was coming up on Thanksgiving—maybe she’d surprise them. Yeah, he wouldn’t take a dollar bet on that happening.
“I’m not sure where I left the payroll,” Ryder said finally. “If you don’t mind, check with her.”
“No problem.” Wiley took off his hat and ran a hand through his hair as he headed toward the house.
The truth was, Ryder didn’t know how he’d feel if the two of them ever got together. He wanted to see his mom happy again, though. And if Wiley could bring a sparkle back to her eyes, well, who was Ryder to judge?
Hell, he had no business having an opinion, period. He hadn’t been able to make his own marriage work. Clearly, he was better at ranching.
He looked around, filled with a bone-deep sense of satisfaction. The main barn had been completely overhauled, and next, he planned to reinforce and repaint the barn behind the stable, which now had a new roof. As did both the calving and equipment sheds.
Over the winter, they’d have to move the north fence line since he’d just bought another seven hundred acres from Alvin Medina. By staying focused and investing well, Ryder had the cash to get a good deal. And he still had enough money to do more remodeling in the house.
So far, he’d made the kitchen and family room easier to navigate now that his mom used a cane and sometimes a walker. She’d always enjoyed cooking, up until the day his dad had passed. Since then, she’d lost interest in most of her hobbies. But now, with all her new, high-end appliances, she’d been trying out different recipes like she used to.
“You were joking about the beer, right, boss?” Toby said, pushing his long hair out of his eyes. “It’s a tradition. You buy us a case every Friday.”
“So now you expect it?”
“Well, yeah.”
Ryder just shook his head. “I think Wiley put it in the barn fridge.”
Toby grinned. “Sweet.”
Watching him walk toward his pal, Bear, something occurred to Ryder. “Hey, Toby.”
He stopped, turned. “Yeah, boss?”
“How old are you?”
Looking sheepish, Toby hesitated. “I’m not leaving the property. Just playing cards in the bunkhouse tonight.”
Ryder sighed. “How old?”
“Almost twenty-one.”
Almost.
Well, hell. Basically, he’d been buying beer for a minor. He wondered if Wiley knew. With Ryder away on business so much, Wiley had a better handle on what was going on. “What about Bear?”
“Oh, he’s twenty-three.”
Ryder slapped the Stetson against his thigh, sending up a cloud of dust. “Look, even if you have only one beer, you and your truck don’t leave the property. Got it?”
“I swear I won’t, and my birthday’s in six weeks, so I’ll be all legal and everything.”
Nodding, Ryder headed toward his office. Not that he’d admit it, but he’d been drinking beer since he was eighteen. Just on weekends, along with his college roommates. None of them had been the type to get too drunk or do anything crazy. It had been a rite of passage, a part of the college experience and nothing more.
It puzzled him that he’d suddenly thought to ask. Toby had been working for them for about five months. And at over six feet, with a husky build, he could easily pass for mid-twenties.
Ryder was the problem. Some of the newer hires were beginning to look young because he felt old. Arguably, at thirty-two, he should be in his prime. But in the ten years since graduating from college, he’d been married, divorced, lost contact with his only sister, buried his father, had been consoling his mother and had nearly doubled the size of the family ranch. So yeah, he felt like he’d already lived two lifetimes.
He heard the front door and glanced toward the porch. His mom had walked out with Wiley. Wrapped in a coat that was too warm for the relatively mild November air and leaning on her cane, she waved at Ryder. Wiley stood beside her, looking uncertain and helpless.
Ryder understood completely.
Maybe he was wrong about the attraction. Maybe Wiley was just plain worried about her like Ryder was. They hadn’t talked about it, but Gail hadn’t been the same since his dad’s death, and anyone who knew her would have to be blind not to see how much she’d aged.
As if the tragedy hadn’t been enough, one of their neighbors had been taken by cancer a short time later. Shirley Hancock and his mom hadn’t been particularly close, but the woman’s granddaughter, Becca, was the little hellion who’d dragged Amy off to LA with her. Though as it turned out, Becca had been much better about keeping in touch with her grandparents, who’d shared everything with the Mitchells. But after they’d passed, news of Amy had dried up.
Ryder stopped midstride and redirected his steps toward the house. Toward his mom.
He didn’t know why he hadn’t thought of it before, probably because he’d been too damn focused on expanding the ranch and doubling profits. But maybe it was time for him to take a little personal trip.
And drag his selfish baby sister back by the scruff of her neck.
Becca had just sat down—no, collapsed was a better description—when she heard the doorbell. Waitressing wasn’t an easy job. But who knew being confined to an office all day trying to familiarize herself with a bunch of different terms would drain the life out of her? And it was only day three.
It took some effort to get off the chair, and then she heard the patter of little feet rushing to the door. “Noah, do not open—”
“Aunt Amy!”
Becca sighed. Well, at least it wasn’t an ax murderer, but Noah knew better.
“How’s my little man?”
Becca came from the kitchen just as Amy scooped him up in her arms and swung him around.
“Ouch!”
His shoe had hit the doorframe.
“What happened?” Amy asked, her eyes wide and surprisingly clear.
“Come in so I can close the door.” Becca noticed the kid from two houses down loitering on the sidewalk with his scary friends, trying to get a look inside. She probably should let him see. He’d find out real quick there was nothing worth stealing.
“You’re getting heavy, kiddo,” Amy said as she set Noah down. Then she turned a quizzical look at Becca. “I stopped at the restaurant. They said you’re not there anymore.”
“No, but I still work for Warren. He promoted me to an office job.”
“Wow,
