn painted and three thousand cows handwashed . . . or something close to that. Chance thanked me with a nudge when I set the sandwich half on his plate. “Every morning’s busy.” He dove into his sandwich and tore off a good-sized chunk. “How are you feeling?” “Like I might as well have gotten stampeded by all of those mustangs yesterday.” Chance stopped chewing and appraised me with concern. “Let me go grab this great ointment for sore muscles.” He shoved out his chair. “Black Hawk’s mom makes it and sells it at the Saturday market on the reservation. It’s helped every hurt muscle I’ve ever had, which has pretty much been every muscle on my body.” I would have called him back with a “thanks but no thanks,” but Chance had already loped out of the room. Chase shook his head at where Chance had disappeared. “If he’s not in the saddle or his truck, that guy cannot sit still for thirty seconds, I swear. If that’s not a restless soul at work, I don’t know what it is.” I’d never really thought about it because being busy was just who Chance was, but hearing Chase say it that way made me look at it differently. Chance redefined the concept of multi-tasking, but he didn’t need to be that busy. Chase was right—each of them had such a large trust fund that none of them needed to lift a finger for the rest of their lives. Chance put little value in money and idleness, but still . . . it was almost as though he was afraid of being still and quiet. Like he wanted to keep something stowed away and the only way to keep if from surfacing was to stay busy from waking to sleeping. “So that office job that’s so rough . . .” I looked at Chase, who seemed almost full. It had only taken a slab of bacon and a carton of eggs to achieve that great feat. “When are you planning on heading back to it?” Chase had headed up the Armstrongs’ commercial real estate and development empire from the time he (barely) graduated college. It turned out Chase had been even more successful with college girls than he had been with the local girls . . . against all odds. “Eventually,” Chase answered with a small shrug. “Maybe.” “Maybe? What do you mean maybe?” Chase leaned back in his chair, his eyes going to that far away place again. “I mean maybe. I’m not sure which direction my life’s going to take after all this. I’m not sure I can go back to the same office, mingle with the same people, hold the same business meetings . . . after everything that’s happened. My life’s changed. How can I just go back to living it the way I used to?” I looked at John, like I always used to when someone needed to step in and say something I couldn’t, but John’s eyes were glassy again. His expression was pained as he stared at his son seeming to shrink before our eyes. I cleared my throat. “You’ll never go back to living your life the way it was before, but you’ll need to eventually figure out what kind of life you want to live from now on. You were good at your job. You seemed to enjoy it, and the people you worked with loved you. As far as something to take with you from your past life to this one, your job seems like a no-brainer.” Chase shook his head. “It’s not that easy.” I leaned forward. “No, it’s not easy. It’s hard, and it will be every single day, until one morning you wake up and realize that crawling out of bed that time wasn’t as hard as it was the time before, and that

begins a pattern of each day getting a fraction easier to face than the one before it.” I paused to take a breath. “But you can’t get to that place until you’re ready to say good-bye to this place.” “What place is this place?” Chase’s voice was almost as far away as his expression. Not the direction I was hoping he’d take. My mother’s face flashed before my eyes. First the version I remembered, with smile lines and freckles from summers spent in the sun, then the version of her face frozen in death. “The place where you keep waiting for Jenny to come back.” Chase froze. “She’s dead.” “I know. But I know telling yourself that and accepting that are different things that take a while. I know you remind yourself she’s dead and that you buried her and that you miss her every single second of every day.” When Chase’s eyes clamped closed, I almost closed my mouth and dove back into lighthearted banter, but I couldn’t. Only a fool would believe that the mourning process could be compartmentalized into the timeframe immediately following the person’s death. A fool might believe the mourning process didn’t last a lifetime. Unless a person figured out how to deal with the pain, they would spend their lives either hiding from it or running from it. From my experience, it was best to embrace it, let it have its way every now and again, and move on. “But she’s gone. She’s not coming back. I know you wish you’d died with her, but you’re still here. Alive. Eventually you’re going to have to figure out how to live.” Chase inhaled slowly then exhaled even slower. Just when I was sure he would storm out and never come back to the dining table or me, he nodded. “I know. I know, Scout, but I’m just not ready to put that last nail in her coffin, you know? Soon, just not yet.” When he looked at me, I smiled. “Of course I know that. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t be preaching at you like I know what I’m talking about. If you need help with that last nail, you know where to find me.” Chase’s face cleared some, and he worked up a smile. “Yeah, I know where to find you. Battling me for the last few pieces of bacon.” The sudden shift in his mood made me laugh. What I guessed was John’s laugh sounded right after mine. I stabbed my fork through the last piece of bacon as Chase reached for it. “Get your hands off my meat.” “Ew, Scout, do you have to be so lewd? I mean, come on, this is a family breakfast, not a girls’ night at the club.” I lifted my fork with the bacon hanging from it. “Whatever, huevos man.” Chase’s deep, vibrating laugh joined John’s. Even the nurse joined in, and the dining room filled with the noise I remembered it being saturated with. That was when Chance came jogging back into the dining room, looking around as though he couldn’t believe his eyes or ears. “What’s this sound? It’s vaguely familiar, but it’s been so long I can’t remember what it’s called.” Chance tapped his ear and made his way back to his chair. “It’s the sound of us laughing at Scout schooling me,” Chase answered, shoving his empty plate away and reaching for his coffee. Chance leaned into me. “Next time, wait to do that until I’m back so I can bear witness and join in with the whole laughter thing.” Clinking his coffee cup against mine, he set a small jar in front of me. “Your muscles can thank me later.” My eyes narrowed as I examined the jar’s contents. It looked like it had the consistency of slime, and I couldn’t decide if the color was more gray or brown. Either way, it wasn’t a color that made me eager to go and rub that stuff all over my body. “Thank you?” I lifted the jar and unscrewed the cap. Big mistake. It smelled only about a billion times worse than it looked.

“Holy monkey funk.” Chase covered his nose, thrusting back from the table. “Put the cap back on and call in the haz mat team. That is toxic sludge, not icey-hottie substitute.” Clamping the lid back on the jar, I made it a point to breathe through my mouth until the stench had dissipated some. Chance barely seemed to notice as he shoveled in the remnants of his half sandwich. “Where did you say you got this stuff?” I set the jar on the floor beneath my chair. “Black Hawk’s mom makes it. She has a whole line of medicinal remedies made from things that come from the earth. Nothing synthetic, fabricated, or grown in a lab in that stuff.” Chance waved his sandwich at the floor where the jar of toxic waste was probably burning a hole through the wood. “Unfortunately,” I mouthed at Chase, who still had his nose covered because he was the smart one. I turned back to Chance. “I don’t know how to tell you this, so I’m just going to put it out there. Either Black Hawk has pulled a serious prank on you or his mom wanted to curse you with that stuff . . .” My face fell. Tally number two on the board for Scout saying the worst possible thing at the worst possible time. I had to be more careful with everyday expressions at that table, at that place, with those people. I always had, but I’d gotten out of practice. Too much bad history and superstition floated within those walls to even casually mention the word curse. “Yeah, I didn’t really mean that either. Not in, you know, that way.” The laughter and lightness had been sucked out of the room. When I looked around the table, I saw two solemn faces, one doing her best to be sympathetically solemn, and one understanding. Chance’s hand found mine under the table and gave it a squeeze. It was so gentle I could have thought a child’s hand was wound through mine, but he managed to relay both comfort and support in that simple touch. Even though John was staring at that glass jar with a blend of anger and remorse from the mention of a curse and Chase, from the look on his face, was remembering the scene he’d found that day on the highway, I felt strength enter me, instead of weakness. Somehow, having Chance’s hand in mine gave me a strength that made me believe there was no storm life could throw at me that I couldn’t weather. I don’t know if it was his strength or mine that grew from that touch, but I felt so strong that even if all of the world’s problems had been dumped on me, I could have kept moving forward. Right then, nothing could have stopped me. “So, Dad, when should we be expecting Mr. Harper next month?” Chance’s voice cut through our contemplations, bringing us all back to the moment. “You know, just so I can make sure Mrs. Baker prepares his favorite meal and has the temperature set at just the right setting when he arrives.” Chance and Chase exchanged a look, no doubt challenging the other to see who would laugh first. Mr. Harper was John’s attorney, and he was such a particular, odd duck that we’d secretly called him Mr. Quacker behind his back . . . until Chase had slipped and said it to his face and John had about blown his lid. Ever since then, we’d been careful not to mention that name. John mumbled a string of words. I couldn’t make out a single one, but Chance nodded. “Next Saturday? Why so soon? I thought he wasn’t supposed to come until the week after.” John didn’t have to answer that question. Mine, the nurse’s, and Chase’s heads turned toward Chance, our eyes wide with disbelief. Why would John move an important meeting with the family lawyer up a week? Because he wasn’t sure how much longer he had. Chance swallowed, the remains of his sandwich falling back onto the plate. “Never mind. Stupid question.” He shook his head. “So the big meeting with Mr. Harper is next Saturday? Can’t wait to find out what this big reveal is.” When Chance looked at me, I could tell he wasn’t looking forward to the meeting. We’d learned enough about life at Red Mountain to realize that no good news would be coming at us on Saturday. That only left the other kind of news. When his hand started to slip from mine, my fingers curled deeper around his, pressing ours palms

back together. I’d let him go for seven years. I wasn’t letting go again.



I HAD A simple question to ask Chance. Questions didn’t come much simpler. I wanted to know if I could borrow his truck to head into town. I would explain that I wanted to swing by a few of my favorite galleries and check out the new collections and artists, but the truth wasn’t quite as simple. The truth was that I needed to get away from Red Mountain and the heaviness that came with it. This place had always had a stagnant air of discord, but it had only grown thicker in the years since I’d left. I needed a break. I needed a chance to breathe air that wasn’t so saturated with sadness, but I could walk a few miles in any direction and still be on Red Mountain Ranch. So I needed a car. I didn’t know why it felt so important that it be Chance’s truck, but it did. Maybe because I was familiar with it or maybe because it was old and banged up enough that I wouldn’t sweat making sure it didn’t get dinged or scratched. Whatever the reason, I needed to get away, and I needed Chance’s truck to do so. Chance, however, was coming up missing in just about every place I looked for him. The house, barn, and back forty included. The last I’d seen him was at breakfast. He’d been a no-show at lunch, which wasn’t a big surprise, and I’d waited until every seat had emptied and the plates had been cleared at dinner before accepting he wasn’t showing up. I was still slumped in my chair at the dinner table when Faye shoved through the kitchen door, a plate with a slab of cheesecake in her hand. “What have you lost?” she asked when she found me still slouched over the table. I felt my eyebrows pull together as I gave her a confused look. “That look on your face. You’ve lost something.” She circled her fork at me. “What is it you’ve lost?” “I haven’t lost anything.” I checked the dining room doorway for the hundredth time. Just like the ninety-nine times before, he wasn’t there. “I’m waiting for Chance. I’ve been looking for him all day but haven’t been able to find him.” Faye tilted her head from side to side. “Lost or looking. Pretty much one and the same if you ask me.” She cut off a triangle of cheesecake with the side of her fork. “I’m not a technology buff, but haven’t there been these great things known as cell phones around for the past couple decades? Those contraptions come in handy when you’re ‘looking’ for someone.” I blew out a disgruntled breath. I liked Faye taking care of John, but I didn’t like Faye trying to take care of me. “I wanted to ask him something in person, not over the phone.” Again, why was it so important I ask him if I could borrow his truck specifically, in person specifically, were conditions I didn’t want to spend too much time analyzing. I was fairly sure what conclusions I’d arrive at. Popping a bite of cheesecake into her mouth, she gave me an appraising look. “Well, sitting around this table moping won’t help you find him. I know you didn’t ask for my advice, but I’m going to give it to you anyway: don’t lose that boy.” I fidgeted. “I don’t know what you’re—” Faye pointed her fork in my direction again. “I’ve seen the way he looks at you, and I’ve seen the way

you look back. I’ve barely been around either of you these past couple of days, but it’s been enough to see there’s something going on between you two. He’s a good boy. You seem like a good girl. Together you could be great.” Stabbing another piece of cheesecake with her fork, she lifted an eyebrow. “So what are you waiting for?” I slid out of my chair, in a hurry to get out of the dining room. “I don’t think I’m comfortable having this conversation with you . . .” Faye chuckled as I walked to the door. “You’re not even comfortable having this conversation with yourself, sweetheart.” Her voice wasn’t unkind, even her words weren’t, but I didn’t like that what I felt for Chance was so evident that someone who was almost a stranger had picked up on it in a mere few days. If it was obvious to Faye, was it just as obvious to Chance? God, I hoped not. I couldn’t deny I felt something for him, but I wasn’t able or ready to assign a designation to what that something was. Not yet. “Good night, Faye,” I said before slipping out of the dining room. “Good luck with your search,” she called before clearing her throat. “But if you want a little help with it . . . Chance is up in John’s room with him right now.” I paused in the hallway and sighed. “Thank you.” “Don’t mention it. Just make sure I’m on the guest list when and if you two finally get your stuff figured out. At my age and in my line of work, I get invited to ten times more funerals than I do weddings, and I’d like to tip those scales some.” I closed my eyes and found myself ruing the day observant, blunt nurses were created. “Goodnight. Again.” I hurried down the rest of the hall before she could add anything else. As I headed up the stairs to John’s room, I did my best to clear my head of everything she’d just said and implied. I’d been messing with my head enough—I didn’t need someone else helping. When I was just outside John’s room, I paused. The door was cracked open, and a sliver of light came through it. I heard voices coming from within, but they were quiet, muffled almost. I lightly knocked on the door and waited a few moments before pushing it open. John’s room was empty, his bed turned down for the night and his window cracked open just the way he liked it. Even in the dead of winter, he had to have it open a bit. He said he couldn’t breathe without fresh mountain air rolling through the house. I listened again and made out where the voices were coming from: John’s bathroom. I mainly just heard Chance’s voice, but every few sentences, a grunt or a slurred word from John found its way into the conversation. After crossing the bedroom, I peeked through the crack in the bathroom door. What I saw made me both want to smile and cry. John was sitting in a chair behind the sink, his head tilted back so his neck was exposed. Chance kneeled in front of him, carefully shaving long, slow swipes up John’s neck. After each swipe, Chance dipped the blade into the sink full of water to clean it before he went back to shaving his father’s face. He was concentrating hard, as evidenced by his tongue just barely sticking out and his brows drawing together every time he settled the blade against John’s neck. “If the summer keeps up with this hot trend like they’re forecasting, we’re going to be in trouble. Too much sun means too little rain means too little grass to graze on. I’m not excited about the idea of hauling in hay in August.” Chance was rambling, his eyes not seeming to blink as he wielded the razor. When Chance dipped it into the sink, John grunted some sort of reply, although I couldn’t make it out. “Yeah, that’s a possibility.” Chance nodded as he lowered the razor to John’s neck. “I suppose we’ll just have to do what we ranchers adapted to a long time ago and take it a day at a time.” I could have just knocked to announce myself. I knew I would have been invited in. I could have said hi and finally asked Chance my question, but instead, I backed away from the door and out of John’s room. Chance and John were sharing a moment too intimate to throw myself into. I didn’t know why a son shaving his dying father’s face felt so private—I felt as if I’d just walked in a couple making love—but I

couldn’t interrupt them. They had few moments like those left. In my room, I flipped on the lights and kept the door open a crack so that when Chance left his dad’s room and walked by, I could catch him. To kill some time, I decided to finally unpack my suitcase. I’d been putting it off for a bunch of reasons, but it was clear to me now that this wouldn’t be a get-in-andget-out-quickly kind of trip. When I was done, I started weeding through the old clothes and shoes I’d left behind. John hadn’t had them packed up and dropped off at some thrift store the way I guessed most people would have. In fact, most of the boots were still lined up how I used to keep them, and the shirts still hung from one side of the closet and the pants on the other. Nothing had changed about my room, but everything around it seemed to have. From the people to the place . . . this room was the only part of Red Mountain that had been frozen in time. Other than Chance. When I thought of him, I crawled out of the closet and found I’d killed a whole hour sorting through my old junk. With a grumble, I headed for the door. I guessed Chance was long gone from John’s room, and the darkness at the end of the hall confirmed that, so I headed to the first floor. I was about to go to the kitchen, guessing he was there with the cheesecake Faye had been enjoying earlier, when I heard the voice of the person I was looking for coming from a different room. Moving toward the library, I paused to the side of the door—again—so I wouldn’t interrupt. Chance was talking with Chase, although it didn’t look like Chase was in the mood to have whatever conversation they were having. “Come on. Why don’t you come out and help me tomorrow morning?” Chance’s voice trickled into the still hall. “It’ll be good for you.” Chase let out a sharp exhale. “Good for me?” Then another sharp exhale. “Chance, come on. Some girl didn’t just stand me up on our first date. My wife died. In her twenties. Because of me.” A thud sounded as I guessed whatever Chase was close to had just gotten introduced to his fist. “There’s nothing I can do or you can do or anyone can do, short of bringing Jenny back to life, that will be ‘good for me.’” “That’s not what I meant,” Chance replied. “I’m not trying to get you to forget. I’m just hoping to take your mind off it for a few hours.” Chase laughed a few high notes. “Have you ever considered that maybe I don’t want to take my mind off it? Have you ever considered that you don’t have the answers to every problem? Have you ever considered that not all of us are so damn perfect like you?” Chase’s voice continued to rise until it was booming. “I’m not, nor do I pretend to be, perfect, so why don’t you let that theory go right now?” For the first time in their conversation, I detected an edge in Chance’s voice. Chase replied with another sharp laugh. “Could have fooled me and everyone else who’s ever had the privilege of meeting Mr. Perfect.” “Chase—” “Just leave me the fuck alone.” The volume was gone from Chase’s voice, leaving behind the pain. “I don’t want to talk about it. I don’t want to be distracted. I don’t want to be mended. Just leave me alone.” They were silent for so long I almost stuck my head in the doorway to see what was happening. That was when Chase’s voice dialed up a few notches. “Now. Leave me alone.” When I heard footsteps getting closer, I crept down the dark hall, not wanting to be seen. That was yet another conversation I didn’t want Chance to know I’d overheard. It was one I wished I hadn’t overheard. When Chance thundered out of the library, he turned down the hall and headed for the foyer. His shoulders were tense, his steps thunderous. I wasn’t used to seeing him like that, which might have been the reason I cowered for a few extra minutes before following him out the front door. I didn’t think to grab a jacket before stepping into the cool night, nor did I consider grabbing a flashlight before heading out into the dark. All I was concerned with was finding Chance. My question for

him took a backseat to my desire to make sure he was okay. I guessed he knew, as I did, that Chase was lashing out from a place of pain and guilt, but that didn’t always make a person feel better. Lunging across the yard toward the barn, I listened for any noises that would give away where Chance had disappeared to. I felt like I’d spent the whole night chasing Chance and still hadn’t caught up. Outside the barn, I listened. The only sounds coming from within were the noises of the animals bedding down for the night. His truck was still parked out front, so he couldn’t have driven off. Where would he have gone? I blew out a tired breath when I realized that Chance could be headed anywhere on the thousands of acres around us. He knew it all, and disappearing was probably as simple of a decision as what direction his boots took him. I should have caught him before he’d escaped through the front door. I should have called out to him in the hall. Now I wasn’t sure when I’d see him next. The next sounds I heard weren’t what I’d have considered typical noises on a ranch in the middle of nowhere. Nope, they were something different: a series of low grunts followed thunks! and whacks! that echoed around the area. Running toward where it was coming from, I found him behind the barn, clutching what looked like a crowbar. He swung it again and again into a large fence post. The post was already leaning at a forty-five degree angle—with a few more hits, it would be totally laid out. Chance’s back was to me, but I felt the emotion pouring off him. It was so scalding I wanted to turn around and leave, but something about seeing him come undone and fall apart made me move closer. The crowbar was a blur as it swung over and over into the fence post. Chance’s cries seemed to be as effective at breaking it as the crowbar. When the post finally gave out, it crashed to the earth with a sharp snap, followed by a low whine. Chance stood over the broken fence post, the crowbar still clutched in one hand, while his shoulders rose and fell with his labored breath. He looked so different from the Chance I thought I knew, but still, I kept moving closer. It was the stick that snapped beneath my boot that moved his attention from the shattered post to me. At first, Chance didn’t seem to see me, but after a few moments, his vision cleared and his whole face fell. “Did you see all of that?” His voice was low, tight from the exertion. I nodded, moving closer. “Enough.” The crowbar slipped from his hand, falling to the dirt beside the fallen post. His forehead creased as he let out a long breath. “Shit, I’m sorry.” He shook his head, casting his gaze down. I kept moving closer until I was a couple feet away from him. “Don’t be sorry. Please, don’t be sorry.” I waved at the shattered post. “It’s actually a relief to see you acting . . . normal.” Chance’s gaze landed on the post. “This isn’t normal.” “Your dad is dying. Your brother is losing his mind . . . and your other brother lost his mind long ago. Taking it out on a fence post is nothing in comparison to what I’d want to do if I were in your position. Trust me, it’s a relief seeing this.” The toe of Chance’s boot kicked the post. “How is anything about this a relief?” “Because it means you’re not a perfect human being who always says the right thing and does the right thing. Because it means you’re a bit more like me than I thought you were.” Chance sighed. “Why does everyone keep accusing me of that?” “Of what?” “Of being perfect.” The word came out as though it tasted bitter in his mouth. I lifted my gaze until it almost met with his. “Because compared to the rest of us, you’re the closest one to it.” He shook his head, refusing to meet my eyes. “I feel every single thing everyone else does. I feel rage and hate and despair and jealousy and every last visceral emotion humans can feel. I just do a better job at concealing them.” He kicked the post again. “Most of the time.” “So you’re saying you mask the way you feel instead of showing it?” I tried not to smile at the

annihilated post. “Most of the time, at least.” “Exactly.” “Why? Why not just unleash the hell when you need to or unleash whatever else it is? Why keep all of it bottled inside?” “Because I’m afraid if I don’t keep what I feel to myself, I’ll lose everything that’s important to me.” My eyebrows came together. “How would beating the shit out of a few fence posts every once in a while be responsible for you losing what’s important to you?” Other than a couple hours in the morning to repair it, it didn’t seem like a big waste to me. “It’s not just my anger and frustration I keep to myself.” His voice grew quieter, although his breathing was still irregular. “What else then?” But I’d barely gotten my question out before his hands folded around my face, his body pressed into me, and his mouth crushed into mine. I was too shocked to respond. I was too shocked to even think about how to respond. With a shove and a slap? Or by burying my hands into his hair, pulling him closer, and kissing him back in the same feverish way? His hands were warm, his lips searing against mine . . . I could have melted into him and just let myself enjoy the way his body was making mine feel. I didn’t have to think about the way his mouth on mine made me feel or how his body fitted against mine gave me desires I couldn’t assign a name to. I didn’t have to think about how I knew I should push him away, but all I wanted to do was pull him closer. I didn’t have to consider what this growing feeling was or what it meant or where it should go. I didn’t have to worry about anything—I could just enjoy the kiss and the way it made me feel . . . That fantasy was cut short when Chance pulled away. Staggering back a few steps, he muttered a string of curses while he rubbed his temples. “Shit, Scout. Shit. I’m sorry.” He kept taking long steps back, whipping his head from side to side. “I didn’t mean to . . . I shouldn’t have . . . I’m sorry.” When it seemed like he was half a football field away, he finally stopped moving. “I’m sorry.” I was still reeling from the kiss, the abruptness of it and, most of all, the way it had made me feel. Since I’d gotten back to Red Mountain, I’d known that my feelings for Chance had evolved into something else. But up until that kiss, I’d been happy to stay ignorant to what they were. I couldn’t continue pretending my feelings hadn’t shifted away from friendship. Had I only “friendly” feelings for him, my body wouldn’t be firing to life the way it was. If I still thought of Chance the way I had growing up with him, I wouldn’t have wanted him to kiss me again. As he continued with his string of I’m sorrys, I broke out of my haze. “Yeah, I heard you the first five dozen times. You’re forgiven. No more apologies please.” “Scout—” I lifted my hand, stopping him. “Just . . . it’s okay. Can you give me a minute to let this all settle in?” Chance settled his hands on his hips, shaking his head at the ground. “I shouldn’t have done that. I wish I hadn’t.” I hadn’t decided how I wanted to feel about our kiss. I hadn’t come to a definitive conclusion about what it meant, but hearing him say those words kind of broke my heart. He regretted it. Or he was pretending he regretted it. Either way, the fact that I was so upset about his regret gave me my answer as to how and what I felt for him. “Listen, it’s been an emotional night for you. It’s okay. Don’t beat yourself up.” “Too late,” he muttered. When I moved toward him, he backed up again. “Chance, just forget about it tonight. Let’s both sleep on . . . what just happened . . .”—what the hell had just happened?—“and we can sit down and talk about it tomorrow. How does that sound?” I didn’t know how I was able to be the calm and collected one given what I felt was the opposite, but one of us

had to stay even-keeled, and Chance didn’t seem up for playing his normal role. His head slowly lifted, his eyes finding mine. What I saw in them made me take my own steps back from him. “I’d rather we just forget the whole thing and never talk about it again if it’s okay with you.” Really, a scalpel to my eyeball wouldn’t have been as painful as those words. How could he not want to talk about it? How could he just want to forget it? How could he refuse to talk to me when I really needed to sort out what I felt for him and what I’d felt coming from him? “Chance . . .” I wasn’t sure what I would say next, but as soon I said his name, he turned around and started walking away. “I’m sorry, Scout. I can’t do this right now. I can’t have another heartbreaking conversation tonight.” I stood there staring at the patch of darkness Chance had disappeared into, the taste of his lips lingering on mine, and accepted that Chance might have been the greatest guy I’d ever know. And I’d let him get away twice.



“YOU SHOULD COME. It won’t be the same without you,” I said as I walked into the library where Chase was wrestling with a very healthy wolf pup on the floor. “Nah, I’ll have to pass. Besides, someone has to stay behind with wolfy and make sure he doesn’t turn the nurse’s meaty white thighs into a midnight snack.” Chase winked at me while the wolf ran circles around him, occasionally letting out a small yelp to get his attention again. “Come on, come! We can put him in his enclosure for the night to keep Faye’s thighs off the menu.” I fastened my watch and moved on to combing my wet hair with my fingers. “You should get out. Mingle. Have a couple drinks. Dance a few songs. Those were things you seemed to live for not too long ago.” Chase’s hand grazed the pup’s fur when he passed by. “I am mingling. As for the drinking and dancing, I waved good-bye to that after graduating college.” “Then what do you do for fun now?” I sat on the arm of the chair as I wrestled into my boots. “Fun? What’s that?” Chase’s forehead lined. When the pup yelped, he got Chase’s attention again and was content for a few more seconds. “I don’t know if I remember the concept either¸ but I’m going to do my best to try tonight.” When I’d mentioned to Chase and Chance that I really needed to get out of the house and away from all of the heaviness within it—John had gone from sitting in a chair at the table to being strapped into his electronic wheelchair so he didn’t slide out of it—Chase had been the one to suggest taking a trip into Jackson Hole and for a carefree night of drinking and dancing. We all knew that meant we could pretend to have a carefree night, but we’d have to pretend really hard. I was at the point where I felt I could pretend really hard. Of course watching John deteriorate had been the worst of it, but between having to ad-hoc a growing healthier and larger wolf pup and interpreting Conn’s steer-clear-and-avoid policy whenever I came within a two-room radius of him, I was in need of some R&R from the ranch. Not to mention the Chance situation. Lumping him into the same category as the others who were causing me so much distress seemed unfair, but that didn’t change the fact that he was causing me plenty of it. Not intentionally—at least I didn’t think it was intentional—but something was going on between us. I sensed it in the way our eyes stayed locked at the end of a conversation, like we were just waiting for the other to add something else. Or the way I felt him when he was gone, almost as if he was looking right over my shoulder. Or the way he’d looked at me last week when we’d almost run into each other as I was leaving the shower and he was heading toward it. I’d had my bathrobe on, but the way he looked at me in that moment . . . it was almost as if he couldn’t decide whether to avert his eyes and run away in embarrassment or slide me against a wall and graze his fingers along all those parts my bathrobe was hiding. I could barely look him in the eye for more a second before feeling like I was about to blush anymore,

and now we were going out together. Thanks to Chase, we were going out alone. I didn’t mind being alone with Chance—I’d spent the majority of my years there with Chance—but I did mind being alone with him when I realized what I wanted to do with him . . . alone. It wasn’t pulling pranks or helping him muck out stalls anymore either. I wanted stuff far less innocent and far too confusing to explore. After the kiss-and-run from earlier in the week, Chance had kept his word and not brought it up again. I hadn’t either . . . at least not directly. But I’d spent every hour since he’d kissed me thinking about it, reliving it, and wondering what it meant. He hadn’t been himself that night, and the kiss might have stemmed from that, but it hadn’t felt rash . . . or empty . . . or nothing more than a mere distraction. It had felt like something else entirely, and I was waiting for Chance to confirm it. “Please say you’ll come? I’ll pick up the tab on your drinks tonight. So long as it’s under five,” I said, remembering several of Chase’s wild nights. He couldn’t throw it back like Conn, but I’d have to take out another loan if I offered to and Chase went all old-school on me. “Thanks for the offer, but really, I’m good here. I don’t want to leave this little guy alone outside all night.” When it became clear that Chase’s attention was being shared, the wolf stopped sprinting around him and settled for standing on his chest right before dropping into an exhausted, panting heap. Chase grinned and wound his arms around the pup. “See? How can I say no to that? I’d have to remove my heart from my chest to walk this guy out to that pen and leave him there all night.” I dropped back into the chair and accepted that no amount of pleading or bribing would get Chase to tag along tonight. “Yeah, because why would a wolf pup want to spend time outside at night?” I tried to glare at the man and beast twisted around each other on the floor, but to be successful would have required not having a heart. “When are we going to name him? We can’t go around calling him wolf pup or wolfy or scruff-ball for the rest of his life.” “Those will have to work until a more fitting name presents itself. In the meantime, enjoy your precious time with Fluffy.” When I caught myself combing at my hair again, I sat on my hands and ignored the reason I was trying so hard to get date-ready. This wasn’t a date. One friend was taking another friend out before she went nuts. Chance was taking me out for a fun night. Nothing more. I definitely wasn’t hoping he’d kiss me again. Not even. Maybe if I kept telling myself that, I could actually wish it into reality. Yeah, right. “What’s got you so wound up?” Chase asked, tilting his head back in my direction. “Correction— what’s got you more wound up than usual?” “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe someone who was totally on board with the idea of going out tonight and then decided to bail at the last minute.” Chase shook his head. In a few days’ time, he’d made a massive transformation. Instead of wearing sweats and slippers, he’d actually dressed himself in clothing one could go out in public in, and his burgeoning beard had been shaved and his hair strong-armed into submission. He’d even gained back a few pounds. Along with the physical transformation, though, came the mental one. When it came to Chase, that meant he wouldn’t give up on a topic until it had been answered to his satisfaction. “You and Chance always preferred to do your own thing before. I know you just invited me along out of obligation, not because you actually were looking forward to my company, as charming as it is,” he said. After taking a moment to cool down, I slid to the floor and scooted toward Chase and the pup. “Well, believe me when I say I really, really was looking forward to your company tonight. Charming, be it questionable.” Chase loosened his hold on the wolf so that I could stroke his back. Chase wasn’t the only one who’d undergone a serious transformation. In the same amount of time, the pup had gained weight, gone from

needing I.V. fluids to devouring prime cuts of red meat served to him in a silver bowl, and had gone from being stuck on the pool table to leaping onto it, throwing back his head, and practicing his howl. John said the thing’s howls had never woken him, but I didn’t see how that could be true since they could have woken the dead. Either way, John had been extremely understanding of the whole wolf-under-his-roof situation. Yesterday—after it had become clear the pup would continue to recover and get more rambunctious— Chance had run to the feed and supply store to pick up everything we needed to build a large outdoor enclosure for the pup. So far the pup had been (mostly) on its best behavior, but a wolf’s temperament and tolerance could change overnight. We wanted to be prepared for when and if it did. I’d expected them to need a week to build the acre-large enclosure, but I’d woken up this morning to find it done and ready to house one curious, albeit clingy, wolf pup. Chase and I had walked the pup around inside it, and he had seemed perfectly fine—as long as we were inside with him. Closing the gate and leaving him behind was a whole other issue. We’d thought the howling inside had been eardrum splitting . . . That shouldn’t have come as a surprise. Wolves were social creatures that thrived on companionship and shriveled in solitude. So while the enclosure might take us a while to adjust to, at least it was ready to go. Of course, that was thanks to Chance calling in a few extra hands yesterday and staying up most of the night to finish it. “I’m stumped,” Chase said a minute later, as if he’d been puzzling over something for a while. “Why do you care so much if I do or don’t come? Have you caught a crush on me?” He flashed a wicked smile and popped his brows a few times. I shoved his arm and made sure to look him in the eye so he couldn’t accuse me of being nervous around him. “Having a crush on you would constitute the biggest mistake of my life. I’m smarter than that, but nice try.” Chase rolled his eyes. “So if it doesn’t have anything to do with me, then it must have something to do with . . .” All of a sudden, recognition dawned in his eyes, and his whole expression went flat. “Holy shit, Scout. Chance? This whole riled up act is because of him?” Chase thrust his hand at me, waving it up and down at my apparent “riled up” look. “Please explain before I get carried away jumping from one conclusion to the next.” I curled my legs up to my chin and wrapped my arms around them. “There’s nothing to explain.” Chase sat up some, causing the pup to slide down to his lap. There wasn’t even a break in the pup’s snoring. “Liar, liar, pants on fire.” “For being the oldest, you have a serious maturity problem.” “Fine. I’m mature. Highly esteemed for my superb listening skills and even superb-er advice-giving skills.” Chance lifted a brow. “Spill.” “If your superb-er advice-giving skills are on par with your vocabulary, I think I’m better off getting advice from the business end of a hammer.” I checked the doorway for Chance. The only thing more complicated than the feelings I felt growing for him would have been him finding out about them by accident. “What do you consider the business end of a hammer? The prongs or the pounder?” Chase scratched his head as if that were the great existentialist question of our time. “Does it matter?” I fell back on the carpet, already exhausted and my big night out hadn’t even officially begun. “Yes, it does matter,” he replied in a solemn tone. I rolled my eyes. “Both. I consider both ends of a hammer the business end. Now can we stop talking about hammers and just sit and enjoy each other’s company in silence?” Chance had said he’d meet me in the library at nine, and it was five minutes to. I needed every last second of those five minutes to put

myself back together before Chance’s looks and touches tore at me, crumbling me to bits. “You’re the one who brought up the hammer. And how can we enjoy each other’s company if we’re being silent?” The black fur-ball in Chase’s lap stretched before settling into a more comfortable ball. “That sounds like the perfect way to enjoy each other’s company.” Closing my eyes, I rested my hands behind my head and pretended to be as relaxed as I was not. “Well, you wouldn’t be the first lady to suggest I’m at my best when words aren’t the center of our focus. If you know what I mean.” From Chase’s tone alone, I picked up on what he meant just fine. “And this silence begins when?” I felt Chase lean in. “When you tell me everything you’re not about Chance,” he whispered. I bit back the groan I felt rising. I’d never had an actual blood brother, but I imagined that if I did, he’d be just as irritating as Chase. “None of your business.” “He’s my brother. You’re like my sister. Of course it’s my business.” My eyes were closed, but I saw red. “Fine. I’m not telling you. How’s that for a final answer?” “No prob. I’ll just ask Chance what’s up between you two when he shows up in . . . oh . . . three minutes.” “You can’t.” It was more of a plea than an order. “Please, Chase, you can’t say anything to Chance about this.” Chase looked at me with a thoughtful expression. “Why?” “Because what I’m feeling for Chance is something I can’t even put into words for myself, so how can you expect me to explain it to you? I need time to figure out what I’m feeling and if I want to feel that way, and then I’ll try to ascribe a word to it and get back with you. In the meantime, please just let it chill. Even better, just forget about the last ten minutes.” I probably would have rather been branded than admit all of that to Chase Armstrong, who’d been rumored to have the empathic depth of a kiddie pool. But instead of busting out laughing at me or rolling his eyes at what he perceived to be a spell of puppy love, his face pulled together in lines of contemplation. He scrubbed his chin with one hand. “You don’t have to assign a designation to what you’re feeling—that’s not what I’m asking—but you admit you feel something for Chance?” I checked behind me again. Still clear, but to be safe, I went with a nod. “Something you didn’t feel before you came back to the ranch?” I paused to consider his question then nodded again. “Do you think he feels it back?” Chase’s eyes glinted with something. Again, I gave his question some serious thought. Instead of answering with a nod, I gave him a shrug. He looked to be in the middle of forming his next question when that figure I’d been anticipating showed up in that doorway. A quick check of the clock revealed it was nine o’clock on the dot. “Do you think who feels what back?” Chance asked, walking toward us. I shot Chase an anxious look. I doubted he’d spill we’d just been talking about Chance, but Chase’s allegiance rested more with his brother than with me. Chase patted the air with one hand, gesturing me to calm down, before he craned his neck back to answer Chance. “The wolf. We were brainstorming some names for him and wondered if there were any names he ‘felt’ more than the others.” I shook my head. Chase used to be an amazing liar, now he could have put in an application as one of the worst. When Chance stopped beside us, I could tell from the look on his face that he knew Chase was hiding something. I knew so many of Chance’s expressions. “He’s a wolf. An animal. He doesn’t care what you call him.” Chance went along with our ruse, but he knew we’d been talking about someone and feelings and we wanted those topics kept private, so he

would be on alert. Which meant I needed to be more careful about who I talked to about what. “Call him Fluffy or Spike or Prince or . . .”—Chance waved at the wolf hunkered down in Chase’s lap—“Wolf.” The word had hardly spilled from Chance’s mouth before the little pup’s ears pricked to life, followed by a soft, sleepy whimper. We all looked at each other, then Chase said, “Wolf.” Again, the pup’s ears went high, and that sweet whimper filled the room. “Wolf,” I repeated, getting the exact same reaction from the pup. I shook my head. “I think we’ve found ourselves a name for this little guy.” Chase chuckled silently, back to stroking the pup’s head. “Well, that was easy. Way to go, Chance.” “Glad I could help, unintentional as it might have been.” When Chance stepped around in front of the chair, what he was wearing finally registered. “Crap,” I said, scanning from his boots to his hat. While those and the jeans and shirt might have been similar to what he wore every day, they weren’t the worn-in, mud-mixed-with-grease-mixed-with-bloodstained version he usually had on. The faded jeans that had been washed so many times they were a notch up from threadbare had been replaced with a new pair of dark indigo jeans, topped off by a long-sleeved button-down plaid shirt in blues and burgundies. His light hat was the same color as his others, but it was so clean it didn’t look like it had seen a day in the saddle. Even his boots were cleaned and shined up. Chance looked like he was heading out on a date with some girl he was hoping to impress. That did nothing to calm my nerves. “Crap what?” Chance asked when I failed to expand. He smelled fresh from the shower too, with the slightest hint of cologne. “Crap, you got all dressed up and nice looking, and I’m in my everyday wear.” Chance looked at me sprawled out on the floor and did a quick inspection of my clothing. “You look great. Really great,” he added when I let out a sigh. “Don’t let me getting dressed up make you feel like you need to do the same.” I yanked a thread from the cuff of my fraying jeans, as if that one thread would magically transform me from ordinary to fancy. “What inspired you to go all out and get dressed like one of those ‘show’ cowboys you like to roll your eyes at?” In Jackson Hole, there were more show cowboys than real ones. Sure, a pile of money could buy anyone a fancy pair of boots and a belt buckle, but there wasn’t a price tag on the grit that ran in a real cowboy’s blood. “I wanted to look nice tonight. I’m not exaggerating when I say that it’s probably been as long for me as it has been for you since I went into town for the whole dancing-and-drinking thing.” Chance held up his arms. “I thought that called for new clothes.” “You never felt that way when we’d sneak out back when I lived here. You’d usually just throw on whatever you’d had on earlier that day in an effort to keep the girls away.” I lifted a brow. “Nothing says stay away like remnants of cow shit flaking off your boots, right?” Chance smiled, probably pulling from those memories too. After I’d turned sixteen, Chance and I would sneak out of the house whenever a wild streak caught us both, and we headed to whichever club, honky-tonk, or festival was having live music and a dance floor that night. We’d gone to be together, never interested in meeting members of the opposite sex, and those nights dancing and laughing until an hour or two before sunrise encapsulated some of my best memories of living there. That was why I’d agreed to tonight so quickly—I’d been hoping to recreate those nights—but my feelings for Chance had been straightforward and innocent back then. Only the opposite could be said of tonight. Chance crouched beside Chase and me. “Well, this is what I’m wearing out tonight. I’m sorry if you prefer the cow shit and sweat, but I can do that next time if it means so much to you.”

I was so used to seeing him beat up from a day of working the ranch that I’d forgotten how different he looked fresh from the shower. He was like a newer, polished-up version of himself that smelled like soap and aftershave instead of sweat and ranch-life. But I realized something that frayed my nerves another direction—I found Chance attractive both ways, all ways. Fresh from the mud or from the shower, he still made my stomach do that thing where it felt like it was hitting the floor. Shirt streaked with grass, dirt, and every other organic substance, or fresh-pressed like tonight . . . it didn’t change the pull I felt toward him. Every part of Chance Armstrong entrapped me and drew me in. “Scout?” Chance lowered his head to meet my eyes. I’d been lost in my thoughts for so long that both brothers were giving me looks, although Chase’s was tempered with understanding. “Do you want to get changed, or are you ready to head out?” Chance asked. I gave my head a shake and cleared my throat. No more contemplations about Chance’s many facets and them all being equally perfect. I surveyed my jeans and T-shirt with new eyes. Most women wore skirts or dresses to those kinds of things, and if they wore jeans, they wore ones with back pockets so bedazzled it was like their ass was its own disco ball. “Do you think I should go get changed?” “No, I think you look perfect.” Chance shook his head. “But you’re the one who’s concerned with what I’m wearing and what you’re wearing, so go ahead and change if you want to. I’ll wait here. The club isn’t going anywhere.” “Yeah, Scout, why don’t you go change? Put on a short little tight dress for your date tonight.” From Chase’s tone, I knew he was just dying for me to look at him so he could jack his brows a few times. My eyes narrowed into slits. “I mean your outing tonight.” He smiled at the pup in his lap, his face light with amusement. I mentally flogged myself for admitting my confused feelings for Chance to Chase. It might not have been the worst mistake of my life, but it had to rank in the top twenty-five. “And why don’t you go find your favorite pair of slippers and shove one in your mouth and the other up your—” “Ready?” Chance extended his hand toward me and waited. He was giving me the choice: take his hand or do it on my own. My head was still making up mind when my heart answered. When I dropped my hand in his, Chance pulled me up and didn’t let it go when I was standing beside him. “Sure you don’t want to change your mind about going, Chase? It’ll be a great time.” Chance stared at his brother lounging on the floor with a wolf pup in his lap, passing on a night of girls and good times to spend it stroking a wild animal’s scruff. Most brothers would have been disturbed over Chase’s choice, but Chance looked relieved. Probably for the same reason I did—Chase was back. Although this version of him wasn’t identical to the one he’d been before Jenny’s accident, it felt like an even better version. It was like everything that had been great about him before had transferred over, and a few more great items had been added to the mix. Chase shook his head, watching our combined hands with something different in his eyes, even though he’d seen Chance and I hold hands plenty of times. Chance’s hand felt different in mine, too. Less habitual and more instinctual. There was a fine line between the two, but it felt significant. “Nah, that’s okay. You guys will have more fun without me.” And of course because he was Chase and couldn’t resist, he aimed a crooked smile at me. “Way more fun without me.” Pulling on Chance’s hand, I steered him out of the library before anything else could be implied with bouncy brows or suggestive smiles. “Good night, Chase. Good night, Wolf,” I said as we left, a whimper following us. “Good night, you two,” Chase called. “And don’t worry—I won’t stay up waiting for you guys, so feel free to stay out as late as you want doing whatever it is you want to do to each other.” My growl, meant to be kept silent, must have reached Chase’s ears because he added, “I mean with. Whatever you want to do

with each other. Sorry, can’t form sentences correctly these days.” Chase had formed that sentence just the way he’d intended, which was why I could feel Chance studying me curiously. I supposed his curious look might not have been totally due to Chase’s insinuation but also my storming pace through the foyer and out the front door while I yanked him along. Being outside helped. The cool, fresh air calmed me more quickly and completely than popping a couple of Xanax would have. I concentrated on sucking in deep breaths as we bounced down the porch steps instead of wondering why Chance’s truck was freshly washed and possibly waxed. Like him, I’d rarely seen it not caked in mud or streaked with rain spots. I’d forgotten what it looked like without all of Red Mountain stuck to it. “You washed your truck.” I kept my voice level as Chance’s hand went to the small of my back. He led me around to the passenger side. “Yeah, it had become more mud than metal, so I ran it through the car wash in town.” When Chance swung open the creaky old door for me, even the inside was clean . . . and almost fresh smelling. Not quite, because once soil and manure and grass had worked their way into a truck’s interior, no amount of scrubbing or air freshener could leech it out, but it smelled less offensive than more so, which was a state Chance’s old Ford hadn’t been in since I’d known it. “I thought you said that’s what a rain storm was for. Growing the crops, raising the rivers, and washing your truck.” I crawled inside tentatively, feeling like I’d found myself in another world where Chance Armstrong’s truck’s dashboard wasn’t crusted with an inch of dust. “Yeah, well, that’s also what car washes are for so . . . yeah.” Seeming suddenly nervous, Chance made sure I was all the way inside before shutting the door and jogging around to the driver’s side. Great. That so-called forgotten kiss was sitting heavily between us. He was nervous. I was nervous. We were going out to dance and laugh and have a good time. Alone. If that weren’t a recipe for disaster, I didn’t know what was. When Chance hopped into the truck, he fired up the engine and pulled out of the driveway. He’d made it halfway down the long stretch of road leading away from the ranch before he seemed able to look at me. Even then, it was only from the corner of his eyes. “You look really nice tonight.” His voice filled the cab like his scent had. I rolled down my window a bit to clear the air and my head. “These are the same kinds of clothes I wear every day.” I realized, too late, that I’d just snubbed a compliment he’d given me. I was about to apologize and work on removing the stick from my ass when Chance lifted a shoulder. “You look really nice every day. I just don’t get the chance to tell you that every day.” I glanced at him. He still drove his truck with one arm hung lazily over the steering wheel, the other propped out the open window. I’d spent as much, if not more, time in Chance’s truck as I had in my own car in Pullman. His fabric seats had started to rip apart at the seams, and the Ford emblem was wearing off the steering wheel. The doors were creaky, the engine was loud, and it might have been the least comfortable ride to ever me put to the test . . . but I loved his truck. I loved watching Chance drive it. I loved sticking my feet out of the window and letting the air cut through my toes, and I loved the laughs and stories we’d told each other inside the cab. When we reached the highway with still nothing but awkward silence between us, I cleared my throat. “So . . . how was your day?” And that was the reason one shouldn’t try to break an awkward silence unless they had something to say that wouldn’t make things even more awkward. I saw the amusement in Chance’s eyes. “Why great, honey, thanks for asking. How was your day?” Normally I would have shoved his arm or tried to wipe the smile off his face, but I knew better than to touch him right then. Not in the close confines of a cab saturated with memories and the smell of his earthy aftershave. “My day was spent chasing a wolf, cleaning up after a wolf, feeding a wolf, and pretty much

catering to a wolf’s every whim and want. Somewhere in the midst of that, I managed to squeeze in a shower and a phone call to one of my friends in Washington.” Chance stopped at the first stoplight that announced we’d just passed into the city limits. This was my first trip into town since I’d arrived, and I felt like a kid with her face up against a window, positively amazed by every light and building. Jackson Hole had changed some since I’d left but not much. Some things could change without changing at the heart of what they were, and the heart of Jackson Hole could never be changed. It was a place determined to stay as wild as civilized culture would allow, and that charm attracted millions of visitors every year. “My day went about the same, except exchange the wolf part for cattle. So if your day was like mine, we’re both in need of tonight.” Chance’s voice indicated nothing that wasn’t innocent, but my mind went a different direction. “We’re both in need of tonight?” I was afraid to look at him in case he could read in my eyes what was playing out in my mind. “Yeah, you know, a night off. A chance to do something we want to instead of what we have to.” Chance checked the intersection before turning left at the green light. Of course that was what he meant. It was me and my warped mind that had run to an inappropriate place. “Yeah, tell me about it.” I leaned my head against the window. “However, I didn’t talk to a friend on the phone today, so you technically have more right than I do to a night off.” Chance glanced at me for a moment before looking back at the road. “Have you thought about what you’ll do after . . .” His forehead wrinkled as he searched for the best way to put it. “After the funeral?” Talking about a living person’s funeral as though it was in the near future was strange, but we both knew it was. John wasn’t going to get better. No miraculous recovery was in his future. We’d all be standing around a freshly dug grave with clasped hands and red-rimmed eyes sooner than we’d like to consider. “Um, no, not really.” I shifted in the seat. “I’m done with school, so there’s nothing tying me to Pullman or Washington, or anywhere really, but that’s where my apartment is, so no matter what, I have to go back for a while.” The light in front of us was green, but Chance slowed down and checked the intersection again before continuing through it. He’d always been a safe driver, but that was taking safe to a whole other level. “Where will you go after, do you think?” he asked. I’d given that so much thought during vet school. I’d even had a map on my wall with pushpins stuck into all of the cities and places I could see myself in. The United States was literally so covered in pushpins it looked more like a weird piece of art than a map. The only bare patch on the map was the whole state of Wyoming and the area around it. I hadn’t consciously decided to avoid this place from my past when I’d been pushing pins into cities like Santa Cruz or Scottsdale or Shreveport, but it hit me now that, contrary to what I’d let myself believe for seven years, I loved this place. Why had I let one man scare me away, and more importantly, would I let my feelings for a different man keep me away for another seven? “I’m not sure where I’ll go after all of this.” I clasped my hands in my lap and tried not to think too far into the future. Right now, one day at a time was a challenge to get through. “You could come here,” Chance said, no hesitation in his voice. “I could,” I said slowly. “Large animal vets from around the country could all up and move here, and there still wouldn’t be enough of you to keep up with the demand. Red Mountain alone could keep a couple of vets busy full time.” I nodded, knowing firsthand how much a full time vet, or five, were needed at Red Mountain. I’d been

busy immunizing, diagnosing, and medicating since I arrived. “Don’t I know it.” “So you’ll think about it?” Chance’s voice gave away his excitement. “I don’t know what a starting out vet makes, but I’ll pay you double.” A rush of air blew out of my nose. “Double? Come on, Chance.” “Triple?” My head fell back against the headrest. “Thank you for the offer, and thank you for offering to pay me the salary of a neurosurgeon, but I didn’t get into this profession for the money. That will play a small, if any, role in my decision as to where to take a job.” “Benefits too? A company car?” I shoved his arm. “Stop it. I can’t be bought. A lesson you Armstrong men have yet to learn.” Chance laughed, nearly coming to a full stop at a green-lighted intersection before crawling through it. “Fine. Name your price. If you can’t be bribed with money or other handouts, what currency will get your attention?” That had an easy answer. “I just want to make animals better, and I want to ease their suffering in whatever way I can. I want to fix things that need someone to fix them.” I was enough in tune with my psyche to understand why I’d picked this career field, but I also knew my desire to fix and save animals wasn’t an attempt to compensate for being unable to save my mother . . . or fix Conn. My reason for going to school for seven years had had little to do with where I’d failed in the past and more to do with how I wanted to succeed in the future. “Then it’s settled.” Chance thumped the steering wheel with his palm. “We’ve got plenty of animals at Red Mountain who need fixed, saved, or their suffering eased. You want the job, it’s yours. I’ll have the papers ready and waiting for you to sign tomorrow at breakfast.” Chance pushed at my leg, winking. “You know, no pressure.” I shook my head. Of course the first job I’d be offered would be at the very place I’d been hell-bent on escaping. “I’ll think about it.” “Yeah, good.” Chance smiled as if I’d already agreed. “Besides, it’s not like you’d have the Conn situation to deal with like last time. I mean, it seems like you’re doing good with that whole thing. Right?” I felt him watching me while the truck idled at a red light. The answer to his question was one thing, but the reality was a bit more complicated. “Yeah. Right.” I nodded a few times to try to convince myself too. “It’s worked because I’ve been avoiding him and he’s been avoiding me, but you guys are family— brothers. I can’t think avoiding Conn is a realistic long-term option. If I really were to come work at Red Mountain, one of those days, he and I would have to face off and get our shit figured out. That’s not a day I’m looking forward to.” We were in the main part of the city, which meant a stoplight at almost every block, and the speed limit had crept way down. We could have jogged faster to wherever we were going. “When and if that day happens, I’ve got your back.” Chance checked the intersection before looking at me. “So you can say whatever you need to say and do whatever you need to do without worrying about Conn’s retaliation.” “Why’s that?” “Because I’ll be there to protect you in whatever way you need protecting.” It might have been what he’d said or the way he’d said it, but something about the last few seconds made me look out my window again. I was afraid of the way his words made me feel. They scared me— not because I doubted if he meant them, but because I knew how much he did. However, I wasn’t sure if he’d offered to protect me because he still thought of me as his best friend and younger sister-type or because he was warring with the same feelings for me I was for him. “I forgot to mention that if you do decide to take the job”—he nudged my arm—“we could build you a little place on the property like mine. You wouldn’t have to worry about finding a place and paying the

insane real estate prices—plus you’d have a nice commute every morning.” I twisted in my seat. “Like your place?” I wondered if I’d misheard or he’d misspoken. “Yeah, like mine. Or nothing like mine—it doesn’t matter. My point was that we could gift a chunk of land to you so you could build a place on it. You’d have a tough time finding a better location. Or a better price.” A lot was going on in those few sentences, but I still latched on to one part of it. “You have your own place?” His forehead creased. “Well, yeah. What did you think? I was still living with my dad?” Actually, I hadn’t really thought about it. I’d been too busy trying (and mostly failing) not to think about Chance and the way I’d kissed him back. “And I’m just hearing about this now why?” “I thought you knew.” After crawling through one last intersection, Chance pulled into an empty spot on the side of the road. “How would I have known? You didn’t say anything about it. You never mentioned this ‘little place of yours.’ You never invited me to see it with my own two eyes so I could believe it.” Chance’s arm extended across the bench, his fingers just grazing my shoulder, as he went from looking out the back window to the front window as he parallel parked the truck. In the middle of that, his gaze shifted to me. “I’m having you over for dinner so you can see it and believe it. Tomorrow night. Eight o’clock. I’m cooking.” “Tomorrow night doesn’t give you much time to get this make-believe home built and decorated,” I teased as he turned off the ignition. “I just built an acre-large enclosure in under twenty-four hours. I think I can manage a house in the same amount of time. So you’ll come? I don’t know what I’m making yet, but I promise it’ll be edible and a prime example of my mediocrity in the kitchen.” The thought of Chance even knowing how to turn on the stove made me laugh out loud, so watching him cook was an opportunity not to be missed. “But what about the family dinners? I know John looks forward to them, and with things so close, you know, to the end . . .” Chance hung his arm over the steering wheel and shook his head. “We’ve been present for every breakfast, dinner, and most lunches since you arrived. I know my dad enjoys them, and that’s good for everyone, but . . . I don’t know about you, but I need a night away from that table.” Chance exhaled, a flash of guilt shadowing his face. “I don’t know how many more times I can hold my breath when he takes a bite of that pureed crap and wonder if a piece in it didn’t get pureed enough and will choke him to death. I don’t know how many more times I can have Faye look at me like I’ve already buried my father. I don’t know how many more stories I can tell with fake enthusiasm and overdone laughter. Sometimes all I want to do is avoid it all like Conn.” He was staring out the windshield, but I knew he wasn’t seeing the same things I was. He was somewhere else. “Watching someone you care about die in front of you is hard. I’m not sure how much longer I can do it and keep pretending that one of these mornings, pureed peas and thickened coffee won’t be at the breakfast table.” I grabbed Chance’s hand. “When that day comes?” I turned his face until he was looking at me. “I’ve got your back.” For the shortest moment, he looked as if he might cry, but that shadow vanished behind a slowcreeping smile. “You about ready to have some fun? The old-school way we used to have fun?” I reached for the door handle. “So ready.” Chance and I crawled out of the cab at the same time. He came around to meet me on the sidewalk and lead me down it. “Where are we going, by the way?” I asked, trying to take his elbow as naturally as I had when we were younger. As much as the motion felt the same, it felt different too. “Any guesses?”

A few places ran through my head, but they were behind us, not in the direction he was steering me. “None.” “Really? I thought it would have been obvious.” When we came to a crosswalk, it wouldn’t have been an exaggeration to say Chance checked both ways three times before leading me into it. It was after nine on a Thursday night. The streets were dead. “Obvious? Where would you be taking me for old-school fun that would be . . .” Then a hundred fond memories avalanched to the front of my mind, followed by the faintest sound of honky-tonk music coming from a few blocks up. “Wild Bill’s? You brought me back to Wild Bill’s, didn’t you?” I clapped his arm in excitement, thankful I hadn’t changed into something nicer. Wild Bill’s had a dress code, but it was a dress code unlike any other. Pretty much so long as you weren’t decked out head to toe in labeled, pretentious shit, you were waved through the door. It was the least classy place in Jackson Hole, and that was the reason Chance and I had made it our regular hangout. Well, that, and they weren’t sticklers about ID’ing customers. “The very place. No trip to Jackson Hole or Red Mountain would be complete without a stopover at Wild Bill’s.” “You know how I like me a highbrow place.” “You and me both.” He escorted me through another intersection as if every parked car were a potential threat. “Have you made up your mind on that whole job thing yet?” I rolled my eyes toward the sky. So many stars were out it made me want to just stop right there and not move until I’d either counted every last one or morning chased them all away. When I stayed silent, Chance nudged me. “No. Since a whole two minutes has elapsed since the job was offered, I haven’t had a chance to make up my mind.” “Did I mention the retirement package?” I let out a loud groan. When I tried to weave my arm out of his, he reached up with his other hand to hold mine and keep it from moving anywhere. “You’re such a rancher, Chance. You don’t know how to take no for an answer, especially if it’s something you need for your land or your livestock. A vet available twenty-four-seven included.” His head tipped to the side. “Is that why you think I’m asking you to come work at Red Mountain? Because all I care about is the land and livestock?” “Well, no, I don’t think that’s all that you care about. Just mostly.” I lightened my reply by flicking the rim of his hat, but from the look on his face, I’d hurt him. “I’m not asking you to come work at the ranch just because of the animals. Although I know they’d be in the best of hands if you did.” When I stopped in place and faced him, eyebrow cocked, he continued. “The reason I want you to come work here is because I miss you. I’ve missed you for seven years, and now that you’re back, I can’t imagine what it will be like if you leave.” I stared at the sidewalk, grinding the heel of my boot into it. “I just arrived. This is the first stab at fun we’ve taken since I got here”—I pointed down the street toward Wild Bill’s—“so how can you be so sure you’re going to miss me when all we’ve done is work our fingers to the bone and sleep a few winks in between? Why is that a pattern you’re so eager to repeat?” Chance snapped his fingers, stepping closer. “See, that’s what I mean. We’ve done nothing besides work and sleep and sit at that dining room table with forced smiles all week . . . but it’s been the best week I’ve had in years. You make life fun, no matter what we’re doing. I wake up with a smile, even if the first thing on my list is scouring through a pile of cow crap to see why one of them’s sick, because I know you’re here. I know I’ll get to see you when you show up and chore the day away with me.” He stepped closer. I only knew that because I heard his boot strike the cement at the same time his boot came into view. I should have looked at him. I should have had the courage to look him in the eye while he said such wonderful, terrifying things. But I couldn’t.

“You make the mundane things in life and the things we have to do special,” he said. I walked down the sidewalk again, needing to keep moving. When I heard his steps catch up with me, I took a breath and reminded myself the night was about letting loose and having fun, not getting all worked up about what he meant and if he’d implied he had feelings for me that crossed the bridge from platonic. “So you’re under the impression that if I accept this vet job at Red Mountain, I’ll be out busting my ass shoveling cow crap and stacking hay during my off time?” I asked when he was shoulder to shoulder with me again. “I’m under the impression that even if you don’t, it would still give me something to hope for as I worked through that pile of crap.” I was too busy laughing to acknowledge I was stepping into another crosswalk . . . but that fact definitely didn’t get by Chance. He grabbed my shoulder and stopped me in my tracks. It came as such a surprise I let out a yelp. “Okay, Chance, what is the deal with the intersections and the crosswalks?” I asked while he did his standard check of both ways five million times before leading me forward. “Because I’m about ready to browse the Internet for local mental hospitals to find out if they have a vacancy.” Chance winced just enough to tell me that he’d hoped his paranoia wasn’t so easily detected. “It’s just something I’ve picked up recently.” “Like how recently?” He didn’t let go of my arm, even after we’d made it safely through the crosswalk. “About a week.” My eyebrows pulled together. “A week? That’s nothing, the infancy stage in terms of tics people develop. You should have no problem working this one out, but make sure you do before it gets worse. This is one habit you don’t want to let develop. You don’t want to be that guy who gets too afraid to get in his car for fear of getting in a car accident . . .” I really needed to think about what I was saying and who I was saying it to before I actually said anything. “I’m sorry. I get it now.” I stopped him on the sidewalk and waited until he looked at me. “Jenny’s accident, right? You’re so cautious with cars because she died in one?” Chance scrubbed his face with his hand, shifting. “Yeah, something like that.” I felt my forehead line. “But . . . Jenny died a month ago. You said this thing’s only been going on a week . . .?” “It has only been going on about a week,” he replied, seeming as interested in the sidewalk as I’d been a block back. The act was familiar: his inability to look me in the eye, his face pinched as he tried to figure out what to say next, his constant shifting in place keeping beat with the second hand of a watch. He was behaving how I did when I was warring with my feelings for him . . . Could Chance be as conflicted about me as I was about him? Did he lie in bed tossing and turning as I flashed through his mind, as I’d done most nights since I’d arrived? Did he feel as though he was being ripped down the middle, one side pulled toward friendship and the other pulled toward more? “This intersection, crosswalk, car . . . phobia . . . thing”—I bit the inside my cheek when I realized how that sounded—“it’s not you you’re worried about, is it?” Chance’s chest rose and fell a few times before he answered with a single shake of his head. “It’s me you’re worried about?” When he looked as if he was weighing his answer, I stepped closer and dropped my hand into the bend of his arm. “You’re worried I’ll die like Jenny or your mother or any of the women before them, aren’t you?” Chance closed his eyes and nodded. My heart started to beat not necessarily faster but harder. It felt as though it could have cracked

through my ribs and fallen onto the sidewalk between us for both of us to see. I wondered if it would look as vulnerable as I felt, if his name would be somewhere carved on it, peeking out beneath the muscle and sinew. “Were you worried about me dying suddenly when I first lived here?” That was the next logical question, but nothing had given me reason to believe Chance had been coming up with ways to keep any viable threat at bay back then. His eyes were still closed. “No. I was, of course, concerned for your safety in the same way I would be concerned about someone I cared about, but I didn’t feel the same . . . panic . . . I feel now.” I kept nodding, both in an effort to try to understand and to show him I didn’t think he was crazy. “But cars? None of the women have been killed in traffic accidents or by Hummers blowing through intersections, right? I mean, I know Jenny was in a car when she died, but that wasn’t what killed her.” No, it was the one-hundred-foot ponderosa pine that had taken a few loggers a few hours to clear from the road according to the article I’d found on the internet. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to sound insensitive. I’m just trying to understand.” Chance shook his head. His eyes opened, but they stayed leveled on the sidewalk. “No, you’re right. Nothing road or car related has ever been responsible for any of their deaths, but after seeing Jenny in that car, her body folded around the steering wheel in ways no living body could manage . . .” He rubbed his eyes as if he was trying to erase the vision of it. “That stuck with me, and that was the first thing I started to worry about after you came back. It doesn’t make sense. I’m not asking you to try to make any sense of it, but whether real or imagined, the threat seems very real to me. I’m sorry.” When his face rose high enough to meet my eyes, an apology was written on every angle and plane of his face. I wanted to wipe each one away until none were left. My whole life, I didn’t think anyone had ever been so concerned with keeping me safe as Chance seemed to be. “There’s nothing to apologize for, so don’t even go down that road.” I curled my hand into the bend of his arm. “After seeing what you have, hearing about how all of those women in your family died . . . of course you’d be a little worried when it came to a woman you . . .” I wasn’t sure how to say it without saying it. “The woman I cared about?” So Chance said it. Said said it. Instead of replying, because I didn’t know how to reply, I steered the conversation in a different direction. “You mentioned the car/road thing was the first thing you started to worry about.” I swallowed, scared of the answer. “Are there others?” If he was upset about my twist in the conversation, he didn’t show it. He tipped his head back and seemed to unfurl his anger on the stars above. “Yes.” His jaw locked into place. I kept swallowing—it seemed to help with the fear rising from my stomach. “How many?” “I haven’t exactly sat down and done a tally,” he said, his jaw popping as he spoke. “A lot?” My voice was no more than a whisper. Giving the stars one last glare, his head lowered. “Enough.” I didn’t want to ask about the particulars. I didn’t want to know which ones he feared most and which ones he feared least. I didn’t want to know if he’d had dreams or visions or premonitions because, for the first time since I’d learned of the curse twelve years ago, my hair stood up on end at the thought of it. “You’re afraid I’m going to die too?” For whatever reason, that question was the least difficult to ask. When he stayed quiet, I stepped closer and lowered my free hand to his waist. Our bodies were close, more joined than not, our faces tilted toward the other’s, breathing hurried, hearts thundering. If anyone were to pass us on the sidewalk, they’d assume we were lovers, and if I was reading correctly into what he was saying, then that mirage could become a reality. All he needed to do was admit the very same thing I needed to admit to him, and the rest would be history—whatever history we created. Our futures together were a blank page, free to be written on however we wanted. All he had to do was say it.

“I’m not just afraid you’re going to die.” Chance’s voice was removed, distant. I wasn’t used to hearing that tone from him. “I know you’re going to die, if—” “If what?” I urged, knowing we were close. Adrenaline dripped into my veins, anticipation making my muscles jumpy. Maybe what he was saying between the lines should have been obvious, and maybe it would have been to some other girl, but I needed him to spell it out for me. I needed to hear him say the words. I needed to know that what I felt was reciprocated before I put myself out there and admitted I’d fallen for the man who’d been my best friend and like my brother for years. Our relationship wasn’t simple—we weren’t a classic boy-meetsgirl and boy-falls-in-love-with-girl story. We were so much more, and before I took that journey down judgment and hardship and challenging lane, I needed to know. “If what, Chance?” I repeated, pulling him closer as he seemed to hold me at arm’s reach. He blew out a loud rush of air. “If I admit what I feel for you.” I’d seen Chance in pain. He’d broken more bones than I could remember and had been on a first-name basis with most of the E.R. staff at the hospital in Jackson Hole. He’d known pain like other people knew bored, but I’d never seen his face so contorted with it. “What do you feel for me?” I asked gently, brushing my fingers down his cheek in an attempt to ease the pain holding him captive. “If I told you the truth, you wouldn’t want to know the answer.” His voice was sharp, cutting. I knew his anger wasn’t directed at me but at himself, but it was still difficult to hear and see Chance that way. I liked his light, happy version . . . but I liked Chance Armstrong more. The whole million-piece puzzle of him. “Chance—” He shook his head, winding out of my embrace. “I can’t tell you. I won’t say it. Doing so would be like signing your death certificate. I won’t do it. Please don’t ask me again.” He started to walk away, his shoulders lower than normal and his head pointed at the ground. Watching Chance walk away from me when we’d been so close to admitting how we felt for each other made me want to crumble into a ball on that sidewalk and cry until I had no more tears left. He didn’t go far before stopping and looking back. He was waiting for me. It might have been at the edge of another crosswalk and my heart might have been more broken than mended, but he was waiting for me. Taking a clearing breath, I walked down the sidewalk until I was beside him. He still seemed to be afraid to look at me, but I wasn’t afraid to look at him. What I was afraid of was losing him because he was afraid of losing me. My life had gone from complicated to catastrophic all in the span of one non-vocalized confession.



I’D STARTED THE night hoping Chance wouldn’t think of tonight as a date . . . and I’d gotten my wish. After what had been said and implied, I’d changed my mind about the whole date thing, but Chance had not. He’d gone from trying to ignore me outside to succeeding once we’d passed through the rusty metal doors of Wild Bill’s. The place hadn’t changed—it seemed frozen in time. From the hay scattered across the dance floor to the old jukebox in the corner that hadn’t worked as long as we’d been going there to the same chalkboard hanging over the bar offering the same drinks, stepping into that place was like traveling back in time. I even recognized a handful of the same employees. The cover band was playing some old George Strait song, and more people were dancing than those who weren’t. Along with the music, the place was buzzing with the noise and energy of people laughing and hooting, cheering and clapping. I wanted to be out on the dance floor so badly I hadn’t realized the heel of my boot was tapping—for long enough that my heel was numb. When I glanced across the round stand-up table at him, Chance was looking into the dancing crowd, seeing something else. Taking into consideration what he’d just confessed to me and the way his brows were pinched together, he was probably imagining my dead body at the scene of some intersection . . . or being pulled from the river . . . or after a grizzly attack . . . or after taking a spill over Hangman’s Ridge. The longer the silence between us went on, the more possibilities for how I could die in nature presented themselves. Dying outside seemed way better than dying tied up in some psychopath’s dank basement, but then I started considering things like quicksand and being stung to death. I came to the conclusion that no option was better than another when it came to premature death. “This place hasn’t changed at all,” I said, hoping to pull Chance out of his head long enough to have a conversation or, God forbid, a dance with me. When his eyes stayed forward, his face pinched with the same troubled lines, I added under my breath, “Unlike some things . . .” We’d been at that table for fifteen minutes, and all Chance had said was hello to the few people who’d said hey to him. He hadn’t even wandered up to the bar to order us a couple beers. His dark mood had set in and strangled everything else, including the gentleman, inside him. The night might not have been going how I’d thought or hoped, but there was one thing I could control, and that was having a beer in my hand. I needed a beer. I was just about to start toward the bar when the statue of Chance Armstrong cracked. Just a bit, but it was enough for me to release the breath I’d been holding. “I like that it hasn’t changed,” he said, his eyes actually taking in the room. “Everything changes— places . . . people . . . It’s nice to be reminded that change isn’t the requirement—forward momentum is.” So not the opening words I’d expected after his prolonged silence. “Normally I’d blame that nugget of wisdom on the empty beer bottle in front of you, but since our table is empty of both empty and full

drinks”—hint, hint—“I’m going to ask you to explain that one.” From the corner of his eyes, Chance looked at me. Wow, words and sideways looks? We were making some serious progress. “Everyone says change is inevitable, and maybe they’re right, but I disagree. I think it’s forward momentum that’s inevitable. Take me or this place for example.” He circled his hand to encompass the room. “Neither have changed, but we’ve moved forward. The guy at the door might actually check a person’s ID now, but inside, the place hasn’t changed at all. I might have gone from using a notepad to an iPad to manage the ranch, but nothing about how I run it has changed.” “Well, I like that some things don’t change. It’s nice to be able to depend on something staying the same . . . or someone.” With him looking in every direction but mine, I had an opportunity to study Chance. He was still very much the same, but he was showing me a layer of him I’d never known existed. My guess was that it had been buried deep beneath the surface and only burst through after I’d pushed him to admit things in roundabout ways. I let out an exasperated sigh, realizing I was in foreign waters without a map or compass. Maybe it was my sigh or maybe the somber cloud around him was starting to lift, but a few creases ironed out of Chance’s face. “Plus, if this place had changed and turned into one of those fancy western-themed lounges, where would all the middle-class tourists and locals go?” Chance almost smiled at the dance floor, where a herd of people were shaking and moving in every way a human body could shake and move. A few were even moving in ways it didn’t seem like a human body could move. The whole wardrobe spectrum was represented as well. From western wear like Chance and I were in to Hawaiian print shirts and sandals to leather coats and bandanas tied around foreheads to football jerseys and baseball caps . . . This was a place where any and all walks of life were welcomed. That was probably what I liked best about it and why I was so thankful it hadn’t changed. Well . . . and that Chance and I had created so many memories within those four thin walls. Looking across the table at him, I wondered if we’d form anymore. “Since it doesn’t seem like you’re going to ask”—I peaked an eyebrow at him—“want me to go get a couple drinks?” Chance looked at the table as though it hadn’t even registered that it was empty. “Sorry, Scout. So much for a night of getting away from it all.” Finally, Chance looked at me straight on. Some of the iron wall was crumbling. “What can I get you? The usual?” I smiled. The usual was whatever Chance had come back with. Sometimes it was a Coke, sometimes a fancy beer, sometimes a shot of whatever bottle he’d pointed at. Agreeing to the usual with Chance was like playing Russian Roulette with my drink for the night, and it was one of my favorite games. I’d never known what I would get, yet somehow I always loved whatever Chance slid in front of me, even when it had just been a sparkling water with a wedge of lime. “The usual,” I said. The corner of his mouth pulled a bit. “It’s been a while, so I’m going to need a little direction. Beer or shot?” Then his brows pulled together. “Or . . . wine? If you drink that now . . .” I laughed. “No, I definitely do not drink wine now, but thank you for being so open-minded, cowboy.” “So beer then?” he guessed. He’d guessed correctly. “Beer then.” “My choice?” “Your choice,” I said, lifting a finger, “so long as it isn’t a cheap one. I didn’t go through seven— almost eight—years of college drinking PBR and Rainier to graduate and still drink cheap beer.” Chance shoved back from the table. “So beer. But no cheap beer,” he counted off on his fingers. “I

think those conditions mean you don’t want the ‘usual.’” He was talking, teasing me even, making eye contact, and working on a smile. The night was looking up. “Fine, surprise me,” I said with a wave. “Just so long as its not-cheap beer.” He nodded, his eyes smiling. “I’ll be right back.” I watched him weave through the crowd to the bar. Wild Bill’s wasn’t as packed as I’d seen the place, but it was busy for a Thursday night. Summer was just getting into its swing, and the weather was heating up. In another week of two, that place would probably be standing room only. I was glad tonight wasn’t like that though because I got to watch Chance the whole way across the room, not even missing every woman whose head turned as he passed or smiled as he approached. Chance had always turned his fair share of heads when we’d gone out, and he’d turned down half as many advances . . . in the politest, most sensitive way of course. One night, a girl had had her eyes on him the whole time, and when she worked up the courage to come over and ask him for a dance just to hear him say no thank you and incline his head at me as an explanation, she’d actually cried right there in front of us. Instead of sprinting away from crazy town, Chance handed her the Kleenex from his back pocket and invited her to play a game of darts with us. Chance knew the meaning of letting a person down gently from the inside out. When he approached the bar, a couple bartenders came up to help him, shaking his hand and talking as if they were old friends. I didn’t recognize either of them, so that meant Chance had met them since I’d left —which meant he’d come to Wild Bill’s without me. For whatever silly reason, that made me feel a bit betrayed. It was unfounded and baseless, but still . . . this place had always felt like ours. We’d never invited anyone but each other—except for Chase tonight, who’d wound up bailing anyway. It felt like a place I couldn’t go without him and he couldn’t go without me. Except he had, and from the looks of all of the employees coming up and saying hi, he had a lot. When one of the young cocktail waitresses in a tight T-shirt and a high ponytail bounced up to him and dropped her hand into the same bend of his arm I’d had my hand in half an hour ago, I felt an emotion I wasn’t used to feeling with Chance: jealousy. I wasn’t used to feeling that emotion stir deep inside me, but right now, it was so scalding I felt like it was burning me from the inside out. I felt it rising, about to erupt in flames, when tight-shirt girl beamed at him as if he was the most incredible person in the world . . . because she was right. Chance was the best person in the world, and I didn’t like anyone else knowing that. I wanted that to be my secret. God, I needed to get a grip. My hands were actually curling into such tight fists that my fingernails were digging into my palms to the point of pain. It wasn’t the first time I’d seen Chance get hit on, but it was the first time I’d cared. Or I’d been worried. Before, I’d always known he’d come back no matter who threw herself at him. Now I found myself doubting that confidence. The girl engaging him in some sort of conversation was pretty in that cute, perky way. If I took a step back from the bitch ledge, she had a nice smile and looked like an all-around sweet girl. She could have been the female equivalent of Chance Armstrong. She could have been the embodiment of every male dream and fantasy and desire. She could have been the kindest, most generous, compassionate person to ever walk the earth. I didn’t care—I still wanted to scratch her eyes out. Especially when that hand fanned up, brushing long strokes up and down his arm. While my body battled the urge to cross the room and remove that roaming hand by whatever means necessary, all my mind could think about was how I wanted him back at my side right that moment. I might have become my worst nightmare—a clingy, possessive girl who couldn’t see straight or think right where her guy was involved. Not that Chance was my guy . . . in a set-in-stone, defined sort of way . . . but Chance, in our own way, had always been my guy.

My eyes narrowed into razor-thin slits when ponytail-beamer leaned in closer, “inadvertently” brushing her endowments against his arm. That was it—she’d crossed a line. This means war. Kicking the rail of the table to vent some irritation, I started for the bar. Was I about to get in a catfight? Was I seriously about to rip a girl’s hand from her wrist if she didn’t take it off Chance? Was I really stooping to this low and about to fulfill the crazy bitch stereotype? Damn right I was. I’d made it a whole two steps before someone cut in front of me, blocking my path. “Excuse me.” I barely gave the guy a second look before moving around him. “You’re not excused,” he replied, stepping in front of me again. His smile crept higher on one side when I bumped into him in my attempt to get around him again. “You’re definitely not excused.” My eyeballs lifted to the rafters. Chance had shaken off his share of advances at Wild Bill’s, and I’d shaken off almost as many. That was why we usually stuck to each other like glue, but in the whole two minutes we’d been separated, both of us had been hit on. Apparently there were a lot of lonely, horny people in Jackson Hole. “And you’re definitely about to get your ass kicked if you don’t take your hand off me and step aside,” I said. The guy’s hand dropped from my arm, but he slipped in front of me again when I went to dodge around him. “What? Do you think I’m afraid of your boyfriend? He’s probably some college pussy who wouldn’t know how to use his fist for anything other than jerking off.” Another eyeball roll to the rafters. This guy was a few years older than me, but either he hadn’t seen Chance and me together or Chance was his definition of a college pussy with a single-minded fist. “I don’t need any guy to fight my fights or kick someone’s ass.” I stood up straighter so he could see I was almost as tall as him, thanks to boots with a bit of a heel. “I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself.” The guy snorted. “Ha. That’s a good one. The idea of a broad taking care of herself.” “Wow. Your chauvinism is simply astounding. Good for you.” I lifted my hands and clapped in his face. “I’d be happy to give you a personal education in how this broad takes care of herself.” I was debating whether to go for the hard shove or move straight into the kick to the shins—a personal favorite and one Chance had taught me when we’d first started coming to this place and the advances had begun— when a large frame slid between the two of us. “Is there a problem?” Chance asked, holding himself in a way that demonstrated just how much size he had on the other guy. By comparison, the guy looked bite-sized. “Why? You think you’re the guy to solve it?” Bite-Size asked, doing his best to make himself as tall as he wasn’t. “Yeah, I think I am the guy who’s going to solve it.” Chance’s back was toward me, but I could tell from his voice what his expression was—and it was a look I sure didn’t want to be on the other side of. “So how you going to solve this problem, hot shot? With your fat checkbook? Your fancy-suit lawyer? Impress me with how you’re going to solve it.” Not all rednecks were “rednecks,” however, this one was the king. Go me for attracting the biggest asshole in the place. Chance glanced at me for the shortest moment, as if he was worried I might disappear. His eyes were narrowing as he turned his head back toward the other guy. “I’m going to solve it however it needs solving. You’re the one who started this problem. I’m the one who’s going to end it, but you get to decide how that end comes about.” Chance was never first in line for a fight. He wasn’t the kind of guy who latched on to any and every opportunity to throw down and prove his testosterone was the greatest. But that didn’t mean he avoided them at all costs either. Conn and Chase had been in way more fights than Chance ever had been, but

Chance had the better record: undefeated. Probably because when he got in a fight, it was something really worth fighting for. “Kiss my ass, you piece of shit,” the guy said before spitting on the floor. And the stereotypes kept flooding in. “Is that how you want this to end? Me kissing your ass?” Chance’s words were eerily calm. The guy snorted, flapping his hands. “Man, suck my dick.” Chance exhaled. “Ass kissing and dick sucking aren’t really my things. So how about I decide how this ends.” Bringing his arm back, he pressed his hand into my stomach, fingers splayed, and slowly pushed me back. If he wanted me out of the way, that meant he was expecting things to get messy. “You can either back up and leave her alone for the rest of tonight and forever, or I can happily help you with that.” I held my breath as I stepped back, waiting to see what the verdict would be. I was ready to throw myself into the mix and shove my boot up the guy’s ass if need be or wrestle Chance off him before he put the guy into a coma. What happened next wasn’t what I’d expected, but it was undeniably the preferred outcome. The guy backed away with his arms wide. “You rich motherfuckers think you can do whatever you want to whoever you want.” He spit one last time. “That’s what I think of that.” Chance watched him disappear into the crowd, waited a few more seconds in case the guy changed his mind and came back, then he turned around. His expression was a stark contrast to what it had been moments ago. He surveyed me like I was spouting blood from multiple limbs. “Are you okay?” I nodded, smiling. Redneck was taken care of, and Ponytail was back across the room, keeping her hands to herself. “I’m great.” “Sorry. I should have known better than to leave you alone like that.” After one more inspection, he was apparently appeased that I really was okay. “And I should have known better than to leave you alone.” My gaze dropped to the bend of his arm that girl had practically been molesting. Chance smiled. “Agreed. So why don’t we just make a pact not to leave each other’s side tonight.” It was strange how having him close seemed to even out my breathing while him being away from me had done the opposite. It was counterintuitive. With the way I felt about him, I should have been barely able to catch my breath with him so close. Instead, I felt as if I was breathing more deeply and efficiently than I ever had. “Agreed,” I said, heading back to our table and staying close to him the whole way. I didn’t let him put the table between us so he could keep me at arm’s reach. I knew neither of us wanted that. “So what did you order us?” Chance lifted his chin as a cocktail waitress slid a couple bottles onto our table. I was evil for smiling —this one was a couple decades older and had more gray than brown left in her hair. “Here you go, hun,” she said, winking at Chance. “Thanks, Sherry,” he replied before she headed to the next table over. “Are you on a first-name basis with everyone in this place?” I asked. “I’m not on a first-name basis with saliva guy, and I’d prefer to stay that way.” Chance slid one of the beers in front of me and grabbed the other. “Cheers?” I lifted my beer, raising an impressed brow at his selection. Not a cheap beer. “Cheers.” I clinked my bottle against his. After taking a drink, our eyes drifted to the dance floor. Chance’s averted instantly, but mine stayed there. “Do you want to dance?” I sounded nervous, timid. Yet another first when it came to my interactions with Chance. Before, I wouldn’t have asked. I’d have just grabbed his arm, yanked him onto the dance

floor, and laughed as he moved more like a robot than a man . . . but now, man, my palms were almost sweating as I waited for his answer. “Whether I want to or not is beside the point since I’m incapable of dancing.” His voice was flat, too flat. He was back to wearing the indifferent mask. “Your lack of dancing skills never stopped you before.” “No, that never stopped me,” he said and took another sip of his beer. “Before.” I blew a slow breath through my nose, wanting to scream. “Well, I’m dancing.” I took another sip then slammed my beer onto the table before heading toward the dance floor. “If you want to join me, you’re welcome. Otherwise, I’ll be out here having a good time. You know, that thing you do when you’re with your best friend at Wild Bill’s.” “I thought you wanted to enjoy your not-cheap beer.” Chance set his beer on the table beside mine and moved away from the table. “I did, thank you. And now I want to dance.” I pointed toward the stage, winding deeper into the crowd. “And they’re playing my song.” He shook his head, cupping his hand over his mouth. “You say that about every other song.” I shrugged, already moving in time to the music. “Because every other song is my song.” I lowered my arm, pointed in his direction, then curled my finger. “Now get your ass out here and dance with me!” I didn’t say anything else—I didn’t curl my finger again. I just turned around and headed toward the stage. The band had moved on from George Strait to Brooks and Dunn. When I’d first moved out there, I hadn’t known anything about country music other than it wasn’t my thing, but by the end of my first year in Jackson Hole, I could name the title and artist of nine out of every ten country songs on the radio. I’d made it another few steps before his hand slipped into mine from behind. A smile spread on my face until I felt like one of those grinning idiots I rolled my eyes at. “Change your mind about dancing?” I said, glancing back at him. “Didn’t change my mind about the dancing. Just remembered our promise to not leave each other’s side for the rest of the night.” Chance scanned the crowd like he was making sure it was safe before looking at me. His façade fell for the shortest moment, and in that glimpse, I saw what he’d been hiding for most of the night. It was enough to make me wish he’d never hide it again, but before we’d gone another step, it was already gone. When we were right in the heart of the dance floor, I faced him. All around us, people were seriously getting down. Some of them shouldn’t have been getting that down, but still, bodies were whipping around in ways that made me wince. Only one body was totally motionless in the middle of it all. Already finding my groove, I lifted a brow at him and waited. Chance shook his head, dropped his hands to his hips, and noted a few stand-out performances nearby, as if to prove dancing wasn’t for everybody. “Come on,” I mouthed. “No way,” he mouthed back. I bit my lip to keep from laughing. The guy who threw himself in front of a charging horse, the one who’d been thrown from so many green horses he lived in a back brace as much as he lived without it, the guy who didn’t show a shred of fear at the actual scary things of the world was scared to dance. He’d never been exactly eager to dance, but he could usually be pleaded out onto the floor for a couple of songs before he retreated to the dartboard or pool table. He knew the employees at Wild Bill’s by name, so he’d obviously been coming here recently, but he just as obviously had not spent it dancing. From the look of it, his last dance had been that summer I’d turned eighteen and bolted. Acknowledging that shouldn’t have made me as happy as it did. “Please,” I shouted as he stood frozen in an ocean of swaying bodies. The big “please” guns . . . he couldn’t take it. If at first I didn’t succeed with Chance, all I’d had to do

was drop the please bomb, and he was putty in my hands. He rolled his eyes then lifted his hands in surrender. Lowering his hands to his knees, he crossed his arms then commenced what was quite possibly the least smooth Charleston ever performed. My own dancing came to an abrupt end as laughter rocked my body until I was gasping for breath. The harder I laughed, the longer he kept going, but now he didn’t just have my attention—he had the attention of some of the other dancers staggered around us. People pointed and laughed like I was at the big tough cowboy entertaining us with the most shameful Charleston in history. He didn’t care that his performance had earned an audience—he just kept going, seeming propelled by my laughter. I was close to having tears roll down my face when the song came to an abrupt end. A second later, the guitarist strummed a few soft notes that echoed through the room before his voice followed it. It was one of my favorite songs in the whole world, but there was only one way to dance to it—with a person you cared about in your arms. Chance straightened, looking back at our table as if it were a lifeboat and he was a breath away from drowning. Before he could take a step that direction, I moved closer and took his hand. “Dance with me?” His eyes closed as if my words were painful. “Scout—” “No, I worded that wrong,” I said as people around us coupled up, swaying to the chorus. “I didn’t mean ‘Dance with me?’ I meant . . .” When I looked at his face, I knew that what I’d been searching for in all the right places with the wrong person had been right in front of me the whole time. He’d been so close, but I’d been blinded to what was there. “I meant . . . I mean . . . dance with me period, not question mark.” I slid my hand around his waist then slid my other up his chest and curled it into his neck. He was back to the pained expression, like my touch was torture. Like having me close was killing me. Like my hands caused the worst kind of pain a person could know. “I want to,” he whispered, “but I can’t.” I pressed closer until I felt the warmth of his body colliding with mine. “You can.” His head shook. “It’s just a dance. Don’t make it more than what it is.” “It’s not just a dance,” he said as his arms wound around me, his hands coming together at the small of my back. “But if you can pretend that’s all it is, then I’ll try too.” His head settled beside mine so the stubble on his chin grazed my forehead. “I’m not pretending,” I whispered so quietly I knew he couldn’t hear. His grip around me tightened. “I’m not either.” I lowered my head to his chest, taking in his scent and feel of him from that proximity. I’d never been so close to Chance before, not when I’d been present enough to memorize the beat of his heart or how my head rose and fell with every breath he took. Now that I was, I wouldn’t let him go without a fight. If necessary, I’d fight for the rest of my life. Unlike the couples around us, we didn’t move in a slow circle, spinning around and around and around, covering the same ground. We stood still, our arms holding us tight to each other and our heartbeats syncing. For that one moment, for that one dance, we were in our own world, and none of the rules or ruins from outside could touch us. For that one moment, we were invincible. But by the time the chorus played for the third and last time, Chance’s hold loosened and his chest started to separate from mine. Cinderella had a whole night, and I got a dance. “What’s changed?” I asked, refusing to loosen my own hold. “This morning, everything was okay between us, but tonight, it’s like you’re afraid of me. Or afraid to be close to me.” His fingers drifting around my back curled into me. “I am.”

“Why? I mean I know why, but why all of a sudden are you acting like I’m a porcelain doll hanging above a concrete slab? It’s not like the curse sprung up out of nowhere and made itself known yesterday at lunch. It’s been around for close to two hundred years, so why are you acting like it only just came into being?” Chance’s sigh mingled with the last few notes of the song. “Because admitting how I feel about you makes it real. Admitting it to you makes whatever triggers this godforsaken thing stand up and take notice. Admitting it triggers a whole series of events I don’t want to be responsible for triggering.” I nodded against him, trying so hard to understand where his deep-seated fear came from. “But you didn’t admit it. You didn’t admit anything.” I replayed the scene on the sidewalk, and those words and professions he was so paralyzed over had not been said. His mouth lowered so it was just by my ear. His warm breath tumbled down my face, but I felt it all the way in my toes. “But you know.” My fingers dug into his shirt as the band moved into another song. This one wasn’t slow. “Not until you say it.” His chest rose, my head rising with it before they both fell. “Saying it is the least sincere way a person can mean it, and you know it. Words are simple. Proving those words is not.” If what Chance was saying was true, then he’d been showing me how he felt about me for years. Far before I arrived at Red Mountain a week earlier. I bit my lip. “But Jenny didn’t die until after they were married, right? None of those women died until they were married and officially Armstrongs.” That was all I needed for Chance to realize where I was going. One of the advantages to falling for your best friend was they had plenty of experience reading your mind. “True.” Suddenly, his grip seemed to be the more urgent of the two of ours. “But one thing will lead to the next, which will lead to the next, which will end at promising forever in front of an altar. I know where this ends up if I take that first step, and there’s no way I could take one without the rest when it comes to you. So I’m not taking it.” If it wasn’t the most heartbreaking conversation of my life, it would have qualified as the most romantic. In so many words, Chance was admitting he wanted me in his life forever, but because of that, he had to say good-bye and stay away. How could I argue with that? “But—” Chance’s hand very gently covered my mouth. Instead of swiping it away, I kissed it. His shoulders tensed before more of his body pulled away from mine. “I’m not taking any chances either way,” he said. “I don’t want to be the one Armstrong to find out the hard way that the woman he cares about can die without exchanging vows first.” The couples around us were back to dancing and laughing and singing along with the band. Everyone was acting as if the world hadn’t just changed in front of their eyes . . . Or was that only my world? How could two people who cared about each other not be together unless some kind of evil really was at work? Whether that evil was a curse or misplaced belief or something else, I wouldn’t let it win. I didn’t know the face of my enemy, but I knew it was out there, just waiting for me to challenge it. I didn’t want to keep it waiting. Winding my arms as tightly around him as I could, I staked my claim. “I’m not letting you go.” Chance nodded. “I know.” He gripped my arms, slowly pulling me away from him. “That’s why I’ll have to let you go.” I’d been thrown from a horse once. I’d landed on my back so forcefully my lungs collapsed for a few breaths, making me feel like I couldn’t breathe. Hearing Chance say those words as he took a few steps back made me feel the exact same way. Either my lungs had collapsed again or the air had been vacuumed from the room. Just when I felt a moment away from gasping, someone rushed up toward us.

It was one of the bartenders Chance had ordered our drinks from. Gauging by the look on his face as he leaned in and whispered something to Chance, the world was coming to an end. Chance nodded. “I’ll take care of it. Thanks for letting me know, Tipp.” As the bartender made his way back toward the bar, Chance rubbed his temples. A resolved look settled over his face. “What’s up?” I wondered what news a bartender at Wild Bill’s could relay to make Chance look like his night had just gone from bad to worse. Chance was scanning the room, looking for someone. “My brother is what’s up.” “Chase? Surprised he changed his mind and showed up.” I scanned the room with him, looking for a head towering over everyone else. “Not that brother.” Chance’s voice was tired, and his face matched. I groaned out loud. “Great.” What was the luck that Conn would end up at the exact same bar where Chance and I were? Especially since Conn had made it quite clear that Wild Bill’s was for hicks, pricks, and dicks and not his kind of place. I’d always thought he fit two of those demographics to a T. “Why did the bartender let you know?” I asked. “I mean, you’re his brother, not his babysitter.” Chance raised a brow at me. We both knew that he’d played more of a babysitter role in Conn’s life than that of an actual brother. “He came and got me because Conn has gone and gotten himself drunk and isn’t taking too well to being cut off. I know, quite the shocker, right?” Chance must have spotted him, because he grabbed my hand and pulled me through the crowd. “Why don’t they kick him out or call the cops? He’s a big boy. He doesn’t need you to swoop in and save him every time he finds himself in hot water—every five hours,” I added under my breath. Chance continued to cut a path through the crowd. “They won’t kick him out because that didn’t go so well last time—two bartenders were left with black eyes and bruised egos—and they won’t call the cops because I’ve asked them to loop me in before making that call.” I caught sight of the ponytail girl, but when Chance noticed her coming our way, his path took a sharp detour. I wasn’t sure if he was avoiding her because he didn’t want us to meet or because he just didn’t need another complication tonight. Either way, I put on a sweet smile and waved at her as we passed. If she noticed, I couldn’t tell. She was too busy staring at Chance’s hand around mine. When Chance’s pace picked up, I guessed it was because Conn was close. A few steps later, a familiar back of a head appeared in my field of vision. Conn was sidled up against the bar, clutching an empty glass and tapping his foot a million beats a minute. His shoulders were stiff, his jaw tense, and he had that look in his eyes that I’d long ago learned forecast a serious storm. Chance rested his hand on Conn’s shoulder. “What’s going on, Conn?” Conn’s tapping foot stopped, but he kept his gaze focused on his glass. “What’s up, Chance, is that these fuckers are telling me I’m cut off for the night.” Conn threw his hand at where a few bartenders were pretending they didn’t hear him. “They’re telling me no like they don’t know who I am.” Conn barked out a sharp laugh. “I’d like to see them tell you no without shitting themselves. This is my brother, asswipes.” Conn shoved off the bar and dropped his arm around Chance’s shoulders. “I think that entitles a man to more than a few weak pours.” I’d seen Conn drunk enough times to know this registered at the seven or eight out of ten scale. He wasn’t at his rip-roaring point, but he was a good ways into belligerent. “Conn, ease up.” Chance pulled him back a bit. That was when Conn noticed who was on the other side of his brother. His eyes jumped to where Chance’s hand still enveloped mine, and something flashed through his eyes. “I didn’t realize you were on a date, you know, since they’ve been so far and never in between.” Conn couldn’t seem to look away from our joined hands. “I wouldn’t have misbehaved and made the Gestapo go in search of everyone’s favorite hero if I’d known. But I know how to fix this.” Conn leaned over the counter, smacking it hard with his

palm. “Bring us a bottle of your best stuff. My brother’s on his first date with the girl who had a thing for both of us but has clearly made up her mind to go with the better man.” Conn thumped the bar harder when the bartenders went on ignoring him. “Fuck, my brother might finally get himself laid. If that’s not occasion to get shitfaced, I don’t know what is.” “Enough, Conn.” Chance’s voice was as collected as it always was when he was dealing with drunk Conn. “Not enough. Nowhere close to enough.” Scooting farther over the bar, Conn reached over the side and snagged the first bottle his fingers grazed. It was a cheap bottle of whiskey, but he was past the point of being picky about his poison. Now that got the bartender’s attention. The same man who’d gotten Chance went lunging down the bar, trying to snag the bottle out of Conn’s hands, but he was too late—about one opened bottle and heavy swig too late. The bartender looked at Chance as though he was waiting for orders. “I’ll take care of it,” Chance assured him before holding out his hand toward Conn. “Give me the bottle.” Conn made a face at his brother and took another drink. “Fuck off.” “Come on, hand it over. You don’t need the cops getting called on you. Again.” When Chance reached for the bottle, Conn swung it out of his reach, nearly nailing me in the head. “Watch it!” With one hand, Chance pushed me aside, and with the other, he pushed Conn in the other direction. He obviously wanted as much distance between us as he could get in case Conn got a little swingy with his bottle again. Wouldn’t want me to die from blunt force trauma caused by a cheap bottle of whiskey . . . “Get your fucking hands off me.” Conn slapped Chance’s hand away from his chest. “I’m sick of you stepping in to try to save the fucking day every time someone comes running to you complaining about me. I can take care of myself and my problems, so just keep the fuck away.” Chance rolled his head to one side then the other. Cracking his neck was his way of blowing off steam when most people would just punch a hole through the drywall. “That word really loses its oomph when you throw it around every other word.” Conn leaned Chance’s direction, getting in his face. “Fuck you. How’s that for oomph?” From behind me, someone grabbed my hand. Before I could take a guess at whose clammy hand it was, I was being spun around. Super. Redneck Maximum Strength, round two, and twice as drunk from the reek of his breath. “Your man is just picking fights right and left tonight, isn’t he?” When I tried to pull my hand out of his, his grip tightened. “Not so tough without Mr. Big Shot, are you?” My hand curled into a fist at my side. “You’re about to find out just how tough I am.” He laughed, throwing his head back and shaking it like he found my courage amusing. “Come on, darling. I want to dance.” He lifted his chin toward Chance and Conn while pulling me toward the dance floor. “It looks like your dancing partner’s busy, so he shouldn’t have any problem with me borrowing you for a turn or two.” “Let me go,” I warned, pulling against him. All I did was slow him down, not stop him. The man glanced back, giving me a once-over that made me feel like I needed a shower. “You think he’d mind if I borrowed you in a few other areas too? Maybe the areas involving you—” Out of nowhere, a fist connected with the man’s jaw, managing to both silence him and throw him to the floor. The crowd scattered, leaving a wide circle around the man and the person who’d hit him. He was shaking the hand he’d just nailed the redneck with, but his other hand still clutched the bottle of whiskey. “That’s what you get for putting your hands on Scout,” Conn shouted, standing above the man and pointing back at me.

Braking to a stop beside me, Chance inspected the scene with wide eyes. They landed on me. “Are you—?” “I’m fine,” I said, lifting my hand. “Really.” The man on the floor scooted back a few feet. “What the fuck’s a scout?” He spit again, but this time, it was blood instead of saliva. Conn shook his head, laughing his maniacal laugh. “‘What the fuck’s a scout’?” His laughter came to an abrupt halt. His finger thrust in my direction, the vein in his forehead popping to the surface. “That’s what the fuck a Scout is, you motherfucker, and if you ever put your hands on her again, I will not hesitate to chop them off at the wrists.” Conn crept closer to the man and kicked him in the side. I lurched forward to stop it, but Chance grabbed me and pulled me back. When the man’s groan came to an end, he looked at Conn and spit some more blood. “I’m going to fuck you up good, boy. That’s what you get for messing with—” Conn kicked the man again, this time hard enough that his groans did not quickly come to an end. I kept fighting against Chance’s arms, but his hold was impossible to break, no matter how hard I fought. “Look at me,” Conn said, holding out his arms and doing a slow spin for all the bar to see. “There’s nothing you or anyone could do to me to fuck me up more than I already am. So save that one for your dreams. Boy.” This time, it was Conn who spit. If the man noticed, he didn’t acknowledge it. He was too busy writhing in pain on the floor. The same bartender from before rushed up to Chance. “I just saw a couple of this guys’ friends on the phone. I’d say you’ve got ten minutes before the cops show up looking for your brother. Better get that bottle away from him and get him out of here.” The bartender winced at the scene on the floor, but if he’d worked there for any duration, he knew bar fights were just part of the appeal at Wild Bill’s. They were as regular as Garth Brooks songs, and the police knew most of the staff by name. “You know the back way out.” Chance issued a quick thanks before letting go of my shoulders to grab my hand and rush toward Conn. “Cops are on the way, brother. The night’s over.” “The night’s just getting started.” Conn waved the bottle around the room. “You came to have a good time. You and Scout wanted to enjoy each other’s company . . .” He motioned at our once-again joined hands. “Don’t let me ruin it. You guys stay. I’ll stay. When the cops show up, I’ll leave in cuffs a few shots drunker. Happy night for us all.” He lifted the bottle to his lips and took a few shots’ worth in one drink. “Conn—” “Do me a favor, Chance, and never say my name in that tone again, okay? The first five thousand times was enough.” Conn was getting drunker, our time for getting out of here was getting smaller, and my patience had run out. “Conn, cut the shit.” I raised an unimpressed brow at him. I’d seen his act so many times it wasn’t even interesting anymore. “You’re leaving this bar. Either you can do so on your own two feet or I’ll inject you with another dose of animal tranquilizer and drag you out myself, but you’re leaving. Now.” Conn’s dark eyes dropped to my small purse. “You’re bluffing.” I reached down, unzipping it. “You know, I was hoping that was the option you’d go with. This way, I get to drag you down some stairs and a few streets. Might ‘accidently’ run your head into a street lamp or something. See if that manages to uncross your wires.” Conn chuckled then moved in our direction. “Lead the way. The cops will have to catch me a different night.” I looked at Chance. He was the one who apparently knew the back way out because I’d never had to take it. He didn’t waste a moment before pulling me through the clustered crowd. I glanced back to make sure Conn was coming. Though he might have had a surly expression and staggered more than hurried, he was following. Just to the left of the bar was a heavy metal door with the words Emergency Exit stamped

onto it. That was the door we were heading toward. “Chance, are you sure—” “This is an emergency exit.” He moved a bit faster since we were through the main part of the crowd, but Conn managed to keep up. “Besides, the alarm to this door hasn’t worked in years.” When we shoved through the door, a cool wash of air came at us. A bright overhead light illuminated the exit and the small parking lot in front of us. Probably for employee parking. We waited a few seconds at the top of the small stairway for Conn to catch up. Once he’d shoved through the door, Chance led me down the few stairs and in what I guessed was the direction of his truck. I’d gotten all turned around inside Wild Bill’s and couldn’t tell where we’d come from or where we were going. Conn laughed behind us, every footstep kicking up gravel as he barely managed to stay upright. “To the Batmobile.” The streets were quiet. While Chance still took the time to triple-check every crosswalk before guiding me into it, the return trip to the truck passed in a flash. It had seemed to take us forever to get to the bar. Chance pulled open the passenger door for me and gave me a hand inside. “You’re not getting in the truck with that bottle, Conn.” “Then I guess I’m not getting in the truck.” Conn stumbled the last few steps toward us, smirking the whole way. As he unscrewed the lid of the bottle, whatever patience I’d been running on fumes gave out. “Get the fuck in the truck.” I scooted to the middle of the bench. When Conn stayed on the sidewalk for another second, my glare landed on him. “Now.” Conn laughed, making his way toward the open door. “I like it when you go all dominant on me. How can I say no to you when you’re like this?” Conn waved at me then lobbed the whiskey bottle over the truck. It shattered in the middle of the street, the light gold liquid seeming to turn black on the asphalt. Chance shook his head, but once Conn had crawled in beside me, he slammed the door as if he was anticipating his brother trying to escape. While Chance ran around the front of the truck, Conn settled into his seat, still chuckling as he hung his head over the back of the bench. The cab smelt like it had been drenched in whiskey and tequila by the time Chance had thrown open his door. “Good thing I like fresh air.” The first thing he did was roll down his window then he made sure my lap belt was on before starting the truck. “The seat belt rule applies to everyone,” I hinted as Chance pulled out of the parking spot. I could just make out the sound of sirens in the distance. We’d barely gotten him out in time. Chance had his seat belt fastened before we’d made it to the end of the block, but Conn was giving me the proverbial middle finger with his whole slouched, suddenly-gone-deaf act. “Asshole,” I muttered before leaning across him. I grabbed his seat belt and pulled it across his lap. When I clicked it into place, Conn looked at me with that crooked smile of his, his dark hair falling into his glazed eyes. “Why fasten your own belt when someone else will do it for you?” “Because someone won’t always be there to take care of you. One of these days, you have to learn how to take care of yourself.” I leaned back in my seat and took a breath. I was sandwiched between Chance and Conn in the close confines of a truck that I couldn’t launch myself out of if I needed to get away. This was like one of my worst nightmares—being caught between the brother I’d spent the first part of my life mistakenly loving and the brother I wanted to spent the last part of my life with, who actually deserved, wanted, and reciprocated my love. It was like some messedup love triangle. So instead of focusing on that, I turned my attention to something else. “Why did you hit him, Conn?” I asked, holding back adding, “Why do you always have to attack someone with your fists instead of your words first?”

Conn rolled down his window. When it was open, he leaned his head against the door and let the air break across his face. “Because I wanted to rough up that pretty face of his.” Like with the crosswalks, Chance wasn’t taking quite so long at the intersections, but it would still be a long ride home. When I crossed my arms and blew out a frustrated breath, Conn twisted in his seat some. “If you’re not satisfied with my answer, you’re welcome to fabricate one of your own,” he said. “You hit him because you’re drunk. You kept hitting him because you’re really drunk.” I glared at the window, knowing that was only half true. I’d seen Conn whale on plenty of people when he was sober, but sometimes it was easier to believe a person could only behave the way he did because of the influence of alcohol. It was hard to accept that such rage could so suddenly go off in a person all on its own. “Yeah, that’s the difference.” Conn snorted. “If I’d been sober and he’d put his hands on you, I would have just shook his hand.” He snorted again, shaking his head against the window frame. From the rearview mirror, I saw Chance glancing at us every few moments, his expression not quite but almost tense. “So you hit him again because . . .?” I still didn’t have a satisfactory answer—other than Conn being an impulsive asshole who had such a short fuse that if you blinked, it was gone. “Because someone had to.” Conn’s eyes sliced in Chance’s direction as if he was accusing him of something. I focused on staying calm. On the outside, I thought I was pretty convincing, but the inside told another story. “Why?” I waited a minute then another. Chance’s hand lowered from the steering wheel, found one of mine, and twined his fingers through mine. Conn didn’t miss Chance reaching for me and me reaching back. Just as I was about to repeat my one-word question, Conn’s eyes closed as he twisted away from me. He hunkered down in his seat, looking small, almost like a young boy. “If you really don’t know the answer to that, I’m not going to spend the time recapping the last twelve years for you.”



TECHNICALLY, ONLY TWENTY-FOUR hours had passed, but I was fairly sure time was messing with me. In that amount of time, my life had changed so much it didn’t seem possible that only one day could have passed. After dragging a passed-out Conn to his room, Chance and I had experienced a seriously awkward moment outside my room. The unsaid question passed between us so intensely I was just about to pull him inside when he pressed his lips to my forehead, told me goodnight, and disappeared down the stairs. He hadn’t been at breakfast, and though it was rare for him to be at lunch, I couldn’t keep myself from staring at the doorway the whole time I nibbled my chicken salad sandwich, hoping he’d rush through it. He never did though. So instead of obsessing and overanalyzing everything that had been said and unsaid, I took a page out of Chance’s book and threw myself into as many tasks as I could find to keep my head and hands busy. First thing on the docket had been checking on the wolf pup . . . or rather Wolf—what an original name. When I didn’t find him in his enclosure or in the library, I went off a hunch. After knocking, I found him racked out in bed with a snoring Chase. So much for the wild wolf not acting like a lap dog. He’d barely lifted his head from the pillow to acknowledge me before closing his eyes and getting back to snoring too. After that, I helped Mrs. Baker with some of the household chores—she couldn’t stop thanking me for profusely—and after all the outside windows on the first floor had been hand washed, I’d meandered into the garden to tackle the strawberries. I picked a healthy-sized basket and moved over to the herb garden to trim a few pieces of rosemary, basil, and sage. I wasn’t sure what Chance had planned tonight for dinner, and really, what was on the menu was what I was least concerned with, but fresh herbs could make any dinner better. Plus they kept my hands busy and my mind somewhat empty. Dinner at the main house was on the table every night at six thirty, but I’d mentioned to John and Chase at lunch that I’d be having dinner at Chance’s house that night. Both of them had given me looks that made me want to squirm in my seat. I hadn’t brought up anything about last night or what we’d, in so many words, confessed to each other, but from the looks they gave me, it was like Chase and John had been there. I didn’t see Conn all day either. He might have been holed up in his room nursing a hangover, or maybe he was already a bottle deep into creating his next one. Despite the abundance of energy I had, I didn’t seem to have enough to go knock on his door. Conn drained me of so much more than energy, and even though I would always care for him, I had to care for him from a distance. I couldn’t let him pull me under again, not when I’d finally found what I’d been looking for at the surface. The whole time, I’d been searching in the wrong place. What I wanted to give and wanted to feel wasn’t hiding in the darkness I’d followed Conn into; it had been in plain sight the whole time.

When eight o’clock rolled around, I’d run out of chores to do, and I’d already been showered, dressed, and ready for a half hour. If I paced the foyer one more time, I would start putting wear marks into the wood floor. So after grabbing my jacket and a set of keys for one of the ranch trucks, I set the basket of strawberries and herbs on the floor of the passenger seat, fired up the truck, and was about to hit the gas when I realized I wasn’t sure where Chance’s place was. I knew it was on the Armstrong property, but that covered miles and miles of wide-open space and just as many miles of dirt roads, any of which could lead to Chance’s. I’d kept myself so busy I hadn’t stopped to realize I didn’t know how to get to him. Reaching into my jacket pocket for my cell phone, I pulled it out, and a small piece of paper tumbled out with it. On the scrap of yellow legal paper were a few words in familiar handwriting. Follow the GPS to the destination “home.” I reread the note a few times, puzzling over how he’d known which coat I’d pull on or which truck I’d pick or that I wouldn’t have realized before I was on my way that I didn’t know which way that was. But I realized that those questions might be puzzling through the lens of our new relationship—the romantic one —but they weren’t puzzling at all when I thought of it from the perspective of our old one. We’d been such good friends for so long it wasn’t so hard to believe that Chance would know what coat or what car I’d pick. I could have done the same with him. The friend part we had down pat—it was the other part I was hoping to get better acquainted with. After fiddling with the GPS, I managed to get the directions to “Home, Chance Armstong” pulled up, and I let the creepy female voice guide me down so many winding roads there was no way I could have found my way there or back without said creepy voice. The GPS showed Chance’s place as almost four miles away from the main home, but the going was so slow it took me almost twenty minutes to get there. I was still a half hour early for our date. Or our dinner. Or our dinner date. Or whatever this night would turn into. It was pitch black so far out, and there were no streetlamps lining the driveway to Chance’s place like there were back at John’s, so the porch lights served as a beacon. I slowed as I got closer to take a good look at Chance’s place. Like the home he’d grown up in, his was built from giant, butterscotch stained logs, but it was less than a quarter of the size of John’s sprawling home. More windows were cut into Chance’s home though, and there was something more inviting about it. It was in the middle of nowhere, and it didn’t exactly have a white picket fence around it, but when I drove up to Chance’s place for the first time, I felt none of the same uncertainty or unease I’d had pulling up to John’s my first night. Chance’s truck was nowhere to be seen, but maybe he had it parked around back. Other than a couple lights glowing from one side of the first floor, the house was dark. “You have arrived at your destination,” the voice confirmed as I pulled to a stop and turned off the ignition. Maybe he wasn’t back yet. Maybe he’d gotten held up with something as he did most nights. Maybe he was at the grocery store grabbing what he needed for dinner, or maybe he was grabbing take-out from town. Maybe a million different things, but I could keep on maybe-ing the night away or I could go find out. Once I was out of the truck, I stepped onto his porch and took a closer look. The porch was wide and covered and ran the whole length of the front of the house. At one end was a pair of rocking chairs. That seemed odd since Chance was the only one who lived there, but I supposed when and if he had company, a person needed an extra chair. Plus, one rocking chair would have looked strange. Too lonesome. Pulling open the screen door, I rapped lightly on the door. No answer. I listened for a minute, but I couldn’t hear anything that would indicate pots and pans were flying around in the kitchen or boot steps were moving about inside. Knowing that if anyone still kept their front door unlocked, Chance would be the one, I twisted the doorknob. Lo and behold, it opened. I supposed living in the middle of nowhere on private property gave a person a bit more freedom to be forgetful with their locks.

Unlike John’s foyer, the wood floors in Chance’s house didn’t creak or protest as I passed over them. I moved silently inside the dark entryway. I caught sight of a table lamp off to the side, so I switched it on. The place was as inviting on the inside as it had been on the outside. It wasn’t cluttered with furniture or knickknacks, but spaces were filled and walls weren’t empty. As much as I wanted to inspect each room, I wanted to find Chance or a hint at where he might be more. I followed the light to find the kitchen, but it was empty. The stove was turned off, the counters clean and empty, and no grocery bags waited to be unloaded. I was just reaching for my phone, hoping I’d get reception out in the middle of nowhere, when I noticed Chance’s boots resting just to the side of the back door. They were his everyday work boots and still looked wet with mud, so he had to be here. Or have just been here. “Chance?” I called, looking in the laundry room and out on the back porch. Other than the muddy boot prints leading up the stairs, I saw no sign of him. Retracing my steps, I went to the bottom of the stairs and looked up them. There didn’t seem to be any lights on or sounds coming from the second floor, but I felt the need to go up there. Climbing the dark steps to a dark second floor inside a dark house when the only sign of the person I was looking for was a pair of muddy boots might have been unwise, and I could probably have nailed the lead in some slasher movie, but I kept going. I had no reason other than a gut feeling to believe he was up there, but if I’d gone on more gut feelings in my life, I wouldn’t have wound up chasing some boy who never wanted to be caught. “Chance?” I repeated when I reached the top step. At the end of the hallway, light streamed from beneath a closed door. I headed toward the door, feeling my throat run dry and my knees weaken. Not because I knew that door led to Chance’s bedroom and that realization brought with it images of us tangled beneath the sheets . . . but because it raised a memory I’d tried to repress into a grave years ago. The memory of walking into another Armstrong brother’s bedroom when he’d supposedly been expecting me. I’d found Conn holding himself above another woman, both naked save for the sheet twisted around them. It had been another cruel game of his. I’d gotten too close, and his counter push was inviting me to his bedroom late one night knowing I’d come . . . only so I could find him doing with one of my friends what I’d been led to believe he and I would do that night. It was my least favorite memory of Conn, and it had left a scar so deep even years of repression couldn’t begin to heal it. That was the night I’d fled Red Mountain, swearing I’d never return, and headed to Pullman a month before class started. And there I was, seven years later almost to the date, standing outside another Armstrong brother’s bedroom door, waiting to have my fate revealed to me. My hand wrapped around the knob, but I froze. If I stayed on that side, I wouldn’t have to accept what was waiting for me behind the door. If I opened the door, my fears of history repeating itself would either be confirmed or denied, but there’d be no going back. One of the few constants in my life had been the knowledge that Chance Armstrong would never hurt me, and he’d proved that again and again, year after year. But up until that night I’d found Conn screwing one of my high school friends, I never would have guessed that Conn’s cruelty stretched that far. I’d been wrong about him. I didn’t want to discover I’d been wrong about Chance too. A moment or a minute later, I heard a sound that gave some indication that there was life on the other side of the door, but it wasn’t a sound I wanted to hear. It was Chance, I knew that, but it was a moan, as low as it was long. God, if I’d stopped long enough to notice the sounds before I threw myself into Conn’s room, I’m sure I would have heard the same ones. When I heard a second moan, this one more anguished sounding than the first, I found the courage to

twist that doorknob and step inside the room. I was right—it was his bedroom. My gaze instantly went to his bed . . . but instead of a tangle of sheets and limbs, I found it still made, nothing but a couple pillows resting on top of it. My relief was so palpable, I could have fallen to the ground and wept, but instead, I called out, “Chance?” There was a second or two of quiet then I got my reply. “Scout?” His voice came from the room adjoining his bedroom, what I guessed was his bathroom. “You’re early.” His voice didn’t sound right. Strained, like it was too much work to talk. “Are you okay?” I hurried across the bedroom, going toward the sound of his voice. “Yeah, just give me a—” Just as he was about to close the bathroom door, I lunged inside it. When I saw him, my eyes went wide. “Minute,” he finished with a sigh. “What happened?” I cried, frozen as I gaped at him. He was still in his jeans, but everything else he’d shed. Under normal conditions, I would have been gaping at him in a different way, but what I saw was not normal conditions. Chance held out his arm—the arm he wasn’t cradling to his stomach. “I got thrown from the colt I’d been working on breaking.” Half of his head and jeans were coated in dried mud. On the same side, his torso and chest were already showing signs of serious bruising, but that seemed to be the least of the damage. Judging by the way he was cradling that arm, he’d either broken it, dislocated it, or severely sprained it. I’d seen him hold that arm or the other like that, and it had always been for one of those reasons, not just because it hurt. “Did you get trampled by it a few times after it threw you?” I asked, unable to keep from gaping at him as though he were spewing blood in front of me. Chance’s expression switched from anguished to sheepish. “Maybe,” he admitted, which meant he had been. “And the place the colt chose to throw me might have been on a rocky patch of ground where a terrifying baby bunny might have hopped out of its hole and spooked it. Because, you know, nothing says spooky like a white, fluffy baby bunny.” As soon as he chuckled, he winced, grabbing at his ribs with his good arm. “Shit, you broke some ribs too.” Seeing him show pain was such a rare occasion that it spurred me into action. Rushing to the sink, I threw open the cupboards until I found a couple of bins containing first aid supplies. I was in such a hurry to pull them out I spilled them on the floor. “Double shit,” I mumbled, collecting the scattered contents. “Quite the nurse I am.” Chance moved toward me, scooting a roll of gauze along with his toes. Probably because bending down and picking it up would have been a practice in torture. “I’ll take you over a real nurse any day. And I haven’t broken anything. Maybe a couple hairline fractures, but nothing’s broken broken.” I eyed his arm as I tossed the gauze back into the bin. If that wasn’t broken, then I was Little Miss Sunshine. “It’s sprained. It’s a bad one,” he added when I lifted a brow. “What makes you so sure?” I asked, lifting the bins and putting them on the sink. “Experience. I’ve had enough broken bones to know what one feels like and what doesn’t.” I eyed the arm skeptically. “Still, we should get it X-rayed just to make sure.” Chance shook his head—even that seemed painful. “If you still feel the need to get me X-rayed tomorrow, I promise I will go willingly with a smile, but not tonight. I’m beat, bruised, and kind of just want to collapse into bed.”

He looked almost as tired as he looked injured. From the events that had kept us out so late last night and the knowledge he’d still risen at his usual crack of dawn wake-up call, he’d just worked fifteen hard hours on a few hours of sleep. Taking him to the E.R., waiting for the X-ray then waiting for a doctor to read the X-ray . . . he wouldn’t be in bed until sunrise tomorrow. “Okay, but I will hold you to that willingly with a smile thing tomorrow if I still think you’re lying about that ‘sprain.’” Chance nodded. “Deal.” I cranked on the warm water and grabbed a washcloth from the pile. “How did you get back here? Why didn’t you call someone to come help?” I knew the likely answer to the second question better than I knew the answer to the first—asking for help was some kind of Armstrong man handicap. I wasn’t even sure they knew the word. “I didn’t call anyone to help because I knew you’d be the first one to show up, and I didn’t really want you to see me like this—thanks, by the way, for showing up early.” He looked at me in the mirror as I ran the washcloth under the warm water, the brow in the muddy side of his face lifting. “And I got here on the bunny-phobic horse himself.” I shut off the water. “You mean you actually climbed back onto that thing after it nearly killed you and rode here like that?” I didn’t know how far away he’d been when it had happened, but the distance seemed insignificant. He’d been thrown onto a hard pillow of rocky ground, likely stomped on by the frightened animal, then after “shaking it off,” he’d decided to climb back aboard and trot home? Just thinking about how painful that ride must have been made me grimace. I approached him with the wet washcloth. “Where’s the horse now?” “Tied to the hitching post out back. I already have him untacked, fed, and watered, so he’ll be good until morning. Unless those bastard bunnies come after him again.” Chance shook his head and didn’t flinch when I pressed the hot cloth to his face. The dried mud started to crumble off, but it was so thick, it would take a dozen fresh cloths to clean his face alone. “Go figure you’d make sure an animal was safe and taken care of before you’d take care of yourself.” As I dabbed at the mud, I found something mixed in with it. It was dried too, but this substance was darker and made my stomach squirm. “You either are or were bleeding too.” I swiped through a patch of mud on his cheek, and a small scrape started to ooze. The dried mud was probably acting as some kind of bond to keep his wounds sealed. Removing the mud would mean opening up whatever gashes and wounds were hiding beneath them, but the mud had to come off. It might have been doing him some good, but it couldn’t hide the wounds forever. Eventually they’d get infected or bleed again. “Chance, what the hell?” I whispered, my voice shaking as I rinsed the cloth, finding just as much red tinting the water as brown. “My description of what happened exactly,” he replied as I approached with the once again clean cloth. “If I grab you a chair, could you sit? Would that help?” I was desperate to help him feel better. Desperate. I would have stripped down, painted stripes on myself, and streaked around downtown Jackson Hole if that would have made him feel better. “I don’t know. Let’s find out.” He moved toward the sink, seeming to favor his right leg. Turning around, he settled on the ledge and slowly scooted onto the counter. He was trying so hard not to wince that beads of sweat formed above his brows. “Have you taken anything for the pain yet?” I asked, trying to help him get into a more comfortable position. “Ibuprofen? Hydrocodone? A shot of Demerol? A shot of whiskey?” Chance tilted his face so I could better wipe it clean. I tried to dab as gently as I could, but the mud wouldn’t budge with just light dabbing.

“I was thinking of grabbing a bag of frozen peas, but I hadn’t gotten around to it yet,” he said. I dropped the cloth back into the sink and dug through the bins for something that resembled pain relief. Something a bit more effective than frozen peas. All he had were a couple travel packets of Tylenol, so I ripped one open, filled the cup on the sink with water, and lifted the pills to his mouth. “Are you trying to drug me?” he asked, smiling. “Yeah, so I can take advantage of you in your damaged, druggy haze.” His smile grew. “In that case . . .” He opened his mouth and let me pop the pills inside then took a drink when I lifted the cup to his lips. “You keep your promises, right?” he teased after swallowing them. I tapped the tip of his nose before picking up the washcloth and getting back to work. “Always.” “Too bad I can’t keep my promise about dinner,” he replied as I kept swiping away at the mud, revealing more hairline scratches crisscrossing his face. “I had it all planned out. Barbecued steaks, baked potatoes, and grilled asparagus. I even had some tea steeping in the sun all day and a pack of noncheap beer in the fridge.” Nothing about this should have made me smile—the man I cared about had been in a serious accident —but I couldn’t help it. “Well, if you give me a rain check on dinner, I won’t count this as you breaking your promise. Plus, if any guy’s got an excuse for canceling on a dinner date, that guy would be you.” On my third trip to the sink with the dirty washcloth, I noticed the framed photo hanging on the wall beside the sink. My eyebrows came together as I studied it, not sure how the pieces fit together. Chance was in the very center of the picture, standing in front of the illuminated Wild Bill sign, and he was surrounded by a few dozen familiar and unfamiliar people wearing Wild Bill employee T-shirts. Chance’s arm was in the air and from one of his fingers dangled a set of keys. I didn’t know how long I’d been staring at that photo before he cleared his throat. “Yeah, I was going to explain that to you tonight. You know, over prime T-bone steak and a couple of really good beers.” I looked at him. “Explain it now.” He inhaled. “I own the place.” I felt my forehead wrinkle. “You own Wild Bill’s?” Chance nodded, watching for my reaction. “Since when?” “For about five years now. Right after the original owners let me know about their forthcoming bankruptcy.” Chance lifted his good shoulder. “I stepped in and bought it from them before the banks could formally foreclose.” “Why didn’t you say anything last night?” I asked, taking another look at the photo. What in the world had made a through-and-through rancher decide to get into the classless bar business? “Because I thought I’d said enough stuff last night. I didn’t want to add anything else to the pile.” When I thought about what we had talked about last night, I realized we had gone over plenty of heavy topics, but him owning the bar didn’t seem like a heavy topic in comparison. It didn’t seem heavy at all. It sure explained why everyone seemed to know him and why Little Miss Ponytail wanted to jump his bones. “I’m not following. Why is you owning Wild Bill’s such a hard topic to discuss?” Chance leaned back, resting his head against the wall. “I knew if I told you that I’d bought Wild Bill’s, I’d also have to explain why I’d bought it . . . and we’d talked or hinted around that topic enough for one night. That’s why I was saving it for tonight, so thank you for providing the segue.” Chance’s eyes lifted to the photo. “Even though dinner and drinks would have been my preferred method for tackling it.” “How about tackling it now?” His forehead creased when I uncovered yet another cut just above his jawline. “Why not?” he mumbled before his face cleared. “You know how Wild Bill’s kind of always felt like our place? Our place?” Chance opened his eyes to search for some agreement on my face. Whatever he saw seemed to satisfy him. “When I heard it was going to be shut down, I couldn’t stop thinking about it,

and that translated into me not being able to watch that happen.” He searched my face again. I wasn’t sure what he was searching for. “So I bought the place.” As I wrung out the soiled washcloth, watching more mud and blood wash down the drain, I tried to understand. “So because you felt like Wild Bill’s was our place, you couldn’t let it close down? Don’t get me wrong, because I think that’s amazing and totally unexpected and something I probably would have done because that place is so tacky it’s got to be doing something right, but I’m still not so sure I understand why you did it . . . exactly.” Chance’s tongue went into his cheek, his eyes shifting from me to the photo then back again. “It was all I had left of you here.” He sounded like he was at confession. “You were gone, but it was still here and . . . I don’t know . . . every time I went there on my own to play darts while drinking a beer, it was like you were right there with me. It was the last place I could still . . . feel you.” Chance’s face pulled up as if he was trying to make an apology. “That was why I couldn’t let it go. I couldn’t let the doors just be shut and the windows boarded up when all I had left of you was still inside.” His head lowered as he held his injured arm closer to his body. “I couldn’t let it go as easily as I’d let you go.” He was opening up. Finally. Unlike last night, he was admitting things I had started to wonder if he ever would. Nothing like some serious bodily harm to open the flood gates. I told myself to stay calm, to not act as though I was practically leaping on the inside from him lowering the walls he’d built to keep me hidden from whatever curse he was so sure would be looking for me if he told me what he was saying right now. “So you’ve felt something for me . . . for a while?” I focused on his neck, washing away the dirt and blood. Chance answered with a nod. “How long?” When I realized I’d been dabbing at the same spot after it had been cleaned two swipes ago, I went back to the sink to rinse the cloth. Chance’s chest rose and fell several times. Just when I was certain I’d scared him off with my questions, it fell again and his mouth opened. “Pretty much from the moment you arrived.” My hands stopped squeezing the cloth. “Like that first summer I moved here?” “That one.” His answer didn’t take long that time. The cloth was clean, but I kept it under the water. I was still frozen from what he’d just said. “Why? How? You never said—” I didn’t want to scare him with all of my questions, but I’d never once suspected Chance cared about me in that way, in the way I felt about him now. He’d always been my friend, a shoulder when I needed one, a hand up when I fell, an ear to listen, and a heart to heal me. I’d never seen the signs, a flicker in his eye or lingering looks across the table. I couldn’t imagine keeping what I felt to myself for that many years when he was right in front of me. “Why didn’t you tell me?” I said at last. That was the question I was most stumped over. I didn’t need to understand the rest yet, just why he’d never given me the slightest hint that our friendship could have been more if I’d been open to it. Chance’s head turned to look at me, still frozen at the sink. “Because it was very clear from the start who your preference was for in that department. And it wasn’t me.” Conn. He’d messed up so many areas of my life. Because I’d let him mess up so many areas of my life. “I suppose I can understand why you never mentioned it.” I wrung out the cloth and came back to his neck. “I’m sorry. That sounds so ridiculous as a reply to what you just admitted, but that’s all I’ve got. I’m sorry.” I wiped at my eyes with the back of my arm, both to prevent tears from falling and new ones from forming. “Conn blinded me to everything around me. He was a mistake. I didn’t see it then, but it’s so clear now that it’s depressing to think about how much time I wasted giving my heart to a person who’d

killed his. I was wrong.” I rested my other hand on the other side of his neck, inadvertently pressing my fingers into his pulse. It was strong, fast. I’d never have to worry about Chance’s heart. “I’m not making the same mistake this time.” Chance’s good arm reached for me and settled into the bend of my waist. “You picked Conn first. You picked me next.” His thumb stroked my hip. “Does it look like I’m at all concerned or put out about that?” I glanced up from the spot on his neck I was working on. His eyes were waiting for mine. “No. Not really. Actually . . . not at all.” I wondered why he wasn’t at least marginally upset that I’d chosen his younger brother for all of those years, so I asked. “Why not?” His hand at my waist tightened. I felt the heat from his hand coming through my shirt, warming my skin just above my hipbone. “Because I’ve got you now. That’s all that matters. Right now, right here, you’re mine.” His voice didn’t hold a controlling note, nothing that hinted that he meant he owned me or could dominate me or could control me. Instead, he said it in a way that led me to believe it was the thing he was most proud of in the world. That I was his and he was mine. That we belonged to one another. When I’d brought up the Conn topic, I was sure we’d be discussing it until next week, but since he’d opened the door to the other hurdle that rested between us, I was leaping through it. “So that means you’ve gotten over that little thing you’ve been preoccupied with for a while?” I went back to examining his neck. “Something about a curse maybe?” I felt him watching me and waiting for my eyes to return to his, but they couldn’t. Not yet. If he saw into my eyes, he would see past them, and seeing past them meant seeing that shred of apprehension I felt about the curse and what it had done to the women the Armstrong men had loved. I didn’t want him to see my fear. He possessed enough for the both of us. “Wow,” he said with a soft chuckle, “you are really bulldozing through the bullet points I had planned for tonight.” His laugh wasn’t right. It was a little too high and contrived, which meant . . . I didn’t want to hear what he had to say next. I wanted to cover my ears and run away, but I that wouldn’t make what he was about to say any less true. “Yes, I’ve got you now, and knowing that will be the one thought that gets me through the hard times in life, and it will be the last thing I think of before leaving this life. That’s all I’ve ever wanted or can imagine ever wanting, knowing that there was a time when you wanted me too.” Chance’s thumb stopped drawing circles into my side. I might not have been looking at them, but I could tell when his eyes fell away from me. “But I can’t keep you, Scout.” There they were. The words I wanted to run away from, ears covered, before he’d uttered them. Those words were my enemy, and I wanted to pretend I’d never heard them. Even though pretending might have only been a child’s game, I wouldn’t let them be the end. I wouldn’t accept them without a fight. I took a breath and held it. As I let it go, I whispered, “Because of the curse.” Chance’s hand moved from my waist to cover my hand still around his neck. “Because of what the curse means. Because of what it brings. Because of what will happen to you as a result.” I wanted to stomp my foot or kick something or drive my fist through the mirror. I wanted to act like the impulsive teenager Chance had first gotten to know, but that wasn’t who I was anymore. I’d moved past those impulses in order to see what I was really hiding behind them. I kept myself calm, my breaths even, my strokes down his neck gentle. “You don’t even know it exists.” His fingers braided through mine. Realizing that if he got his way, I’d never feel his fingers through mine again made the touch that much more intimate, as bittersweet as it was fleeting. “Yes. I do.” His voice was so confident, so without doubt. “I know it’s there, just as confidently as I know what I feel for you.” He lowered our joined hands to his chest. “It’s inside me. I was born with it. It’s tied to me, and I won’t let something that’s inside me that I have the power to take you away from me.”

The washcloth fell from my hand, slapping on the floor. Rivulets of brown and red spread onto the tile, pooling into the cracks and staining the spotless grout. I wasn’t done fighting. Never. I wouldn’t let the one thing I’d gotten really right in life slip away because of a technicality. Sure, that technicality might have meant my early death, but there were worse things. Like living alone. Or living without love. “I’ve been thinking too. About this curse thing.” I stepped back, but I kept my hand over his chest. His rhythmic heartbeat steadied me. “And I’ve come to the conclusion that I would rather die young with you than live a long life without you. So you’re off the hook with this whole curse thing. I’ve signed the waiver. I won’t hold you responsible if I wake up tomorrow and a boulder comes through my bedroom window and squashes me.” Chance’s eyes turned to ice. “That’s not funny. This isn’t a joke, Scout. This isn’t some game of Bloody Mary—this is us talking about your assured, one-hundred-percent guaranteed premature death in some horrific way if we’re together.” His voice was loud, echoing off the bathroom walls. “So please do me a favor and stop being so cavalier about it, like a handful of buried women at the top of that mountain is just some humorous coincidence.” Chance’s arm thrust toward Red Mountain, his breath coming in short pulls and his eyes wild. I closed my eyes, rethinking my approach. Making light of it wasn’t working, but there had to be some way I could prove to him that I knew I was looking the Grim Reaper in the face and still making my choice with unwavering confidence. “I’m sorry.” I wondered how many more times I’d say that before the night was over. “When you fell for Conn right off the bat, you want to know what I felt?” The skin between my eyebrows creased. “Anger?” Chance whipped his head from side to side, covering my hand with his again. “Relief. I knew that he could never love you back, so you were safe loving him. You would be okay as long as you kept your attention on him. As much as I cared for you and died every time I had to watch your eyes go soft when Conn came into the room or when Conn said something mean to you . . . there’s a part of me that wishes when you came back this summer, you would have still loved him.” When I blinked, a tear spilled from the corner of my eye. “That’s a terrible thing to think.” “It’s not terrible if it means getting to watch you live a long life and die the way a person’s supposed to—of old age.” I swiped at my eyes again. “So you’re saying there’s no hope for us? You’re giving up on us before we even have a chance to get started?” Chance’s fingers curled through mine, giving my hand a soft squeeze. He worked up a smile, but his eyes didn’t mirror it. “I’m saying there never was any hope for us in the first place.” His eyes lowered. “But it was nice pretending for a little while.” I couldn’t stop staring at the washcloth on the floor. I couldn’t stop thinking about how if that small scrap of cloth could wipe away all that blood and dirt, again and again, and still come out clean with some warm water, why couldn’t I fix this? Why couldn’t I see past Chance’s objections and make him understand that, though they might have been valid, they weren’t my own worries? I wasn’t worried about losing my life—I was worried about losing him. “Can we just not talk about this anymore right now?” I looked away, feeling as though I’d both had my hopes lifted and my heart broken in the span of a minute. “My head’s about to explode, and we’ve got to get you fixed up better than this because if I keep up with the washcloth routine, we’ll be here until tomorrow night.” I waved at his face and neck, which were still pretty well coated in mud, and I hadn’t even gotten to his caked hair yet. For a moment, he almost looked as disappointed as I felt then his face cleared. “Yeah, later sounds like a good idea.”

I knew what he really meant was never because in his eyes, it was a done deal. Sealed shut. Talking about us would have been futile because in his eyes, there never could be an us. “Why don’t you hop in the shower and get cleaned up?” I suggested as I bent down to grab the dirty washcloth and mop up some of the mess. “The hot water will help with the sore muscles I know you won’t admit to having”—I peaked an eyebrow a him—“and I’ll go in search of those frozen peas and notcheap beer to help with the rest of the aches and pains. Sound like a plan?” I was already sticking my arm inside the shower, cranking on the hot water. Chance scooted off the counter, trying to seem like it wasn’t painful. “Sounds like a plan.” I grabbed a couple towels out of the cupboard and hung them on the hook outside the shower, tested the water, then opened the curtain and waved him inside. “I’m still in my pants,” he said, waving at his mud-coated jeans that left a trail of mud flecks as he came closer. “Yeah, I gathered that. You’ll probably want to take them off before you get in the shower.” His head tilted. “Yeah, I don’t normally shower in my pants, but you’re not exactly leaving me with a lot of options, are you?” His gaze went from me to the shower to his jeans then repeated the cycle. I rolled my eyes then headed for the door. “Prude.” “Voyeur,” he muttered back. He waited until I’d closed the door before even lowering his fingers to his fly. Chance had never been as bad as his brothers when it came to traipsing around the house in his underwear, but he’d never been so shy with me either. Right at the point in a relationship when most guys couldn’t wait to shed their pants, my guy wanted to keep them glued in place. I waited outside the door until I heard the shower curtain slide closed again. Instead of going downstairs in search of those peas, I stayed right where I was and did a little pant-shedding of my own. My shirt and what was left wound up in the same pile as my pants and socks. I didn’t hesitate to open the bathroom door this time. I didn’t even need to gather a breath or my composure—I just stepped inside and moved in Chance’s direction. “So about you and me . . .” I said, announcing myself when I was just outside the shower. Chance was silent for a moment, but when he spoke, his voice was two notes higher than normal. “I thought you wanted to talk about that subject later.” I shrugged at the shower curtain he was hidden behind. “This is later, and technically, it isn’t talking I’ve got on my mind.” “Scout—” But when I slid the curtain open and stepped inside, whatever warning had been about to follow stopped short when he saw that I was, just as he was, naked. “You don’t get to decide this for me too.” I took a couple steps toward him. The water was a few degrees past warm, streaming down his body and collecting at our feet. His face was so torn, so split right down the middle, but I wasn’t. I’d never been so sure of anything in my life. I moved closer until I could reach out and touch him. When I was close enough that our chests were touching, that torn look on his face became less . . . conflicted. “You don’t want to say or admit or do anything, fine. You don’t have to. But you can’t tell me I can’t.” I wasn’t sure what he would do, but when I lifted my lips to his, letting the water roll from his to mine, his arms tangled around me before he pulled me closer. Right before his lips touched mine, he whispered, “I won’t.”



I’D BEEN AWAKE to watch the sun rise, unlike the person sleeping beside me, who’d probably seen every sunrise for the past fifteen years. I didn’t know what time it was—I wasn’t even quite sure what day it was—but I didn’t care. There was nowhere else I needed to be. Or wanted to be. Or should have been. Nowhere other than right there, huddled beside his body, our limbs so tangled together I couldn’t tell whose was whose, as I watched the dawn of a new day from his bedroom window. Contrary to what I knew Chance believed, this day didn’t look so much more threatening than yesterday. I didn’t get any premonition or inkling that it might be my last day on Earth because I’d chosen to fall in love with the man beside me . . . but if it was the day—my day to go—then I’d leave the world knowing I’d experienced the kind of love everyone aspires to. The shower had been a good idea. I’d had the element of surprise, and well, I’d been naked. Always a good way to sway a guy’s mind. He’d fallen asleep late last night, his arm cradled in a makeshift sling I’d put together, with a smile I’d never seen on Chance Armstrong’s face. Part of me was scared for him to wake, not knowing if a half night of sleep and a new day might shift his mind back into unreasonable territory. Part of me wanted to freeze that moment in time, when I’d never have to worry about his arms around me in bed and he’d never have to worry about the sand running out of my hourglass. As far as moments to freeze, that was the one. But another part of me wanted him to wake and experience this new day with me. I wanted to feel him at my side as we journeyed through our new life together. I wanted him to challenge me and me to challenge him right back. I wanted to fall together and rise together, fail and succeed. I wanted to live a day or a million days of life with the knowledge that I was loved by a good man and there was nothing I wouldn’t do for him. I wanted to see everyday events painted a bit brighter because of that, and I wanted the mundane chores to feel a bit lighter because of that love. My world was the same except for one thing: I’d let the right kind of love into it. So in a way, my whole world was different at the same time it was the same. When I finally felt him stir, I smiled. “You slept in, cowboy.” Still half asleep, Chance kissed my back all the way to the top of my neck. “I did sleep in.” He rolled onto his back, probably to check the time on the clock on his bedside table, which I could have done if I’d really wanted to know the time. “I really slept in.” His voice was low and a bit raspy from sleep, his laugh the same. “I haven’t woken up and seen light out my window since I had the chicken pox when I was ten.” I twisted around to look at him. With the sun lighting up his face and his eyes staring at me as though everything he could ever want was right in front of him, I couldn’t imagine why I hadn’t seen what had been in front of me the whole time. How could I have been so blinded by one brother that I missed this one? The one. There was no other term to describe what Chance was to me. “Well, of those two options,

I’d take a repeat of last night over the chicken pox, no question.” Chance’s good arm was still around me, and he pulled me close. “Ditto one thousand percent.” “So what do you think could be responsible for you sleeping so heavily you slept . . .”—I quickly checked the clock, my eyes widening when I saw the time—“three hours past your usual wake-up time?” I slung my leg over his hips just in case he needed any help with his answer. Another one of his smiles moved into place as his fingers gently raked through my hair. “Let’s see. Well, there was that whole thing in the shower.” He gave me a sideways look. “Moving on to that whole thing on the bathroom floor . . . ending with that whole thing on the actual bed. And there was that bit about me spraining an arm and bruising half my body.” With that reminder, I propped up on my elbow and inspected him. His arm was still cradled close, thanks to the sling, and it seemed as if he’d been telling the truth last night about it just being a sprain. The rest of him looked worse than his arm though. Giant purple and blue splotches ran down his entire right side, from his shoulder to his calf. Even his cheekbone was swollen and showing a bruise. Most of the scrapes and cuts had sealed up fine, but in the light, I saw fine streaks of dried blood staining his light sheets. “But besides all that, I think I know the real reason I slept so late.” Chance’s fingers brushed from my hair down my back, cupping the small of it. “And what’s the real reason? Since a three-peat and getting bruised and broken isn’t that good of one?” I smiled as I brushed his hair back from his brows. I hadn’t realized how long it had gotten. Chance was in a cowboy hat so often, or fresh from one, that I never got to see his hair unless it was matted with sweat. He had nice enough hair that it was too bad it stayed hidden all day. In the morning light, our hair was almost the same color, mine maybe just a shade more auburn. For one sudden, fleeting moment, I had a vision of a child with the same colored hair. Our child. I swallowed and kept that image in a memory bank for later. I still didn’t know where Chance stood on the night we’d shared. Until I did, I couldn’t plan out every night going forward the same way. “The reason I slept so late and soundly beside you is because of just that,” he said. “Because I was beside you. I didn’t have to distract myself from thinking about you or force myself out of some dream or nightmare of you. I didn’t have to try to convince myself this would never happen because”—his arm curled me closer so my chest pressed into his and my face hovered a few inches from his—“it happened.” “And how are you feeling this morning about what happened?” I kept my eyes on his, waiting for his answer. I didn’t wait nearly as long as I’d expected I would. “I feel like both the happiest and most scared man in the world.” I nodded, unable to keep from smiling. His iron resolve to keep me at a distance didn’t seem to be back in place. I could deal with him being scared. I could deal with the intersection and crosswalk thing. I could deal with anything, so long as I had him. “I feel the same way, except for the man part.” When Chance laughed, his chest bounced against my body, igniting something inside me that, after last night, should have been satisfied until Christmas. “So you’re admitting to being scared for your own life? I’ve finally gotten through to you?” he asked after his laugh subsided. I scooted so close I felt his hipbone against my stomach. “I’m not scared that way. I’m not scared the way you are. I’m scared because now that I’ve got you, I’m worried about royally screwing up and hurting you or ruining this. I’m scared I’ll mess up what we’ve got. I’m not scared of dying.” “Why wouldn’t you be scared of dying?” he said under his breath. His hand at my back skimmed up under my hair and curled around my neck. “There’s nothing you could do to mess us up or ruin this or hurt me. There’s nothing you could do that would extend past the way I feel about you and the forgiveness that goes with that. Nothing. So why don’t you stop focusing your fears there and put them where they should be?”

I peaked an eyebrow. “Like on the sky falling on me? A meteorite targeting me? A pack of wolves developing a craving for Scout Holbrook?” When Chance’s forehead creased, I eased off. This wasn’t light subject matter to him as it was to me. A moment after I’d stopped, his face ironed out again. “Well, it would be nice if I had someone other than just me concentrating on keeping you alive. Think you want to give that a go? Help me out with the Scout-life-preservation objective?” He’d kept his voice light, but I heard the tightness underneath. I knew that while he might have framed his words in a teasing manner, he was dead serious. But he was giving in, letting go of the curse controlling his life. He was willing to put his fear behind his feelings for me, and as much as I wanted to leap up and bounce on the bed and scream with excitement, I wanted to kiss him more. So I did. “I promise to help you help me stay alive,” I said toward the end of our kiss, putting one more onto the corner of his mouth before leaning back. His eyes were still closed, his face peaceful, when his phone rang. I checked both nightstands, but I didn’t see it. Chance kept his eyes closed and ignored the buzzing phone. There was a whole five seconds of quiet after it stopped ringing before it started again. I huffed, threw the covers off, and crawled from the bed in search of the phone. It wasn’t quite as bad as an alarm clock, but it was annoying enough that I wanted to shut it off and keep it off. “Where is it?” I crawled around the floor naked, looking under the bed and beneath the pillows scattered across it. Chance sat up, watching me with a look that made the muscles in my stomach contract. “Where’s what?” he asked with a silly smile. I grabbed the closest pillow and tossed it at his face. When it fell to the side, he was still smiling. By then, the phone was ringing for a third time. “My pants,” he said. “I think it’s in the back pocket of my pants.” Hopefully it wasn’t as mud crusted as the pants were. In the bathroom, I found the pants and found the phone in the back pocket that wasn’t caked in dirt. If his phone had been in the other pocket, it probably would have been as beat up and broken as its owner. “It’s Chase,” I called out before carrying it to him. For a moment, Chance’s face creased with concentration, then something dawned on him. The sheets and covers were off and he was rushing-slash-limping to the closet a second later. “The meeting with dad’s lawyer.” He grabbed the first shirt and pair of jeans his fingers touched. “It’s this morning.” Somewhere inside that head of mine, I’d filed away the memo that there was a Saturday morning meeting with Mr. Quacker, but it sure hadn’t been the first thing on my mind when I’d woken up this morning. Watching Chance wrestle into his pants, I rushed over to where my clothes were still piled on the floor. “What time?” “Nine o’clock,” he said, lifting his chin at the clock. It was 9:05. “Shit,” I muttered, pulling on my clothes in record time so I could help him out of his sling long enough to get his shirt on and get the sling back on. Since I could tell he was still in some serious pain, I tugged on his socks and boots, ignoring him the whole time he protested. “So I guess there won’t be time for coffee and breakfast?” Chance paused in the middle of stuffing his shirt into his jeans. “Breakfast and coffee on the front porch with you sounds only about a hundred times better than sitting around a table with a lawyer and my brothers. We don’t need to be there—I can find out what they talked about later.” Chance smiled at me as I fussed with getting his cuffs tucked over his boots. “Let’s stop rushing around like the house is on fire and figure out what we want for breakfast.” I scrambled to where his hat was hanging from the back of a chair. “Nice try. We’re going.” “Why? I’m the one who’s always there, no matter where there is. If anyone has a pass to skip out on

this morning, it’s me.” I lowered the hat onto his head, feeling like it was a shame to hide all of that nice hair. “That’s true. You’re the reliable, dependable one, and I’m not going to be responsible for those admirable qualities taking a hiatus. I’m going to get enough criticism for not being good enough for you—I sure don’t want to prove everyone right from day one.” He went back to tucking in his shirt. “Okay, crazy talker, we’ll go. But only because I don’t want to keep arguing, not because I wouldn’t rather be having breakfast with you or because I actually believe one iota of that crap about people thinking you’re not good enough for me—” “People including me who don’t think I’m good enough for you.” I reached for his hand. I might not have been good enough for him or deserving of him, but I’d spend whatever was left of my life making up for that. Chance tugged me close and formed his hand around my cheek. “I know it’s hard, but please stop talking crazy. Please. For me.” His head angled, his eyes dropping to my lips. “Because you might be under one assumption, but let me assure you that I’m under the opposite. I know—I’m unequivocally confident—that you are what isn’t only good for me but the absolute best for me.” His nose touched mine. “There is no one better for me than you. There never has been, and there never will be.” Our lips were almost connected when Chance’s phone went off again. We both groaned, but I snuck in a quick kiss before tugging him toward the stairs. “You’re so damn romantic, it’s not even funny,” I said, slowing at the stairs to give him time to negotiate them. “And to think this whole time, you were holding out on me.” He chuckled as he followed me down the stairs, his steps uneven as he favored his bruised leg. “Well, you were kind of preoccupied with swooning over my brother. I figured it was best to keep my swooning to myself.” When I reached the first floor, I stopped and lifted a couple of fingers at him. “Two things: One, please stop reminding me of Conn and my totally misguided, forever shameful obsession with him. I’m trying to forget about that whole part of my life, but it’s hard to do when someone keeps bringing it up.” I looked at him as he continued down the last few steps. “And two”—my stern face melted into a smile —“feel free to swoon away now.” “Oh, I’m swooning,” Chance said, looking at me in my rumpled clothes with bedhead and a puffy, makeup-less face as if I were the very origin of beauty. To go from feeling merely endured by one brother to being adored by the other made me wonder again how I’d gotten so confused that I couldn’t tell love from loathing. Was it my mom’s suicide? Being shipped to an unfamiliar place with unfamiliar people? Was it a combination of the two? Or was it an attempt to protect myself from ever again loving someone as much I had my mother? In the back of my mind, did I know that Conn could never love me and that inability would keep me safe from losing love so suddenly and without expectation? Had I kept love away because I’d been scared? I knew that was the reason Chance had kept it at bay. Our fears might have been different, but they stemmed from the same thing—fear of losing the person we loved. But as he took my hand and led me through his house, I realized that we weren’t scared anymore. At least not enough to let that fear control our happiness. I’d sacrificed enough at Fear’s hand. I wouldn’t lay Chance down on the same altar. Walking through his home, holding his hand and realizing all of this, was one of the happiest moments of my life. It felt like the start of a new life. “I think you’re being summoned too now,” he said, lifting his chin at my purse on his hall table. I’d forgotten all about it, and the phone inside it, last night, but that phone was buzzing now. “Great.” I rummaged for my phone as I grabbed the purse from the table. “It’s Chase.” I showed it to Chance as he opened the front door. “It’s Chase now and . . . Chase the last five missed calls too. This must be important, or they wouldn’t be blowing up both of our phones.”

Chance closed the door behind us, didn’t lock it—as figured—and led me down the porch steps. “So are we taking the truck or the horse?” I stared pointedly at his arm in his sling. “I think the horse has done enough damage for one twentyfour-hour period. Why don’t you wait a day or two for round two? At least until less than half of your body is purple.” “So you’re saying the truck?” he said, already moving toward it. I pulled the keys from my purse and dangled them. “I’m driving.” “Then it’s a toss-up between the horse and the truck.” He gently nudged me with his injured arm. Normally I would have nudged him right back, but I didn’t want to hurt it. At least, not any more than it already was. “What do you mean? I’m a great driver.” I feigned outrage as he pulled open the driver’s side door for me, waited for me to jump in, and closed it. When he slid into the passenger seat, I added, “You were the one who taught me, remember?” Chance reached for his seat belt and fastened it securely. “Yeah, I remember. There’s a reason I ride a horse more often than I drive a truck, you know.” I hit the gas. “You’re a cowboy?” “Well, that, and I’m a bad driver.” He gripped the dash with his good hand as I barreled down the road. “I wasn’t aware that bad drivers paused at every intersection and could take the gold medal in defensive driving.” I glanced at him when we came to a fork in the road. Last night it had been dark and I’d been following a monotone voice. Now that I’d found Chance’s, I couldn’t remember the way back to Red Mountain. Chance pointed at the road on the right. “Okay, I take it back. I’m an okay driver, but you are a terrible driver.” When I hit a pothole, the truck bounced so hard our heads hit the roof, confirming his bad driver claims. “Sorry!” I hadn’t even seen that pothole. If I had, I would have avoided it because I was trying to heal Chance, not hurt him more. “Okay, if I don’t remember later because I suffer a brain injury, remind me to enroll you in some safe driver courses and research the safest, most reliable cars on the market.” He rubbed at the top of his hat, but he was smiling. Those dirt roads were riddled with more potholes than dirt, so I eased back on the speed and kept my eyes on the road. I was already on the way to that whole safe driving state of mind. “How long will it take us to get there?” “With the way you drive? Twelve seconds.” “Okay, comedian, what do we have really?” I asked. “Ten minutes”—Chance checked the speedometer—“give or take a few.” I nodded, clutching the steering wheel. “Okay, so that doesn’t give us long.” “Give us long for what?” Chance winced preemptively at a pothole the size of Delaware right in front of us. That one, however, I saw. Steering around it, I glanced at him for a moment. “Give us long to decide what we’re going to tell your family. They’re going to know something’s going on between us when we pull up together, late . . .” On my second sideways glance, I noticed what I hadn’t back in his bedroom. “With you sporting a T-shirt on backward. And inside out.” Chance looked down and a loud exhale followed. “What do you want to tell them?” He threw off his hat and sling in the same motion before pulling his shirt free of his jeans. “What do you want to tell them? They’re your family.” When he tugged his shirt over his head, the road became a little bit more challenging to focus on. “I want to tell them whatever you want to share. I’m just as fine telling them everything as I am nothing. I

don’t need their blessing or to know what they think about us being together. I mean, I’d like them to be supportive, but I don’t need them to be. All I need is this.” He stopped wrestling with his shirt long enough to drop his hand on my leg, just above my knee. Having his hand on me while he sat a couple feet away, naked from the waist up, made it virtually impossible for me to pay any attention to the road. I didn’t see the not-so-small boulder resting on the edge of the gravel road. “Scout!” Chance shouted, his hand moving from my leg to the steering wheel and giving it a hard pull to the right. I eased off the gas, but I didn’t hit the brakes after we narrowly swerved around the cow-sized boulder. That rock would have done some damage to the truck. And maybe the people inside. After a few seconds, when the adrenaline was draining and the close encounter had passed, I looked at a silent Chance. From the look on his face, we were still an instant from plowing into that rock. His eyes were wide, his body tense, and his brow drawn together in a tight line. “Hey,” I said softly, “you okay over there?” My words didn’t rouse him from wherever he was, so I lowered my hand to his and wove my fingers through his. That seemed to snap him back to the present. “For the love of God, Scout”—he sounded out of breath —“did you hear anything when I told you how concerned and downright terrified I am about preserving your life? Do you remember what we’re facing being together—not just what you want to remember, but what we’ll actually be faced with?” Chance thrust his hand at the road. “Because I can’t do that anymore. You can’t do that to me anymore. You can’t be careless and take chances with your life. There’s already too large of a target on your back. Don’t make it any bigger. Please.” Instantly, I understood what he meant—what he’d felt when I was carelessly barreling down the road as if I were invincible. I didn’t need to buy into the curse to respect that Chance did, and that was enough to make me ease off the gas some more, plant my hands on the steering wheel, and vow to keep my eyes on the road the rest of the way. I’d known that being with Chance would change my life in so many ways, but I hadn’t yet considered this way. I’d have to live life a bit more carefully and not take so many risks. It was a small sacrifice in order to be with him, and one I was happy to make. “I didn’t think. I’m sorry.” I sighed, wishing I could be more sensitive so I wouldn’t have to apologize over and over. “You have my word: no more crazy driving. Ten and two from here on out.” I tightened my grip on the steering wheel and continued at an unhurried pace. A minute passed before I detected any motion from him. His arm moved back from my torso, where it had been braced in front of me after he’d steered the truck out of harm’s way. He’d left his arm there like he was worried that even though we’d made it past that danger, another one was right in front of us. “No, I’m sorry,” he said, his voice almost shaking. “I just . . . I knew this would be hard, letting you in. I knew I’d be fighting every instinct to not seal you away in some padded room to keep you safe from the world.” He took a deep breath. “But knowing something and living it are two different things. I’ll try not to act like a lunatic when it comes to keeping you . . . safe, but I’ll have plenty of trips and falls along the way.” He shrugged back into his shirt then his sling. “Can you be patient with me on this? I’ll try, I swear to God, I’ll be trying every day, but I think, at least at the beginning, I’ll fail more often than I’ll succeed.” “We’ll probably both fail more often than succeed at first, but I’ll be patient with you. You’ve already got a proven track record of being patient with me, so we’ll be okay. We’ll figure this thing out.” In the distance, I could make out the ranch. It seemed to have sprung up out of nowhere. “Some couples have to deal with infidelity—we have to deal with a curse. Easy peasy.” A laugh came from Chance, and I felt like I could breathe again. Relationship hurdle number one successfully hurdled—on to number two. “I so hope they’ve got coffee at this meeting. And a tray of Mrs. Baker’s puff pastries. I have a feeling I’m going to need caffeine and copious amounts of butter and sugar to make it through this thing.”

“Hey, I offered you a way out, but you had to go and get all responsible on us.” When we pulled up to the ranch, Chance and I sighed. Him naked beside me in his bed sounded like such a better way to spend a Saturday morning. “Let’s get this over with then?” I said as I shut off the engine. Through John’s office window, I saw Chase peering out at us. He didn’t look like he was in a particularly good mood. “Together,” Chance said, unbuckling our seat belts before grabbing my hand and pulling me out the passenger door with him. We’d barely made it to the stairs before Chase came bursting out the front door, looking like his usual full-throttle self. “Where the hell have you two been? Why the hell haven’t either of you answered your phones?” “Good morning to you too, brother. Beautiful morning, isn’t it?” Chance clamped his hand over Chase’s shoulder, his smile only making Chase’s scowl go up a notch. “What the hell, Chance? I’m not used to you being the irresponsible rebel. With Conn, I expect this and plan accordingly, but I don’t know what to do when the family attorney shows up and the golden boy isn’t in his seat at the table.” Chase’s face relaxed. “You can’t do that to me all of a sudden. At least give a man a heads up before you force him into the responsible role.” Chance held open the front door for me and swatted my backside as I passed. Chase didn’t miss it. His eyes rounded, followed by his cheesy smile, as he waved his finger between the two of us. So I guessed we were telling the family everything . . . “Hold up, I’m putting this all together now.” Chase flicked his finger between us a few more times. “You guys did it, didn’t you? You finally fucking did it.” “That, Chase, is none of your business,” Chance replied. “Before you go and get all X-rated on me, let me clarify.” Chase followed us inside, dropping an arm around both our shoulders. “I don’t mean you guys fucking did it as in you guys fucking fucked.” Chance and I elbowed his stomach at the same time. Didn’t even seem to register before he continued. “What I meant is that you guys finally fucking figured out your shit and are like . . . together now, right? You’re like a thing?” Chance and I kept going toward the office. “I don’t know what a ‘thing’ is exactly, but I’m pretty sure it’s not an accurate definition of what Scout and I are.” Chase hooted. “So you guys are something. It’s about fucking time.” He gave us a couple of one-armed hugs before letting us go. “And you’ve officially reached your morning allowance of four-letter curses,” Chance muttered. “Fuckin’-A.” Chase winked at me as he fell in step beside us. He finally noticed Chance’s arm. “What the hell happened to you? Is Scout really that crazy in the sack because day-um . . .” I had to bite my cheek to keep from laughing. Chance was clearly not amused. “You’ve got three seconds to take that comment back before I kick your ass.” Chase leaned into me. “I’d like to see the one-armed gimp try.” “Three.” Chance stopped just outside the den and waited. “Two . . .” Just when he opened his mouth to say one, Chase raised his hands. “Fine, I take back my comment about Scout being crazy in the sack. I’m sure our Scout here’s a perfect lady in bed, just like she is in all areas of her life.” Chase smiled widely at me. “A perfect lady,” I said, right before loosing my fist into his stomach. Chance and I stepped inside the office, leaving Chase outside to figure out what had just happened. “Nice of you two to grace us with your presences.” Of course Conn greeted us in his usual surly way from where he was sitting at the table, opposite from the lawyer. “It’s not like any of us have more important things to do than sit around some table and wait for the two of you.”

I’d had the best twenty-four hours of my life, and I wasn’t going to let him ruin it . . . but I wasn’t going to let him run his mouth either. “Sorry. Was there a sale on tequila in town? A two-for-one special on shots?” I crossed my arms and leveled him with a look that said piss me off, I dare you. “Sorry we kept you waiting for twenty minutes. It’s not like any of us have wasted hours upon countless hours waiting for you. Don’t worry, as soon as we’re through, you can get back to drinking your liver into dysfunction.” Everyone in the room was watching me, even Chase. He’d just stepped inside, looking a little scared to interrupt me. But Conn lifted an unimpressed brow, kicked his feet onto the table, crossed his ankles, and yawned a loud, exaggerated sound that filled the room. “Glad we’ve got that cleared up. So after this fun family meeting, I can get back to my drinking, and you can get back to fucking my brother into next Tuesday.” “Conn!” Chance charged toward the table. I grabbed his good arm to hold him back, but he just dragged me along with him. “What?” Conn replied with another yawn, stretching his arms over his head. He was infuriating in every way a person could be. He was cruel for seemingly no other reason than he liked it. When I’d come at him with all cylinders firing, I’d forgotten to do what I’d told myself over and over: ignore him. He thrived on attention, earning it the unhealthy way, and the most effective thing a person could do if they had to be around him and wanted to keep their sanity was ignore him. Entering his game was a mistake because he was too damn good at it and remained undefeated. Grabbing Chance’s hand, I steered him around the table to the seats closest to Mr. Harper. “Good morning,” I greeted him. “I’m sorry we’re late, but we can get started now.” The sooner we got this done, the sooner I could get out of being in the same room with Conn. “Hey, Mr. Harper. How are you doing?” Chance shook his hand before taking the seat beside me. Chase slid into the seat across from us. Conn stayed at the opposite end of the table, stewing. I could practically taste how badly he wanted someone to challenge him again. “Better than you’re doing from the looks of it, son.” Mr. Harper waved his fountain pen at Chance’s arm. Chance’s hand found mine resting in my lap. His fingers tangled through mine. “No disrespect, sir, but I don’t think any person is doing better than I am today.” Chase laughed, shaking his head. “You’re so whipped.” Conn swiveled back and forth in his chair. “You’ll have to forgive us, Mr. Harper, for not providing you with the appropriate backstory to understand what my brother is referring to.” When Chance went to cut in, I stopped him. I met his eyes and gave my head a subtle shake. There was nothing Conn could say that could hurt us. Let him say whatever the hell he wanted. I was done responding to him. Chance’s fist tightened around mine, so I tried to relax it by drawing slow circles on the back of his hand. “The god in human form, also known as the middle brother of the family, has been positively smitten with our sister of sorts since she showed up all doe-eyed and unsure. But it was unrequited love for over a decade because our dear Scout, and here’s the real tragedy in this story, was so obsessed with me”— Conn covered his chest with both hands—“that I could have told her to go stick her head in an oven, and she would have asked me what temperature to set it at.” Chance flinched, as if he was fighting staying in his seat, but I kept his hand in mine. “Anyhoo, Scout leaves all abrupt-like after she finds me nailing one of her friends, and poor Chance here loses his best friend and his secret love. Instead of investing in a really good prostitute and some top-shelf alcohol, how most men would deal with it, he throws himself into the ranch and hard labor. The harder, the better. A true masochist.” Conn waved, switching the way his ankles were crossed. “Fast forward about seven years to Dad finally thinking about croaking, and here arrives the prodigal daughter a

little over a week ago. For all appearance’s sake, she’s finally moved on from the boy who shattered her heart for all of those years, and she’s finally decided to turn her attention to the brother who isn’t just capable of loving her back but has loved her for close to twelve years.” That was when Conn started clapping. Across the table, Chase hitched his thumb down the table and mouthed, “Do you want me to kick his ass?” I shook my head again, discreetly so Conn wouldn’t notice I was even paying attention. “And the point of that whole story was to explain to you, dear Mr. Harper, is that all it took was twelve years and me fucking up Scout so badly she almost got to the same empty place I’m at for my brother to finally get laid last night by the woman he loves. The one who’s kind of like our sister, which has just got gross and yuck stamped all over it.” Conn shuddered. “But I digress.” For a whole minute, the entire room was silent, each person looking to the next looking to the next, as if no one was quite sure what should be said or done. Mr. Harper spoke first. Clasping his hands on top of the table, he cleared his throat. “Well, son, from what I recall, you were always the asshole of the family, so I’ll be sure to take that into account in translating that little story.” Across the table, Chase barked out a laugh. “Now if we’re all done telling cute little stories, do you mind if we get down to business? I didn’t drive all this way and narrowly miss hitting a moose for, no offense, the pleasure of your company.” Mr. Harper looked straight at Conn as he said the last part then followed it up with a pronounced yawn that made Conn look like he wanted to throw himself across the table and strangle the old man with his armadillo-patterned tie. Every time I’d seen Mr. Harper, he’d had on some kind of animal-patterned tie, a suit that seemed one size too small for him, a pair of crocodile-skin boots, and what likely counted as the worst-made toupee ever. But he had a friendly enough smile and always had a butterscotch or peppermint coin in his suit pocket that he’d offer me. Plus, he’d just earned major bonus points for locking horns with Conn. So even though Mr. Harper had been Mr. Quacker for years, he had my vote. “John has made a few changes to his will over the past few months, and I’m here to go over these changes with you all.” Mr. Harper slid on his glasses and opened the file in front of him. “I’m not here to explain these changes or council you through them. I’m only here to read them to you.” He delivered another pointed look to the man brooding at the end of the table. But the brooding man didn’t stay quiet as he was so obviously being hinted to do. “Mind explaining why John isn’t here to go over these changes with his family? From your little speech there, I’m guessing something pretty big is about to be revealed. Why wouldn’t John be here to do the explaining and counseling you’re apparently unqualified to do?” Mr. Harper checked his watch. He wore the face on the inside his wrist. I wasn’t sure if he was calculating how much longer he’d be there or how much time he’d already spent, but I knew the feeling when dealing with Conn’s usual sunny self. “Oh, I don’t know, son,” he said. “Maybe because your dad’s in the final stages of Parkinson’s and days from dying. Maybe because he can barely get out a single word anymore. Or maybe because he just damn well didn’t want to be here and put up with your crap.” I wanted to high-five Mr. Harper, but I kept still and quiet as if Zen were my middle name. Conn’s jaw twitched, clearly not as cool as I was. “You’d better quit calling me son unless you want my fist down your throat, old man.” “I’ll gladly stop doing that. All you need to do is shut your mouth and keep it closed until I’m out that door. Sound like a deal?” Mr. Harper didn’t look at Conn as he shuffled through the sheets in the folder, probably because he knew enough about Conn to realize that was no deal he’d shake hands on.

Chance looked tense, his eyes dropping to the papers as though he were a man on trial for murder and those papers held the guilty or innocent verdict. Across from us, Chase looked almost as concerned. Both of their brows were drawn tightly together, foreheads creased, and jaws tight. Seeing them so concerned made me wonder if perhaps I should have been a bit more concerned than I was. I didn’t really see the point of getting worked up when we didn’t even know what had been changed or added to John’s will. Deal with it as it comes, not before. That was a principle I’d tried to apply to my life, though I’d fallen short in certain areas. “John has made a change to the overall share of his estate,” Mr. Harper said, shuffling the papers into a semi-neat pile to read off the top one. “You mean he finally decided to write me out of it?” Conn muttered. If Mr. Harper heard, he didn’t show it. “Instead of the estate being split three ways as before, John’s estate will be split four ways upon his death.” Three sets of eyes turned toward me, all of us suspecting who the fourth party was. “Scout, you have been added as the fourth person to have an equal share of John’s estate.” Mr. Harper looked at me over his glasses, something that resembled a smile on his face. Down the table, a harsh laugh sounded. “How’s that for luck? You get added to gain a quarter share of the Armstrong family’s estate, and if you go and marry Chance, like I know you’re already scheming to do, you’ll be in possession of half of my family’s estate.” Conn shook his head, his eyes so intense I didn’t dare meet them. “Not bad for a little orphan girl whose mom went and offed herself.” Chance flinched, starting to rise from his chair. Again, my hand kept him in place. “And here I’d been thinking that the most surprising thing about John’s will was that he’s never written out the son who’s made it overwhelmingly clear just how little respect, concern, or all-around human decency he feels for his father.” Mr. Harper looked bored with the back and forth with Conn as he checked his watch again. “Hey, I was just paying back all of the respect, concern, and all-around human decency John showed me.” Conn extended his arms and leaned so far back in his chair that I prayed for a breeze to knock him over. “Oh, please. Boo-hoo.” Mr. Harper slid his glasses down his nose to level Conn with a look. “Your daddy didn’t give you very many hugs. He didn’t know how to show affection. He didn’t bounce you on his lap and sing you ‘Mary Had a Little Lamb.’ If you want to pay to cry to me about your past and your daddy issues, fine, I can squeeze you in for a weekly session, but my hourly rate’s going to run significantly higher than the shrinks in town do.” Chase sighed, running his hands through his hair in frustration. “Dude, Conn, give it a rest. This will go a lot faster if you just keep your trap shut. For what it’s worth, I’ve always thought of Scout as a kind of sister anyway. It doesn’t bother me that Dad added her to the will.” I smiled my thanks at Chase. He flashed a wink. “That’s because you’re the one of us who Scout has neither A—tried to fuck or B—actually fucked.” Chase cracked his neck, clearly at his fill of Conn like the rest of us, and turned toward Mr. Harper. “Since you’re not racing out the door right now, I’m guessing something else has changed about Dad’s will.” Mr. Harper clicked his fountain pen. “There is.” I didn’t even know what the something else could have been, but from the way he’d said it, I knew it would cause another uproar. “Is it better or worse than finding out Scout’s inheriting twenty-five percent of our family’s wealth?” Conn piped up, grabbing the pen in front of him and giving it an ominous click. Mr. Harper flipped to the next page in his stack, refusing to look up. “I wouldn’t presume to even take a whack at what your depraved mind would consider better or worse. I’ll let you make that decision once

I’ve told you.” Chase mouthed, “Day-um,” as he jacked his brows to the ceiling. I gave a quick nod. I appreciated Mr. Harper letting Conn have it, but I was more concerned about what he was about to reveal than putting Conn in a corner. “Told us all what?” My voice almost trembled. Chance looked at me, concern drawn on his face. Unlike me, he hadn’t arrived at the conclusion that whatever Mr. Harper was about to tell us, the four lives around that table would be forever changed and not in some small, insignificant way. Mr. Harper clicked his pen again and again. I felt like I was about to snatch that pen and toss it out the window if he didn’t start filling in those clicks with words. Suddenly, he cleared his throat and his eyes lifted, though they wouldn’t meet any of ours. “John fathered a child outside his marriage.” The words hung in the air for a moment. Then Conn snorted. “Yeah, no shit. With the way that man chased tail, he’s probably fathered a clan of children outside of marriage.” Mr. Harper stared at some spot on the wall across from him. “That child is in this room.” That was when things got real quiet. Even Conn didn’t have an immediate remark. Slowly, three sets of eyes trailed my way. “Please don’t say that child is me,” I whispered, not wanting to think of the implications. If John was my dad, then I was a half sister to every Armstrong in that room. That would mean Chance was my . . . God, I couldn’t even think it. If I couldn’t think it, how could I ever hope to accept it? I felt like I was waiting for Mr. Harper’s response for half an eternity, my head spinning as the room shrank. “It isn’t.” Mr. Harper shook his head, but I wasn’t convinced until he said, “You are not John’s biological child, Scout.” The breath I’d been holding came out in one ragged rush. “Thank God.” I turned my hand over in Chance’s. I hadn’t looked him in the face since Mr. Harper’s child-out-of-wedlock announcement, but from the tension I felt leaving Chance’s hand, he’d been as anxious as I had. “Because I was just about to throw up.” I still wasn’t sure that wasn’t going to happen, but the onslaught of nausea seemed to have been receding. Conn’s chuckle rolled down the table, and I felt his gaze willing mine to meet it. When I refused, Conn fired back with his words. “That would have made the whole ‘sister of sorts’ part even juicier.” Chance’s hand was back to clenching mine. I knew it took every scrap of willpower he had to stay quiet and in his seat. “You are not John’s daughter,” Mr. Harper continued, “but your mother also mothered one of the men sitting around this table. Excluding myself, of course,” he added after clearing his throat. The world went still around me again. My mind couldn’t seem to work through what he’d just said. “What does that mean?” I looked at the three brothers, all with more perplexed expressions than mine. Mr. Harper shifted in his seat, narrowing his eyes on the piece of paper in front of him. “It means that one of the Armstrong boys around this table was born to John Armstrong and Susan Holbrook, making him your half brother.” My heart stopped beating. I wasn’t sure if it would restart. So I wasn’t a half sister to all of them, but one of them was my half brother. That was only slightly more comforting than the possibility that had nearly made me pass out a minute ago. Around the table, a series of muttered curses and lingering sighs circled. “My mom never mentioned anything . . . she never hinted at anything . . .” I rubbed my temple, trying to work out some of this in my head. If my mom and John had had one of the boys around the table, that meant she’d had him before I was born by as much as three years or as few as one. How could she never mention the half brother I had, somewhere out in the world, that she’d conceived with one of the

wealthiest men in the west? A married man on top of that? “She and John had been old flames who didn’t quite let that flame burn out when he married Mary,” Mr. Harper explained, looking as if he’d rather have been getting an amputation. “When she found out she was pregnant, she wasn’t sure what to do with the child, so your father convinced Mary to adopt it and raise the boy as one of their own.” Chase hadn’t stopped cursing, each one growing louder with each sentence from Mr. Harper. “I think they planned to carry that secret to their graves,” Mr. Harper added. “Well . . . Mary did, and John nearly did.” I seemed to be the only one able to talk in more than just expletives, so I asked, “Why didn’t he?” Mr. Harper leaned back in his chair. “Because he wanted you to know the truth.” “Some truths are better left lies.” If I hadn’t been looking at him, I wouldn’t have believed those quiet words had come from Chance’s mouth. Suddenly, a bit more light had been shed on my mom’s decision to take her life. She’d had a child with a man she loved, sent the baby to live with that man and his wife, and never seen it again. That might have been her choice at the beginning, but I could only imagine how much that choice had haunted her. “Which one?” I leaned forward, making Mr. Harper look me in the eye. “Who’s my mother’s son?” I wouldn’t assume. I wouldn’t jump to conclusions. I wouldn’t let instinct or likelihoods get involved. Not until I had a name. After that, I could freak out to whatever degree was according. If it was one particular name, the freak-out would probably never end. Mr. Harper stuck his clicky pen into the inside pocket of his jacket, eyeing the door. “I don’t know.” He gave a sympathetic shrug. “You don’t know?” I glanced at the papers below him. Surely written somewhere on some page in that folder was a name. A name I needed to know right that very minute. “Let’s see.” Down the table, Conn’s fingers rolled across the wood as whatever cruel words were about to be released formed. “Who looks the most like you, dear sister-of-sorts? Brownish-red hair, hazel eyes, all-around vacant expression?” Conn didn’t say the name, but he didn’t need to—it was being thought by every mind around that table so loudly it was almost being screamed. “Positively incestuous.” My eyes closed. I wanted to cover my ears as well, but I couldn’t. Not until I’d heard the name. Please, let it not be his. Let the man I’d fallen in love with—the one who deserved it and actually returned it—not be my half brother. I could handle a lot—I’d proven that time and time again—but I couldn’t handle that. How could I go on loving Chance the way I did and wanting him the way I did if I found out we were connected by blood? I knew I couldn’t, and that was difficult, if not impossible, to accept. I looked at Chance, his light hair and light eyes seeming so obvious, and I knew the apology on his face was because he’d arrived at the same conclusion I had. What I saw in his eyes would haunt me forever. In them, he was losing me, just as he’d always feared. It might not have been through death, as he’d worried, but the result was the same. “Please, I have to know,” I pleaded, my eyes moving from Mr. Harper to the documents resting below him. “I’m sorry, Scout. John never made me privy to that knowledge.” When he said he was sorry, it didn’t sound like a cliché an attorney felt obligated to say. He sounded genuinely sorry. “The only people who knew the name of your half brother were Mary, Susan, and John. Two are gone, and the third’s about to go. I think that’s why he wanted you all to know, so the secret didn’t die with him.” Mr. Harper didn’t know, which meant I’d have to wait in torture for John to tell us. I’d never experienced such anxiety and nervous anticipation. I didn’t want to drag the wait out any longer than necessary. All I could hope was that today was a day John had some control over his speech, even just one word, so I wouldn’t have to go to bed with the same fears.

“Believe me, if I knew, I’d tell you. But I don’t. John told me it was something he wants to tell you all together, after you’ve had time to process this.” Mr. Harper closed the file and shuffled it into his briefcase as if he couldn’t put it away quickly enough. Mr. Harper pushed out of his chair, clearly not wanting to spend another minute with us that he didn’t have to. Conn shoved out of his chair so suddenly it toppled back to the ground. “It’s processed. My half brother just fucked my sister of sorts, who, by the way, happens to be his half sister. Drag John in here, and let’s have the name.” When Conn looked around the room, I assumed waiting for Chance or Chase or even Mr. Harper to go get John right that minute, he didn’t find any willing volunteers. I wanted to know the name more than Conn did, but I wasn’t sure I had the strength to stand, let alone carry out everything it would take to get John in here. “Okay, fine, I’ll drag him in here myself.” Conn marched for the door and shoved it open. That was when we heard the sound—the same sound we’d all been dreading—of an ambulance siren blaring closer. Chase and Chance shoved out of their chairs, exchanging a look. “Dad,” Chase said, already running for the door Conn had beat him out of. “Oh, dear God, no,” Mr. Harper said to himself, giving me one last smile of apology before Chance pulled me up and led me toward the door. If the sirens were there, that meant the end was close. It had been close for days, but this was it. John was hours, maybe even minutes, from leaving this world, and his departure was taking the secret he was the last living person to know. Chance had to help stabilize me once I was up because my knees seemed to have forgotten their function. With one strong arm around me, he led me out of the room. “I’ve got you,” he whispered, his voice trembling almost as badly as mine had. “No matter what, I’ll be here to see you through this.” I managed a nod, but I couldn’t conceive of anything Chance could say or do to get me through the reality of him being my half brother after what we’d done last night and the intimate feelings I had for him. By the time we made it to the stairs, Mr. Harper had opened the front door to let the paramedics inside. They were carrying a stretcher. That wasn’t a good sign. Chance held me off to the side to let them pass. “He’s in the room at the very end of the hall on the right,” he said as the men heaved themselves and the stretcher up the stairs. We followed them, though at a much slower pace thanks to me practically needing to be carried up by an already damaged Chance. By the time we reached the top step, the paramedics had already disappeared inside John’s room. Even at the end, John had refused to move his room to the first floor. The prideful man could stand to be handfed, sponge-bathed, and have his shoes tied by a nurse, but he couldn’t let go of his bedroom. An elevator had been installed at lord only knows the cost a few months earlier, and I realized how thankful the paramedics would be when they made the trip back to the ambulance. The thought that that might be John’s last trip down in the elevator dawned on me—his last time inside his house—and my knees gave out the rest of the way. I staggered against Chance, and with a grunt and a tightening of his arm, he managed to keep me from falling to the floor. I knew how hard it had to be for him to basically hold me with one arm, so I tried to find my strength that seemed to have vanished. Where was it when I needed it most? Where had my ally that had gotten me through so many tough times gone? It had gotten me through a mother’s death, years of Conn playing games with my mind and heart, and through two abrupt life changes, first to Red Mountain then to Pullman. Where was my tried-and-tested strength when I’d just been told the man I loved might be my mother’s

secret love child with the man who’d been like a father to me—the same father who was about to die? Maybe I’d finally used it all up, or maybe it was just exhausted and needed to recharge, or maybe I’d never been as strong as I thought I’d been. Maybe I’d always been as weak as I felt right now. Maybe my strength had been an illusion the whole time. “It’ll be okay,” Chance said in a low voice as he helped me the rest of the way down the hall. “Whatever happens, it’ll be okay. We’ll be okay, Scout.” It didn’t sound like he believed his words, and I knew I didn’t. But right then, Chance wasn’t only being strong for himself in what had to be one of the most terrifying moments of his life—he was being strong for me too. It wasn’t me who got my feet moving again, and it wasn’t me who made it down the hall —it was all Chance. His strength got me through. Maybe that’s where part of my strength had always come from—him. . . . And he might have been my brother. Shoving that possibility aside, I kept moving forward, keeping his arm around my waist just in case my knees turned to gel again. Just when we were about to round into John’s room, we heard another familiar noise that was nearly as loud and imposing as ambulance sirens—Conn’s voice shaking in rage. “Who is it, John?” his voice blared out into the hall. “Who the fuck is your bastard son?” “Back up, Conn,” Chase ordered. “Better yet, get the hell out of here.” “I want a name, you son of a bitch! I want a name before you leave this room, and even if I have to strangle it out of you, you’re not leaving without giving me a name!” That was when Chance and I lunged inside to find one of the most chaotic scenes I could ever imagine. John was being bound to the stretcher, looking mostly, if not totally, unconscious, while Faye wept silent tears at the end of his bed. The paramedics were clearly uneasy with Conn standing by the bed, red-faced and eyes wild as he screamed at his unconscious father. Chase was pacing by the wall with the windows, his arms around his head as if he was totally helpless . . . again. The paramedics were just getting ready to lift the stretcher, and John, from the bed when Conn pounced, straddling his father. Conn’s fingers curled into the collar of John’s pajamas, and he started to shake him. “I want the name! Give me the fucking name! You owe me that one thing out of life!” Conn’s voice filled the room, seeming to reverberate off the walls. “I want the bastard’s name!” “Conn! Enough!” Chance propped me up against a wall, probably still worried about me going down, then charged the bed. Two shocked paramedics looked like they didn’t believe what they were seeing while Chase continued his neurotic pacing, lost in his own world. The nurse wasn’t crying so silently any longer. Now she was sobbing, pulling on Conn’s leg as if she actually had a chance of yanking him off John. When Conn’s shaking became more violent, to the point where John’s head was bouncing so ferociously I was almost waiting to hear the snap, Chance charged. He didn’t pull back at the last minute either. He dove into Conn and managed to topple him off John without bringing the stretcher to the floor with them. “Get him out of here!” Chance ordered, pinning Conn to the floor as he lashed out with his arms and fists. The paramedics went into action, moving with a new fire. Once they had the stretcher off the bed, Faye led them out of the room, pulling on the chain around her neck where she kept the elevator key. I shouldn’t have looked at John as they passed by, but I couldn’t help it. He looked like he was already dead. Nothing about the man tied to the stretcher passing by hinted that he was still in possession of a heart that beat. The colorless pallor of his skin, the chest that barely seemed to rise and fall, the scent and feel of death clouding the room . . . he was gone. Maybe not officially enough for a death certificate, but we’d never see his eyes open again or hear another word come from his mouth—not even the one name that would haunt all of us for the rest of our lives. Before he passed, I let my fingers brush his hand. It was

cool, lifeless. After they were gone, I thought the chaos in the room would subside, but it seemed to only dial up in severity. Conn had managed to wriggle an arm free and was throwing it into Chance as hard and often as he could. Instead of doing anything to deflect it, Chance stayed frozen and took it. He didn’t even look like he felt each hit. Chase was still by the windows, twisting his wedding band and shaking his head as if he hoped to wake up at any moment. The three brothers I’d grown up with were falling apart. One had been falling apart for so long he’d unraveled years ago, but the other two, the ones who’d been my pillars of strength, were losing themselves moment by moment. I loved those three brothers. Some might have been more deserving than others, but I loved them all regardless. I would have done anything to alleviate the pain I saw on each of their faces. I would have done anything for them, but I also knew that on some level, I was the root of all of their anger and frustration. Had I never come into their lives all those years ago, their feelings wouldn’t be as complicated. Had they never known my name or seen my face, so many heartaches and breaks could have been avoided. I was responsible for breaking three brothers. With that realization came the responsibility of putting them back together as best as I could. But as I watched them break into even more pieces in their father’s bedroom, I realized something else—three brothers had broken me too.



PEOPLE AVOIDED HOSPITALS for good reasons. They were so saturated with illness and death that breathing the very air inside felt contagious, as if those walls took days off one’s life expectancy. At least that was how I felt camped out in the waiting room just outside the I.C.U. I could feel the very life being siphoned out of me, and I was utterly powerless to stop it. My life felt tied to John’s, and as his last few grains of sand fell through the hourglass, mine matched his. That might have been because I felt like when John died, his secret would die with him, and I’d have to spend the rest of my life with this giant question mark. I’d have to live without knowing if the man I loved was tied to me by blood. When John died, I’d have to leave again. For good this time. If he died without regaining consciousness, as the doctors had prepared us for, I’d have to go back to Pullman, pack up my apartment, and put the past twenty-five years of my life, along with the town, in the rearview. The Armstrongs had messed me up good, and I’d returned the favor. Maybe it wouldn’t even matter if I knew the name because too much bad blood had been spilt between us all. Yes, there’d been good times, but as I cowered in the corner of a waiting room while a man died a few rooms down, it was hard to hold on to the good and remember it. Once Conn had gotten in enough hits, Chase had paced the room ragged, and Chance had been literally beaten from his senses, we’d all piled into Chase’s SUV, and I sped us toward the hospital. We left Faye to look after Wolf and herself since she seemed as upset as the rest of us, which struck me as odd since she was an end-of-life nurse—every patient she worked with died sooner or later. But maybe Red Mountain had woven its way into her as much as it had all of us, tipping both the tragic and beautiful scales. Life was heightened on those thousands of acres, and no one who entered its boundaries was exempt. The highs of life were higher, but the lows followed the same pattern, and in my experience, the lows outweighed the highs at Red Mountain. At least that was how I felt as I swiped a handful of tissues from the second box I’d torn through. Thank God they kept those well stocked in the I.C.U. They only let us in to see John one at a time. Chase had been the first, and he’d come out looking worse than he had before going in . . . and he’d looked like hell going in. He’d been reduced to the same man I’d seen when I arrived a week ago and found him camped out on the pool table. Next in was Chance, and he’d been in there for a good ten minutes. I didn’t know where Conn had disappeared to, but he wasn’t being let into John’s room upon the recommendation of the paramedics who’d arrived on the scene. Chance had barely said two words to me or anyone on the drive to the hospital. I knew he needed time to work out the same things I was trying to work out, but I’d become so dependent on Chance’s comfort and everything-will-be-okay attitude that his shut-off silence only confirmed that what the two of us, as well as the entire family, were facing was overwhelming. It was life-changing.

When I noticed a figure hovering inside the doorjamb of the waiting room, I assumed it was one brother, only to discover it was a different one. It was too late to hide my face from him, too late to pretend I wasn’t broken and gutted with the puffy face and red eyes to prove it. Instead of lowering my head back into my arms, I sat up straighter and angled myself toward him so we were straight on. “Go ahead. Take a good look. A really good look. Enjoy it. Save it for later when you need to be cheered up.” My voice came out like venom, foreign to my ears. “I know how much you enjoy watching me cry. I know how you get off on me falling into some pit of despair. I know your happiest moments have been my worst, so get comfortable, grab a chair, watch me have a marathon. One of us might as well be happy.” It was the longest I’d looked at Conn since I’d arrived. I’d been focused on not making eye contact with him, but now my eyes were locked on him as I let him take a good look at me. A good look at what he’d been trying to get out of me since I’d arrived. My tears meant Conn’s victory—they always had—but as I studied his face, I saw something else move into place. Something that suggested the opposite of victory. “I don’t fucking love to watch you cry.” Conn’s voice was a stark contrast to what it had been inside John’s room. In fact, it was such a contrast to what I was used to from him I barely recognized it. “I know I’ve done everything to prove otherwise, but I don’t enjoy making you sad or watching you cry. I hate it.” Making me sad seemed like such a gross understatement of what Conn had done to me that I wanted to laugh, but I was too shocked by his words, his voice, and his whole demeanor. This was the side of Conn I’d seen so rarely I’d forgotten it existed. This quiet, almost gentle side of him was so foreign that my first instinct was to wonder if he was leading me into some sort of trap where he’d get me to open up right before he gutted me just like I knew he couldn’t wait to do. “Yeah, well, sorry if I’m not inclined to believe that considering you’ve done everything in your power to ensure I was either miserable or crying or wishing I’d never met you.” I wiped my nose and eyes, still keeping myself squared in front of him. Conn shifted in the doorway. “That’s because I wanted you to feel those ways . . . and I still do.” “Why?” I motioned at my face. “Why would you want me to feel this way?” Conn couldn’t seem to keep looking at me. His eyes fell to the floor. “Because I knew it was the only way to keep you away from me.” His words were quiet, almost a whisper. They entered me like a shout. “What are you talking about?” Conn exhaled, glancing over his shoulder. I knew he didn’t want to be here—I didn’t even know why he was here—but since he was, I wasn’t going to let him escape. Not when Conn was opening up for one of the first times in his whole life. “Conn?” I said, sliding a bit out of my corner. “I’m trying to tell you that I was so harsh with you, so cruel to you because I didn’t want to let you get close to me.” “Yeah, that was obvious.” These tears might not have been directly related to him, but there’d been dozens of times when they had. Conn shook his lowered head. “I wasn’t doing it to protect me. I was doing it to protect you.” “You protected me from nothing, Conn. Nothing.” “I protected you from everything,” he snapped, his eyes lifting to meet mine. “I protected you from me.” “I didn’t need protection from you. I needed some semblance of care and concern from you. I needed you to cut me loose or reel me in, not play your sick game of back and forth.” In this light, Conn’s eyes didn’t look so dark. They didn’t look so deep they might swallow me if I got any closer.

“You did need protection from me. I knew as soon as you showed up that you felt some sort of connection to me.” His Adam’s apple bobbed. “A connection that was reciprocated . . . but I also knew if I let that reciprocation show, I’d somehow manage to fuck you up as bad as I already was. I couldn’t do that to you, so I kept you away the best way I knew how.” “By being a first-rate asshole?” I uncurled from the ball I’d been wound into since I’d fallen to the floor in the waiting room. Conn gave me half a smile. “Putting it mildly, yes.” I stretched my numb legs, my mind racing. “You felt that same . . . connection?” His eyes met mine for a moment then fell away. He nodded. “Why didn’t you ever say anything?” “If I had, you’d’ve wound up in the exact position I just found you in.” He motioned at my corner of the waiting room. “I barely had a clue what love was, so how the hell could I be expected to show it to someone I cared about? I knew you’d be better off without me.” This was all coming at me so fast, like a river breaking through a dam, and I wasn’t sure how to hold on to enough to make sense of what was being said. I couldn’t sift through the particulars when I could barely grab the highlights that were spilling over me. “Then why the games? Why pull me closer, lead me on, only to kick my feet out from under me when I least expected it? Why do that to someone you were so concerned with keeping away?” Conn lifted his shoulder before dropping it into the doorjamb. “Haven’t you ever wanted something you told yourself you couldn’t have? Didn’t you ever fail at steering clear of it? Didn’t it make you want it even more? Didn’t it become the only thing you could think about?” His head fell back, his eyes closing. “It wasn’t like you were easy to avoid, Scout. I had to see you every day, at nearly every meal. I had to pass your room on the way to the shower. I had to pass you on your way to bed at night. I went to school with you. I shared a roof with you—I couldn’t escape you. So I slipped up. I fell off the wagon. I’d let myself believe for a minute that I could have what I wanted and fuck the rest, and that would send me into that spiral of pull and push.” Somewhere in the midst of his confession, I’d started crying again, but my tissue box was empty. By this room’s standards, I should have run out of tears already. “Hearing myself say it now, I realize how I might not have saved you much pain or many tears, but at least I saved you from being as permanently fucked up as I am. At least I saved you from that.” His last words were a whisper, almost a prayer. “God, Conn . . .” I didn’t know what to say. What did a person say in this kind of situation? The moment was cathartic and heartbreaking. “I’m sorry, Scout. I know what I’ve done to you doesn’t get to be excused and wiped clean with a couple of words, but I felt I at least owed you those—along with everything else I owe you.” When Conn moved from the doorjamb out into the hallway, I stood and went after him. “You don’t owe me anything else.” I felt like my throat was about to close up. All of those years, all of those hurts and regrets, had been nearly erased by one three-minute conversation with Conn Armstrong and the two words that had come from his mouth. Well, those words and the knowledge that he did care about me, in his way. When I opened my arms as I approached him, I saw him fighting it. I could sense he wanted to turn and run, but at the last minute, just when I thought I’d have to pry them open, Conn’s arms extended, and he let me in. “Thank you,” I whispered, letting my arms drape around him. I felt his move hesitantly around me. He hugged me like he was holding an infant for the first time or had a baby bird in his hands. It seemed like he was worried he’d break me if he made a wrong move. “Thank you,” he replied, letting me lower my head to his shoulder. Before I knew I’d started sobbing again, his shirt was drenched.

“For what it’s worth, I hope it isn’t him. I hope it’s not Chance.” He sounded almost in pain. After his chest rose and fell a few times, he continued. “I always knew that if any of us had a chance in hell of deserving you, it would be Chance, and now that it seems you’ve finally picked the right brother, I don’t want to see you two split apart by something like this. I hope it’s not him.” One of his hands felt steady around me, as if it wanted to pull me even closer, while the other hung loose at my waist, as if it was waiting for me to leave. That had always been Conn’s and my story. But with everything he’d just admitted and what those words had healed, I wondered if our story could become something else. I knew we could never go back to the place we’d been in as teenagers, but maybe we could be friends. Maybe we could let friendship guide us instead of the anticipation of what might have been. Or maybe nothing would change. Maybe as soon as this moment passed, Conn would get right back to loathing me and throwing insult and injury at me. But no matter what Conn did, I knew that what I would do would be different. I’d never forget the conversation we’d had, the apologies that had been made, and the past that had been put to rest in the waiting room of the I.C.U. Winding out of my embrace, Conn backed away, and I let him go. As he headed for what I guessed were the elevators, he looked back. “For what it’s worth, I always loved you in the only way I knew how. And I always will. Whatever I might say or do, I’ll always love you in my own way.” I propped myself into the same doorjamb he’d just been hunkered down in and watched him until the elevator doors slid closed. He didn’t look back again, but I knew he felt me watching him. That was Conn’s and my connection. We instinctively knew each other almost as well as we knew ourselves, and because of that, we’d known just how to hurt each other. I felt like crying after he left, but at last, it seemed my tears had run out. That was how Chance found me when he shoved out of the I.C.U., his face somber and his eyes lost. Almost instantly, his smile formed when he saw me, but it was almost as quickly stifled. I knew why. It was the same reason my own smile had been extinguished before it got a chance to reach maturity. A secret was keeping us apart, an unsaid name preventing us from being free to do and say the things we needed to comfort each other. At the exact time he needed me most, I didn’t know how to be there for him. As the Scout he’d grown up with, his best friend? As a soul mate, the role we’d only just found ourselves in? Or as a sister, the part I hoped I’d never be forced to play in Chance’s life? Comfort should have been comfort, no matter what my role in his life, but for some reason, it didn’t seem so simple. I wanted to know how to comfort him. I needed a guidebook, and if we never got that name from John, I’d never be in possession of that instructional manual. “Do you want to see him?” Chance asked, moving toward me as warily as Conn had. I swallowed and nodded. “I thought they only allowed family in though. Are you sure it will be okay?” Chance kept coming down the hall, his brow lifting. “You are family.” I felt the silent thought that went through both of our minds then—just how much family was I to him? The kind formed by blood or by bond? “Do you think I should wait until Conn gets to see him first?” I moved toward Chance, hating how unsure I felt. I hated not knowing whether I should go to him or stay where I was. I hated seeing the same debate in his eyes. “I think Conn’s made it pretty clear he only wants one thing from our father, and it isn’t to say goodbye and make his peace.” Chance closed the gap between us. I thought how curious it was that when Conn should have been concerned with making his peace with his father, he’d chosen to make it with me. “Okay, then. I’m ready.” I ran my hands down my shirt, the one I’d chosen for my dinner with Chance last night and thrown on in a rush in his bedroom not even four hours ago. It felt like four lifetimes ago. I’d woken up to the whole world feeling right and like I was finally in sync with it, and now I felt like I was living in a cesspool of wrong and discord. “I think.”

His arms rose as though he was about to pull me close to him, but at the last moment, they fell back. His hands slid into his pockets. “Scout.” With just that word, I knew what he wanted to talk about. “Sometime we’re going to need to talk about this. We can’t avoid it, hoping it will go away.” “I know.” I squeezed my eyes shut. “But can we just not talk about it right now? At least not until we know one way or another?” “You know that if Dad doesn’t wake up, which the doctors are anticipating, we might not know for a long time.” In the long, empty hallway, Chance’s voice sounded far away—as if he was shouting with a few blocks separating us. “I’m sure there are some DNA tests we could take, but they would probably take weeks to process. We can’t go weeks without talking about this. We can’t let Dad’s secret keep pulling us apart like I can already feel it doing, because either way, you’ll be in my life in some capacity. I’m not letting you get away that easily. I won’t let you go whether you are or aren’t my half sister.” DNA tests, I thought, feeling a fraction of relief that this secret wouldn’t have to remain so for long. I’d been so overwhelmed with what Mr. Harper had revealed to us that I hadn’t thought straight long enough to consider this wouldn’t stay a mystery forever thanks to advances in modern science. For a moment, a flash of relief flooded me. It was quickly chased away by something else. My eyes were still clamped closed, but I felt his hand curve around my neck, his thumb tracing the line of my jaw. “We slept together, Chance. How can any amount of talking ever justify or rationalize or put to peace what we did if it turns out we’re related?” I knew I shouldn’t talk so openly in a hospital hallway where my words echoed off walls and traveled into rooms. Anyone could have been listening and forming opinions and judging us, but all I cared about were the two people in the middle of that hallway, both at a total loss. “That’s right, we did, and there’s nothing we can do to change it, so let’s just get that out there now. We can’t change what happened—all we can control is how we proceed. Once we know . . . what we are to each other, we can decide on that future part together, okay?” He was having as difficult a time putting it into words as I was. Referring to me as his half sister seemed almost as impossible as it was for me to refer to him as my half brother. “But I need to know you’re not going to disappear on me again. That would break me into pieces far more than any test results.” Maybe I should have slid away from his touch, but instead I pressed my neck deeper into his hand. “I don’t want to have to figure out a different way to be together. I don’t want to have to redefine our roles in each other’s lives. I love the way our lives are now. I love having you in my life the way you were this morning when we woke up. I want to wake up that way every morning . . . but if we find out that . . .” I couldn’t say the word. I just couldn’t. I would have looked down a gun barrel before I could have said it. “I just don’t want to talk about it right now.” I just don’t want to talk about it right ever. I want to pretend I never heard Mr. Harper say what he did. Chance pulled me to him. His good arm fell to my waist and held me so close I was sure I’d never been embraced quite so intimately. His injured arm rested between us as his chin fell over my hair, fitting my head tightly against his chest. We stood in the middle of that hall for several minutes, saying nothing and just holding each other like that was the only solution we could find—grabbing on tight and never letting go. But eventually, he let go. “You should go see him. Just in case.” His voice wasn’t as removed as it had been, but it was sadder, and that was almost worse to hear. “The doc says he doesn’t have long.” I wiped phantom tears before lifting my head from his chest. “Okay, thank you. What room’s he in?” Chance’s smile was like his voice—sad. “The only room the doctors and nurses aren’t rushing in and out of.” “Why not?” I asked as my arms fell away from him. “Because there’s nothing they can do. My father’s last day on this planet is today, and no medicine or prayer can change that.”

I leaned in and gently kissed his cheek. That might have been off-limits with what hung between us, but he needed it. “I’m sorry.” He nodded as he stepped aside. “So do I have your promise we’ll talk later? Once this is all done?” Chance waved his finger up and down the hospital hall, but I knew what he meant was once John had passed on. I didn’t want to agree, but I’d never found it easy to say no to Chance. “I promise,” I said before slipping past the I.C.U. doors. Chance was right—figuring out which door was John’s didn’t take long. The I.C.U. wasn’t busy, but a stream of nurses buzzed in and out of certain rooms. The room toward the end seemed to be given a wide berth though. That was where I headed. The scent of antiseptic was somewhat less pronounced in I.C.U. than it had been throughout the rest of the hospital, but something else lingered in the air here. I didn’t want to put a name to it, but I knew it nonetheless. It was the same scent I’d detected in the bathroom I’d found my mother in. None of the nurses seemed to notice me ghosting down the hall. I tried to swallow back the lump in my throat that didn’t want to be swallowed. When I was just outside his door, I paused with my hand on the handle. How did a person say good-bye to another? Not in the “bye, I’ll see you later” kind of way, but in the forever kind of way? I’d never had to say that before, and now that I was faced with it, I wasn’t sure what to do. How did I sum up years of thanks and apologies into a few short minutes? How did I explain to him just how much he’d meant to me? How did I explain how the secret he’d kept for so long was threatening to ruin two lives? The truth was I didn’t know. I could have kept standing there until next week, and I still wouldn’t know. The only way to figure it out was as I went. Shoving the door open, I stepped inside and left it open just a crack. John had a private room, and really, he didn’t look too different sleeping in the hospital bed than he had asleep in his own bed. He had a few more tubes, a hospital gown, and a monitor beeping beside him, but seeing him like that wasn’t as shocking as I’d anticipated. John had looked like he’d been straddling the line where life meets death for so long that little about the scene in front of me affected me the same way it did most other families of patients in the I.C.U.. The ranch had been its own type of I.C.U. preparing me for this moment—the moment when it was time to say good-bye. As I moved closer, nothing about the man I remembered seeing for the first time at Red Mountain could be seen in the man laid on that bed. He’d been a burly man who looked like he wrestled grizzly bears by day and drank sailors under the table at night. The man who smelled like tobacco and the outdoors, the one who could both frighten and comfort me in the same sentence . . . he was gone. This John Armstrong was unfamiliar, and I didn’t want my last memories of the man I’d cared for to be punctuated with this version of him. Grabbing the chair tucked into the corner of the room, I slid it toward the side of his bed. I half expected him to wake up and ask me to sneak him a porterhouse, but the other half of me accepted that he’d never wake again. The room was so quiet with nothing but the steady beeps coming from the monitor beside me. I knew that each one was like the sand in the hourglass. Like the grains of sand, John had a limited number of beeps. “Hey, John,” I whispered, sliding my hand beneath his. It was cool and lifeless. It didn’t curl around mine and give me a reassuring squeeze. After a few moments, the heat from my hand started to warm his. “I’m trying to figure out how to say good-bye, and I keep stalling because I don’t know what to say. But I can only stall for so long before I lose my chance.” I worked up a smile as I looked at his face. It didn’t come naturally, but he deserved one last smile. If I got nothing else right, I’d know I’d given him a real smile before he slipped from this world to the next. “I guess what I want to say is thank you. And I love you. And I’m going to miss you.” My hand

tightened around his, but the squeeze was not returned. “I already do miss you.” I nearly choked on those few words. Lowering my head to his hand, I closed my eyes and let the words keep coming. “And I’m mad at you too. So mad at you. I’m mad at you and my mom for keeping this secret from us, and then deciding the best time for us to find out was hours before you leave us forever.” I felt my renewed tears dripping onto John’s hand, washing down his skin to be consumed by the blanket. “I know you can’t change it now—I know that—but I still can’t help but beg you that it’s not him. Please don’t let it be him, John. I already feel so lost, more lost than I did when I first showed up at your place, because this time I have something to lose. I don’t want to lose him. He’s the best part of my life, and he always has been. You know that. You saw it . . . so please, if there’s any good left in this world, don’t let the son you had with my mom be Chance. Please don’t take him away from me too.” My other hand joined the pile of John’s and mine as I prayed an odd prayer to an unconscious man. “Please, John, if you can hear me, please wake up for a minute or two and tell me the man I love isn’t the child you had with her. I lost her. I’m losing you. I lost Conn before I ever had him. Please, John, please don’t take away Chance too.” That was all I could remember repeating, over and over—Please, John, please don’t take away Chance too. Don’t take him away. Somewhere in the course of my unending plea, the day’s events became too much, and I fell into a deep, hard sleep. The kind where I wouldn’t have woken even if a fire alarm had gone off.



AS IT WORKED out, a fire alarm didn’t rouse me—a still hand coming to life did. I didn’t really rouse either—it was more of a jolt. When I checked the clock on the wall, I saw I’d been out for a couple of hours. The sky was starting to lose its light. A second hand squeeze, so subtle I could barely detect it, made my gaze shift to John. His eyes were open. He was awake. I didn’t know whether to call for the nurses or ask him my question, but John decided for me. “Scout,” he whispered, his voice so broken it sounded more like Sout. “John?” I stood up from the chair, feeling sore just about everywhere thanks to the position I’d fallen asleep in. “Can you hear me?” His chest lifted, fell, and he nodded. His eyes were having a difficult time tracking me, and even once they found me, he couldn’t seem to keep them locked on my location for long. “I need to ask you a question. I need to know.” My voice trembled, but my hand in his was shaking so badly his whole arm quivered. John managed what looked like another nod. “My brother…” The words wanted to stick in my throat. “My half brother. Who is he?” The corners of John’s eyes creased, and the corners of his mouth twitched down. From the looks of it, this was a harder topic for him than it was for me. His mouth opened, but nothing came out. His chest rose as he seemed to gasp for air, his head rolling back into his pillow. My finger was on the nurse’s call button when his body relaxed. He seemed to have found the breath he’d been straining for. Death was one cruel bastard. Why couldn’t it just claim his life and leave the suffering out of it? Why did a person’s last days on Earth have to be taxed with such moments—like a suffocating man trying to gasp for air? “Is it Chance, John?” My voice sounded small, indistinguishable. “Is it him?” John’s forehead creased as a never-ending exhale left him. He didn’t seem to be struggling for breath anymore—it seemed as if he was stalling. I didn’t realize I was falling until my backside hit the chair, the air collapsing out of my lungs in one sharp rush. I wanted to cover my ears so I wouldn’t have to hear the name. I wanted to close my eyes so I wouldn’t have to watch him say it. I wanted to take back my question, coming into John’s room, and the whole meeting in John’s office. I wanted to take it all back, though that wouldn’t change a thing. John’s head moved almost in a circle at first, then it evened out to resemble a shake. A shake. Was he shaking his head to my question or shaking his head in the way a person did before delivering a blow followed by an apology? “John?” My voice filled the void of the empty room. “It’s . . . Conn.”

The words came out so slowly, almost silently, I wasn’t sure I’d heard them right. John moved his head, seeming to try to stretch his neck, and opened his mouth again. “Conn’s your . . . brother . . . by blood.” With each couple of syllables, John gasped for breath, his hand wringing mine. “Conn.” That was all I could say. That was all I could think. Of the three Armstrong brothers, I would have rated Conn as the least likely to be my half brother. We looked nothing alike, we acted nothing alike, we were nothing alike . . . except we shared the same mother. Following that thought, another word slipped from my mouth, but it wasn’t a name. I couldn’t even begin to imagine what I should be thinking. Relief seemed to be at the front of the line since it wasn’t Chance. Unparalleled happiness followed next, for the same reason. But then a few other emotions trickled through me—feelings like disbelief, shock, sadness, and guilt. I’d pursued Conn for all those years, and the whole time he’d been my mother’s first child. The one she’d never mentioned and had sent off to be raised by another family—the same family she’d listed as my next of kin in the event of her death. My next of kin . . . really, looking back, it should have been more obvious. I should have realized that she’d sent me to Red Mountain because she and John were more than just old friends. “I’m sorry.” John’s hand at last squeezed mine in a way that was familiar. One lone tear leaked from the corner of his eye. “Tell Conn . . . I’m sorry . . .” His face broke into a grimace as if something was ripping him apart from the inside. “Tell him . . . I love . . . him.” His hand went slack in mine. The monitor beeped as he fell into what I guessed was an exhausted sleep. I warned myself, as John’s eyes closed, that that was the last time I’d see them with a light still burning within. I told myself that I’d just felt the last squeeze of my hand. John had said his good-bye too, and it was the best good-bye he could have given me. The man I loved was not the one I prayed he wasn’t. John had given me the name of my half brother— Conn. The last family I had. Other than myself, he was all that was left of my mother, and for some reason, my need to find him became so urgent that I shoved out of my seat so abruptly it banged into the wall and made a not-so-quiet thunk. I wasn’t sure what I’d say to Conn. Maybe I’d come right out and tell him or attempt to ease him into the truth, but I had to find him first. Then find Chance. Now that I knew the truth, I couldn’t wait to have that conversation he’d been so adamant about having. Rushing for the door, I saw two solemn figures drift inside. The I.C.U. only allowed one visitor per room at a time, so if Chance and Chase had both just showed up inside John’s room, that must mean . . . They weren’t there to visit him. They were there to see me. From the way neither could meet my eyes, I knew something bad had happened. Something terrible. Chance was the first to look up, and when he did, he looked more distraught than I’d ever seen him. His eyes were red, his whole face creased with pain. Chase’s hands were back around his head, and a sniffle was the only sign that he was conscious. “Where’s Conn?” I asked, unable to take another step. My feet had frozen in place. “I need to find him. Now.” Chance’s eyes closed. He took in a breath before his eyes lifted toward the ceiling. “Conn’s gone, Scout.” His voice broke in the middle of his whisper. “Gone where?” I lifted my arm, bracing myself against the wall. Chance’s face broke. Again. I started to hyperventilate. “There was an accident . . .” Each word was a fight, but he kept going. “He’d been drinking. A lot. Then he got in his car and . . .” Chance walked up to the wall, pulled his hat off his head, let it fall to the floor, and dropped his forehead into the wall. He seemed unable to hold himself up anymore. “He crashed. He flipped the car, and it rolled . . . a long ways.” Chase shook his head at the floor, pacing in front of the door with that lost look on his face again. “Where is he?” I swallowed, refusing to hear what he was saying without actually saying it. “Where’s

my brother?” That word barely seemed to reach whatever place Chance had retreated to. All he was capable of focusing on was his brother, the one he’d grown up calling that, the same one I’d only had the right to call brother for less than two minutes. “He’s gone.” Chance’s voice broke. “He’s gone.” This couldn’t be happening. I couldn’t be losing Conn after just finding out who he was to me. He couldn’t be gone before I’d had a chance to tell him . . . before I’d had a chance to tell him what John had asked me to tell him—that he was sorry, and that he loved him. I knew how long Conn had waited to hear those two things from his father, and now I couldn’t tell him. I couldn’t make sure Conn knew before . . . “Where is he?” I teetered into the wall, struggling to move forward when everything seemed to hold me back. My own body wanted to hold me back. “I want to see him. I want to see his body.” I kept moving toward the door at a slow, laborious pace. I felt like I was walking through quicksand, each step trying to draw me under. My hand was about to curl around the handle when Chase broke out of whatever trance he’d fallen back into. His hand snapped out for mine, keeping me in place. Chance was still facing that wall, his arms flat against it, as lost as Chase had been. “Let me go. I need to see him. I want to see my brother’s body.” I tried to shake off Chase’s hand, but with his mental fortitude, his strength had also returned. “There’s nothing left to see.” The words fell from his lips as if he couldn’t get them out fast enough. “What do you mean?” That was when I started fighting, trying to rip off the door handle if that was what it took to get out of that room and find Conn. “Let me go! I need to go find him. I need to tell him. Let me go!” The harder I fought, the tighter Chase’s grip became until I yelped in pain. Out of nowhere, Chance was beside us, carefully wrestling Chase’s hand off mine before replacing it with his. Chance gently slid my hand from the handle and drew me close, letting go of my hand to wind his arm around my back. “There’s nothing left of him, Scout. After the accident . . . after he flipped and rolled the car . . . it started burning. By the time anyone noticed his car at the bottom of the hill, there was nothing left to retrieve from it.” His words were strong, tempered by the gentleness of his touch, but I knew it wasn’t because Chance felt strong—he wanted to be strong for me. I guessed he would have rather let the sorrow and shock and rage have its way with him, but he held it back, controlling it so he could be there for me when I needed his strength most. “He’s gone. Our brother’s gone,” Chance said. Those words incited a series of sobs that rocked my body so intensely I felt like they might break me in half. Chance held me up, supported me when I would have fallen to the floor. “He’s gone.” He just kept repeating those words, gently shushing me as the sobs ripped through me. Somewhere in the midst of all this, Chase moved up beside us and dropped an arm around each of us as he let his head fall against ours. Apparently he couldn’t hold himself up any better than I could. “I want to see him.” I sobbed, knowing I never would again. “I want to see my brother. I need to find him.” I felt Chance’s body rock, and I realized his sobs had joined mine . . . had joined Chase’s. That was the way we were, arms tangled together, leaning on the each other for support, when the beeping gave out behind us, morphing into a high-pitched siren that announced a life had gone. Death hadn’t settled for one Armstrong. Death had required two. I wasn’t sure who fell first, but eventually, all three of us hit the floor on our knees, a broken tangle of limbs and shattered souls. Death seemed to circle us like it wouldn’t be sated until every last one of us were rotting in our tombs.



I WASN’T SURE if death could ever be satisfied, if satisfaction was in its nature. I did know it was one greedy, malicious son of a bitch that had claimed far too many Armstrongs before their time. But at least for the moment, death seemed to have moved on. It was a small blessing I didn’t take lightly. If it skulked around the people I loved again before they’d reached the ripe old age of ninety, I would fight it tooth and nail to keep the few people still left in my life that I cared about. Chase and Chance— they were all I had left. They were the only ones who had been spared from the all-sweeping blow of death’s sickle. I tried not to think about what it would be like to lose them too—to be utterly alone in the world—but the image had crossed my mind more often than I would have liked. Conn was out of my life. Forever. At the start of the summer, that had been my wish. Halfway through, it had become true in the most awful way imaginable, and toward the end of summer, I’d almost come to peace with it. Almost. I knew I’d never have that last degree of absolution I needed to find total peace. As I hovered between his gravestone and John’s, two Armstrongs laid to rest in the ground in front of me, and the last two Armstrongs positioned like book ends on either side of me, I felt the wind coming up the side of the mountain. It crushed across me with such force I almost thought it was trying to topple me down the back side of Red Mountain. As I studied the gravestones of the handful of women who had died before their times, with the latest addition of one man who had died before his and a man who had died in a prolonged, debilitating way that robbed him of all his pride, I understood why the brothers believed in a curse. Burying a body has a way of making a person reflect. Burying bodies has a way of making a person want to blame fate or God or some ancient legend. I didn’t fault Chance and Chase for believing in the curse—I wanted something to believe in too so I could explain how I’d lost my brother and the closest thing I’d ever had to a father in the same day. I wanted to know why Conn had died before I could tell him everything John had told me. I wanted to know why he’d died at all. I wanted to know why my brother would never know he had a real sister, not just a sister of sorts. We didn’t have anything left of Conn to bury, so we’d collected photos and keepsakes and things that were special to Conn and reminded us of him. We’d stuffed them all in a large container, and that was what we laid to rest beneath his fresh headstone. We’d placed John beside him. That might have seemed an odd choice given the two of them had been so against each other in life, but they’d been together on one thing, and that was their deaths. Both graves were new, Chance and Chase’s bootprints still fresh on the compacted soil around them. I’d planted a variety of bulbs in hopes they’d always have something in bloom from spring to fall. I’d also planted bulbs around the two newest gravesites before John and Conn’s. Chase had helped me plant them around Jenny’s, but I’d wanted to do the other on my own. Unbeknownst to me, my mom had

been buried on Red Mountain. A handful of others and I had attended her funeral after her death, but I’d been told that she would be cremated and laid to rest in a state-provided crypt since my mom hadn’t left behind any money for a proper burial. I’d never be able to ask how it had all happened, but somehow John had worked out a way to get her remains out here so she could rest in peace at eight thousand feet above sea level with the rest of the women who’d died young. At first, I hadn’t understood why John would lay his mistress to rest in the same place as his wife, but it didn’t take me long to figure out what he had been thinking. He’d cared for my mom. He’d loved her. To John, her death was no mere coincidence or senseless tragedy. To John, the curse had extended to more than just wives but all the women once loved by an Armstrong man. That was why he’d had her buried here—because he felt responsible for her death. I guessed it was also why he’d taken me in and been so good to me all of those years. Of course, that realization was something I kept to myself. I couldn’t mention to Chance why John had buried my mom here, because he was already nervous for me. He tried to pretend he wasn’t—he tried so hard—but I sensed it. I felt it when his hand tightened ever so slightly around mine as we stepped into a street to cross it. Or how his breath caught for the shortest second when I told him I was going out on Dark Horse. Or how when I’d told him yesterday that I needed to go on a hike to deal with everything that had happened that summer, he’d had to force himself to stay and not follow me. Chance felt like he was fighting a game of tug-of-war with destiny, but as far as fighting off fate, I knew that if anyone could, he’d come out the winner. I didn’t know how long we’d been standing in front of Conn’s and John’s graves, but it felt like a long time. I also felt like I couldn’t just turn and walk away. That would be like saying a final good-bye, and I wasn’t sure if I was ready for that yet. “Do you think we should have made their funerals a public thing? Invited their friends and acquaintances?” I asked, staring at the freshly cut crimson roses I’d laid beside Conn’s grave. Only the three of us had been at John’s and Conn’s funeral. The three of us dressed in black, making our way up the mountain on horseback, not a line of memorized scripture between any of us . . . that was the way we’d decided to say good-bye to two men we’d cared about. At the time, it had seemed like the right decision, but now, I wasn’t so sure. Chase’s hands were clasped in front of him, his head bowed. “How many of those friends and acquaintances came to see Dad his last few months? None, that’s how many. They wanted to remember John Armstrong the way we would have liked to but didn’t get the choice. They didn’t want to see what killed him, so they don’t get to see the funeral.” I nodded. John had known just about everyone in the community. He couldn’t walk down a sidewalk without being stopped for a handshake, but Chase was right—none of those old friends had stopped by to say hi or catch up in his last days. People didn’t like being reminded of their own mortality, and a person couldn’t sit in front of John for long without thinking about it. “And Conn wouldn’t have even wanted us to show up at his funeral, let alone a bunch of ‘fake friends and posers’ as he probably would have called them,” Chase continued, lifting his chin at Conn’s grave. “I think this was just right. Just the way both of them would have wanted it.” The ranch had been flooded with sympathy cards and phone calls and flowers and casseroles. Almost as many people had expressed their sympathy for Conn’s loss as they had for John’s. Conn had been friendless because of his high walls, but plenty of people had seen past them long enough to catch a glimpse of the man I’d seen, and it was that man they were honoring in death. My gaze ran over all of the headstones, some so old they were showing wear and others still new enough that they looked shiny and pristine. “We just buried the first men ever on this mountain. Over a hundred fifty years of this being a place for wives and women, and we buried two men. I’m not sure it’s what either of them would have wanted.”

“It is,” Chance replied, his voice almost hoarse from his prolonged silence. “We all want our final resting place to be beside the people we loved in life and the ones we hope to find in death.” Chance studied his father’s and brother’s graves, nodding. “This is where they belong.” I wove my arm through his and dropped my head against his shoulder. The only thing that had been easy in the weeks since John and Conn died was Chance and me. Our relationship was effortless, our love easy. In a life boiling over with hardship and toil, being with Chance was like finding my own sliver of happiness in the universe. He was what kept me getting up in the morning when I wanted to throw the sheet over my head and what helped soothe me to sleep when restlessness came knocking. He was everything good about life rolled into one being, and he’d been my anchor in the choppy waters following John’s and Conn’s deaths. “If you guys will excuse me, there’s someone else I want to say hi to.” Chase gave me quick squeeze before giving his brother one then he weaved through the graves to his wife’s. He still wore his wedding ring, and I guessed that he always would. He’d be buried beside her one day with that ring still firmly affixed. I saw so much beauty in that kind of love that I almost forgot I was attending a double funeral. Chase’s constant shadow loped after him. Wolf never left Chase’s side unless he had to, then he stayed by Chance or me. He’d made it clear that we were his pack, and like we’d do for our own, he’d fight fang and claw to protect us. So Chance wasn’t the only good thing to come out of the summer. Saving that animal’s life hadn’t been a mistake. There were so few lives a person could save, and when the chance arose to save one, it shouldn’t be shrugged off. I could have let nature run its course and claim Wolf, but I hadn’t. I’d reacted. I’d saved a life. I’d have done it again. I would do anything and everything I could to even the balance in the fight between life and death because, quite frankly, I felt like my life had been filled with more of one than the other. I hoped that was about to change. I studied Conn’s grave, realizing that, for the first time, he was at peace. “I always knew there was this connection between us. I could never explain it and obviously misread what that connection was, but I felt it. I just needed that one piece of information to decipher it.” Chance’s hand wove through mine. His injured arm had healed, and most of his bruises were gone, replaced by the scars of losing his father and brother in the same day. “I know you did.” He squinted at his brother’s grave through the glare of the sun setting in front of us. “He didn’t like to show it—he did everything he could to repress it—but I know he felt the same connection . . . and just as conflicted by it.” I knew that too. During our last conversation, Conn had admitted that. “I miss him. I miss them both.” I had a pack of tissues in my back pocket, but I hadn’t pulled them out yet. Instead, I let my tears roll down my face and disappear into the soil beneath me. “I want them both back. I want a second chance to get Conn’s and my relationship right. I want the chance to know him as my brother and for him to know me as a sister. I want a do-over.” My voice was high like a child’s, and I knew my wishes were the very definition of childlike, but that was because I felt like a child. To act like an adult meant I had to accept he was gone, say a one-sided good-bye, and move on with my life. I wasn’t ready to act like an adult. “I want a do-over too,” Chance replied, wiping his thumb below my eyes to catch a tear. “But we can’t do anything to change what’s happened or who it’s happened to. All we can do is change ourselves and the things around us. Those are the only do-overs we get.” The soil beneath my boots was still soft enough that my heels were starting to be swallowed by the ground. I looked between the two fresh graves, knowing Chance was right. I couldn’t do anything to change the fates or wellbeing of the men in their permanent resting places below me, but I could change my own. That was just what I had planned. “Do you think it’s time?” I asked, checking the sunset. It was only just beginning, but once it started, it fell fast.

Chance’s hand tightened around mine. “I think it’s time.” With one final look at the graves, we turned around and started for the horses. “Chase? You want to join us?” Chance called to his brother. Chase was lying on his back, his hands cradled around his head, resting beside the place his wife was buried. I didn’t often see a peaceful expression on Chase’s face, but that was one of the few times. “No, thanks, I’m good here,” he replied, patting the earth beside him. “I think I’ll just enjoy the view from here.” “Second thoughts?” Chance called, holding Dark Horse’s reins as I climbed on. “None,” Chase replied with a wave. Chase’s horse grazed happily as Chance climbed onto Honor then we started down the mountain. The trail to the top was only a couple of miles, so we didn’t normally take the horses, but today we’d wanted them. That meant we could get to the top faster and back down faster. Speed seemed to be of the essence on a day a family buried two of their own. Ambient light got us most of the way down the mountain, but in the last half mile or so, Chance clicked on a headlamp he kept stored in his saddle sack, and he handed an extra to me. The horses didn’t need them, but at that point in Chance’s life, riding down a dark, steep mountain with me in tow, Chance wasn’t leaving anything to fate. We were back at the ranch in what felt like no time at all. After we’d put both horses in their stalls and bedded them down for the night, Chance took my hand and walked me out in front of the large house. “Second thoughts?” he asked, pulling a book of matches from his back pocket. I looked at the house and bit my lip as memory upon memory flooded my mind, the good ones and the bad ones and everything in between. This place now belonged to the three of us, and when none of us had wanted to claim it was when our idea hatched. We’d burn it to the ground. Every last wall and floor and window that had housed generations of Armstrongs, generations of people living under the spell of some curse. When I’d first come to live with them, it was what John had told me he would have done himself had he not wanted to let his sons make that choice. Years later, they’d made their decisions. Some places were just so filled with memories that there was no room left for new ones to be made, and that was how Red Mountain Ranch felt. With no room for any of us to form new memories, we’d be forced to live with the old ones, and while some of them were worth remembering, plenty were not. Red Mountain Ranch had housed its last Armstrongs—had seen its last of them die. Red Mountain Ranch had been my past, but it wouldn’t be my future. Slowly, I shook my head, closing my eyes when my gaze drifted to the window of what had been Conn’s room. “None.” Ripping a match from the book, he struck it. When it flamed to life, he carefully handed it to me. “It’s your choice,” he said, his eyes on the dancing flame between us. Taking the match, I held it in front of me for one second, studying it. How could such a small thing cause so much destruction? How could this insignificant flame be responsible for igniting an inferno? Moving forward, I found the spot where Chance and Chase had started pouring the kerosene. Letting the match fall, I took Chance’s hand, and stepped away from the house with him, making the second correct choice I’d made all summer. The flame took hold, slithering up the stairs and into the house in a rush. A minute later, flames licked at the entire house, igniting it and setting the night on fire. We watched that house burn to the ground. We stayed there until the last smolders had nearly died out. By the time they had, a new day was dawning.



AFTER A WILDFIRE, new life will crop up out of the ground in such abundance and with such abandon it seems like it was just waiting for something to raze what had been trapping it below the surface. I’d seen that happen dozens of times. This was the first time I’d personally experienced it. It had been close to a month since we’d watched the old home turn into a pile of ashes and charred bits. Not quite two months had passed since two people in my life had been ripped from it. I’d experienced my own personal wildfire that had cleared me of all the stubborn roots and unhealthy trees holding me down. With them wiped clean, I felt things I never had before, things like contentment, belonging, peace. I’d settled into my routine at Red Mountain Ranch, and I’d found that the love of a good man could ease just about any pain or worry I’d felt in the days since losing two Armstrongs. Of course I still mourned for John and my brother, and I’d spent nights where they were all I could think about, but the ache of wanting them back and waiting for their return had subsided. I’d come to terms with the fact that nothing could bring them back, no matter how badly I wished for a way. I was finishing my rounds in the barn, so I made a quick stop at Dark Horse’s stall to sneak him a couple of sugar cubes that, as a veterinarian, I shouldn’t have been indulging him with. Then I headed out into the light of a brand new day. It seemed that syncing our internal clocks came along with my good man’s love because I hadn’t been able to sleep past the sunrise since the day I’d moved in with Chance . . . much to my dismay and his delight. Although the nice thing about having completed half a day’s work before the sun made its appearance was the opportunity to squeeze in a nap in the afternoon. Or something else bed-related. Who said I didn’t see bright sides? “Hey, Dr. Scout, how many muscles are in the human body?” Chase hollered as I left the barn. He was kneeling beside Chance as the two of them smoothed their trowels over a patch of wet concrete. “Technically, I’m a doctor of animals, so if you have a question about numbers of muscles in bodies, it should be about that,” I replied, pulling on my calf-skin gloves as I approached them. Fall was in the air, and the early mornings were extra crisp. “But there are 656-850 muscles in the human body, depending on which medical point of view you want to take.” Chase elbowed Chance, making his trowel dip into the concrete and leave an unsightly divot that would need to be smoothed out again. Chase totally ignored Chance’s glare before he smoothed out the concrete again. “Your woman’s such a know-it-all. Well, Dr. Scout, every single one of the 656-850 muscles in my body aches right now. Would you please order Slave Driver here to cut me some slack and allow a break every twenty hours or so?” I smiled at Chase. In his old high school baseball cap, his hair just long enough to be pulled back in a rubber band, he leaned over the slab of wet concrete. His eyes had found their light again. I wasn’t sure

exactly when or how, but it was back. “Hey, Slave Driver,” I called to Chance. He looked at me under his arm as he continued to smooth out the divot. “Give the baby a break. We’re not all freaks of nature like you.” I said. Chance grinned, waving a trowel, then got back to his work. “Fine, go take a break. Baby. Just make sure you bring me back some of that jerky. I’m starving.” Chase shoved off the ground, dropping his trowels as though he couldn’t be rid of them quick enough. “Starving? I didn’t think you felt things like hunger or thirst or tired or anything else we mere mortals feel.” “You can keep thinking whatever you want so long as you bring me back some of the jerky.” Chance leaned back on his heels once he’d gotten the concrete smoothed out. Chase continued to his truck with a huff, bumping my shoulder in his typical greeting. “Good morning, Dr. Scout.” He gave me a boyish smile. I grabbed the bill of his cap and pulled it down over his eyes. “Good morning, Dr. Smartass.” As Chase chuckled the rest of the way to his truck, I walked up behind Chance. Before us, a maze of boards and rebar were laid out, running as far back as it did wide. It was the foundation of the house we were building together. On new ground just off to the east of where the original house had been, it would be where new memories could form, new traditions could be born, and life could thrive with the promise of the future instead of wilting from the poison of the past. “Nice work,” I said, kneeling beside Chance and appraising the patch of concrete he and Chase had been busy with all morning. “Ten square feet down, only about a thousand to go.” I nudged him as my eyes swept the perimeter of the new home. “This right here is the most important ten square feet of the entire place though,” he said, all stoic-like. I studied the patch of concrete. By my estimations, it was the start of the porch, although I was clueless when it came to reviewing the blueprints, so it could have been the half bath positioned off the kitchen. I supposed either way, both were pretty important parts of any house. “Why is this patch so important?” I asked, wanting his explanation. Setting down his trowels, Chance dusted off his hands then reached for one of mine. Slipping off my glove, he spread my fingers wide, flattened it, and lowered it to the wet cement. “Because this is the first spot we’re going to leave our mark,” he said, carefully pressing my hand into the cement. It was cold and gritty, but he kept pressing until my hand had left a good, deep impression. Beside mine, Chance lowered his hand so our thumbs touched ever so slightly. He pressed his hand as deep as mine then lifted our hands. They made a slurpy, suctioning sound as they dislodged, but we’d left behind two perfect handprints. “There, now no matter what, a part of us will always be here.” I studied the handprints with a smile. “No matter what.” Chance’s hand slipped around my neck, drawing me close. I was just tipping his hat back, my lips about to graze his, when someone squatted beside us. “Hey, handprints. Solid idea, brother.” Spreading his large hand wide, Chase flattened it into the concrete above Chance’s and mine. When he lifted his hand away, our handprints almost looked like a triangle, our fingers skimming Chase’s palm, Chance’s and my thumb touching. In a way, it was symbolic of our relationships. We were all connected, tied to one another in some intangible way. Chance was right—this right here was the most important part of the whole foundation. Chase had just pulled a piece of beef jerky from his pocket to hand it to Chance when, out of nowhere, his shadow lunged, grabbed the jerky in his mouth, and bolted away.

“Wolf!” I shouted, unable to muster up enough of a scolding tone to be very convincing. All the pup did was look back, licking his chops, as he swallowed his hunk of stolen jerky. A wolfy smile followed. Beside me, one brother laughed. On the other side, one sighed. When I looked down, I saw why. “Well, I guess we’re all accounted for now.” I sighed and laughed when I noticed the wolf-prints dotting a trail through the concrete, right above our hands. When Chance reached for a trowel, I stopped him. “Leave it. He deserves his spot too. Lord knows we’ve all been through enough to deserve each other. We all lost our families and the lives we’d known. Keep his marks there.” I felt a smile spread as I surveyed the handful of paw prints scattered above our handprints. “It’ll make me smile every time I walk through the front door.” Chance dropped the trowel. “That’s all the convincing I need.” I thanked him with a short kiss then stood. “Looks like you boys have your work cut out for you.” My eyes swept over the wood forms that would soon be filled with concrete, which would eventually leads to walls, which would end with a roof. “While you’re busy laying another thousand square feet of concrete, I’m going to take a little walk.” I winked at them as I backed away. “Where are you going?” Chance asked, his brow furrowing in a familiar anxious, nervous way brought on by his fear that this might be the last time he’d see me. Alive. “Around,” I answered with a shrug. “It’s a beautiful fall day, and pretty soon it’ll be too cold for spontaneous walks. I’ll be back in an hour,” I added when I saw my lack of destination only made him more anxious. I knew what he was thinking—if he didn’t know where I was going, how would he know where to look for me? But what Chance hadn’t yet realized was that it didn’t matter where I went or how I got there—I knew he’d always find me. He’d never failed before, and I didn’t need a glass ball to know he never would. “Alone?” Chance swallowed, looking around in the brightening morning as if evil lurked around every shrub and beneath every rock. “I’ll be okay,” I said with a wink. “I promise.” I could tell how badly he wanted to say something, how much he was fighting to let me keep walking away. “At least take Wolf with you,” Chase shouted, whistling at the pup off sniffing something by the barn. Instantly, Wolf’s ears perked, and he came loping back. “He’s fierce. He’ll protect her from whatever terrifying ground squirrel or field mouse might run out in front of her.” Chase nudged Chance, clearly giving him a hard time, but Chance wasn’t in a mood to tease back. “Come on, Wolf,” I called, patting my leg. The pup wasn’t eager to leave his favorite two-legged companion, but after a few licks of Chase’s hand, he trotted toward me. Of course that was when one of the barn cats came racing across the yard in a frenzy of black fur and Wolf freaked, yelping as he took cover behind the my legs. “Oh, yeah. We’ve got a great warrior on our hands here. Moles will quiver in fear as we pass.” I waved at them, giving Chance the most reassuring smile I could manage—he didn’t look so reassured—then headed out with Wolf on my heels. I already knew where I wanted to go, so once I was sure I was out of sight of the pair of eyes that seemed to follow me wherever I went, even if it was just to the kitchen cupboard, I took a right and headed for the trail that led up the mountain. I hadn’t been there since the day of the funeral, but today was special. Today I couldn’t stay away. A few late summer flowers were still in bloom, so with Wolf’s supervision, I managed to put together quite the bouquet by the time I’d made it to the top. The air was cooler up here, the ever-present wind coming off the north end of the mountain always threatening to blow someone over the other side. Wolf ran in front of me, weaving around the gravestones and stopping to sniff the most recent ones, probably because he could still smell Chase’s scent on them, before he ambled over to Jenny’s gravesite. He didn’t sniff and circle hers—he fell on his stomach in a tired heap, lowering his head to the ground and letting his tongue

loll out. “Yeah, I’m tired too,” I said, panting as I took the last few steps up the trail. I’d told Chance I’d be back in an hour which meant I’d had to truck up the mountain. I took a moment to catch my breath then kneeled beside his headstone. For the first time since I’d thought of him and his death, even his life, I didn’t cry. Instead, for the first time, I smiled when I thought about him. For the first time, I thought about Conn without an avalanche of emotions crashing down on me. I was healing. Repairing old wounds. Mending ancient scars. I traced my finger along the letters etched on his headstone. Conn Mason Armstrong. September 30, 1987 to July 2, 2014. Forever loved. Forever missed. Son, brother, and friend. I traced the word brother a few more times before setting the flowers over it. The wind took a sudden change, diminishing to a breeze, and for the first time ever on that mountain, I felt it gently on my back, like it was propelling me forward instead of trying to push me over a ledge. “You know, I don’t need to see you to know you’re here,” I called, my smile growing. I heard boots stepping over rock and gravel as they moved closer. “I know.” Lounging in his happy patch of sun, Wolf gave a welcome yip before getting back to his snooze. “You just couldn’t let me go, could you? You couldn’t let me be alone out here without being a few steps behind to jump in and save me if I needed saving.” Rearranging the flowers on Conn’s grave, I glanced over my shoulder. Chance came up behind me, his coat buttoned up to his chin and his cheeks and nose red from the pace he’d had to take to keep up with me. “I didn’t follow you because I was scared. At least, that’s not mostly the reason I followed you,” he continued with a sheepish smile. “I followed you because I just couldn’t watch you walk away. I’ve had to watch you walk away so many times I’m not sure I’m capable of watching it again.” He looked at me, his hazel eyes the particular shade of green they seemed to take whenever he was happy—which was the vast majority of the time. They seemed to lighten right in front of me. “Where you go, I go. Even if it’s to the top of Red Mountain.” I nodded, picking up on his hidden meaning. I scanned the area in front of me, wondering where Chance and I would one day be laid to rest, wondering when that day would be, hoping it wouldn’t be anytime soon, and knowing that no matter when it came, it would still be too soon. “Still afraid I’m going to wind up here in the near future?” I swallowed, lifting my head toward the patch of open space just beside where my mom had been buried. “Nothing but another grave marker beside the rest?” “Yes. I’ll always be afraid of that.” His voice was strong, though he was admitting being afraid. Kneeling beside me, Chance’s hand found mine. “But I’m not going to let the fear of losing you be responsible for actually losing you. Because I want you in my life, forever, and I would give mine to preserve yours.” Chance lifted his chin at the graves in front of us. “I’m going to embrace the good, not balk back from the bad.” My pinkie tangled with his. “Is that why you can’t look me in the eyes?” Chance exhaled so loudly it got Wolf’s attention, at least for a second. “I’m scared.” Lowering my head to his shoulder, I nodded. “I’m scared too.” I focused on Jenny’s grave, where Wolf was resting. She and Chase had barely gotten a chance to live and love before she’d been ripped from him. Would I have longer? Would we be the exception to the seeming rule? “But you know what? I’m more scared of not having you in my life.” “Me too.” Chance shifted closer beside me. “Me too.” Without knowing we’d be bridging and coming to terms with the one hot topic in our relationship, we’d successfully tackled it in a few sentences. Chance and I were going to do this, and we wouldn’t let anything stop us—the threat of death included. I never imagined I’d face the possibility of my own death

with such joy. “It’s his birthday.” Chance pushed the stems of a few flowers just enough out of the way to read Conn’s birthdate. “It didn’t seem right to not do something to remember it, you know?” Chance smiled at our brother’s grave. “I know.” After kissing my temple, he rose and fell back behind me. “Take as long as you want. I’ll be here when you’re finished.” “To walk me down the mountain?” I looked back as he gave me some space. Chance shook his head, something inside lighting his eyes. “To be at your side through every walk of life. Down a mountain trail included.” “Where I go you go?” I guessed, repeating his words. The corners of his mouth lifted. “Forever.” I stayed at the mountain graveyard until long after the sun had reached its height in the sky. Chance stayed with me the entire time, never saying a word, just being my companion. I knew that, no matter what, Chance would go wherever I went. Some of us would live long lives, some of us not so long. Life was a gamble. Love was a gamble. But what I’d figured out during my sixth summer at Red Mountain was that if I let fear of the unknown be the wind in my life’s sail, it would steer me away from everything I cared about and everyone I loved. Letting fear take the steering wheel meant handing over control of my life. Once fear had that control, it wasn’t inclined to hand it back. I knew the Armstrong superstition that went generations deep might have been valid. I’d accepted that the curse might very well be out there, following my every step, but I wouldn’t live in fear. I wouldn’t reject the man I loved and the place I loved because it might lead to an untimely death. I might not get to decide when and how I died, but I had the power to decide how I lived. Whether that life expired in a day, a month, or a half-century, I’d take with me to the grave the peace that came from knowing I’d lived my life regretting little and loving lots. If that was my curse, so be it.

Nicole loves to hear from her readers. You can connect with her on, Facebook: Nicole Williams (Official Author Page) Twitter: nwilliamsbooks Blog: nicoleawilliams.blogspot.com Other Works by Nicole: CRASH, CLASH, and CRUSH (HarperCollins) LOST & FOUND, NEAR & FAR, FINDERS KEEPERS UP IN FLAMES (Simon & Schuster UK) HARD KNOX , DAMAGED GOODS (The Outsider Chronicles) GREAT EXPLOITATIONS THE EDEN TRILOGY THE PATRICK CHRONICLES