Daniel Stockton wearily walked into the log cabin he lived in at the Comanchero Ranch. For the last ten years, he’d been in charge of booking vacations for city dwellers who yearned to sample the cowboy life for a week or two and pretend they lived back in the days of the old Wild West. The dude ranch, one of Colorado’s most popular, was currently in the height of its busy season. Attendance was at an all-time high and would probably remain so until somewhere around the end of next month.
As he concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other on the way to his secondhand sofa, Dan felt as if all those years had been packed into this last week and a half.
He sighed and collapsed on the worn, cracked sofa in the center of his small living area.
His stomach rumbled, asking to be appeased, but for now, Dan felt as if he couldn’t move more than the first two fingers of his right hand. The hand that was currently wrapped around the remote control for the TV that had been in the cabin when he’d initially moved in. The cabin was too quiet and he just wanted some background noise to distract him.
Even now, after all these years, he didn’t like being alone with his thoughts.
Aiming the remote at the twenty-four-inch TV screen, he pressed the power button, content to watch whatever program came on. He just wanted some company he didn’t have to explain anything to. The tourists who came to the ranch always seemed to be filled to the brim with questions.
Most of the time, that didn’t bother him, but there was this one family this last week that had a kid with them—Harlan—who just wouldn’t stop asking questions no matter what. The kid, all of eleven or twelve, was obviously trying to trip him up.
Dan felt as if his head was throbbing and, quite possibly, on the verge of exploding.
The pay at the Comanchero Ranch was fairly decent and he did get to spend most of his life on horseback, which he loved, but there were times—like this last week—when the loneliness caught up to him, wrapping its tentacles around him so hard he could scarcely breathe. That was when he found his patience to be thin and in relatively short supply. And when that happened, his tolerance went out the window.
This afternoon he’d come dangerously close to telling Harlan’s parents that they needed to take their son in hand and teach him some much-needed manners. But he’d managed to hold his tongue long enough to get those “dudes” back to the ranch house where they were staying.
However, it had been close. Closer than he really liked.
“Get a grip, Dan. This isn’t a bad job. And you sure as hell can’t afford to lose it,” he told himself as he got up again.
His stomach was growling way too much. It was time to rummage through his refrigerator and find something that could pass for food.
As he walked to the small refrigerator, his back was to the TV when he heard it.
The voice from his past.
Dan froze, listening. Convinced that he was imagining things.
It couldn’t be, he told himself. It was the loneliness getting to him, wearing away his edge, nothing more.
He forced himself to proceed to the kitchen and open the refrigerator. Instead of getting something to eat, he took out a bottle of root beer, twisted off the cap and closed the refrigerator door.
He’d just put the bottle to his lips when he heard it again.
The voice from his past.
“This is Travis Dalton and you’re watching The Great Roundup. We’re coming to you live from Rust Creek Falls, Montana, and I’m here talking to Jamie Stockton, the valiant dad of year-old triplets. Jamie, until just recently, had to juggle being both father and mother to these fine, hearty little human beings. Tell us how that felt, Jamie.”
“I don’t mind admitting that I was pretty overwhelmed at first,” the young man the narrator had addressed as Jamie answered.
The root beer slipped from Dan’s hand, meeting the floor at an obtuse angle. Mercifully, it avoided shattering. Instead, a small shower of foam emerged from the bottle, christening his boots and the bottom of his jeans.
Dan didn’t notice.
His eyes were glued to the TV, staring at the screen.
Staring at Jamie Stockton.
His younger brother.
The wave of loneliness Dan had been harboring turned into a twelve-foot sweeping tidal wave, all but drowning him in memories.
Memories he had been struggling so hard to bury and ignore for the last twelve years.
Listening to the voice of the young man telling his story caused those years to instantly melt away as if they had never happened.
Except that they had.
Daniel shifted from foot to foot, standing before the closed ranch house door.
His brother’s door.
He had absolutely no idea what to expect. What if, when his brother Jamie opened the door and saw who was knocking, he slammed it in his face?
Of course, there was a small chance, one that he was silently rooting for, that Jamie would mercifully allow him to plead his case.
The way he felt, however, the odds were probably against that happening.
It had taken Dan more than a whole month of intense soul searching to finally get up the nerve to take this giant step, to leave Colorado and travel all this distance back to Rust Creek Falls, Montana.
Back to his hometown and his roots.
Back to the place where it had all fallen apart twelve years ago.
Ironically, the very things that were drawing him back to Rust Creek Falls were the same things that had caused him to stay away so long in the first place.
The same things that made him hesitate reconnecting this last whole month.
Dan had raised his hand to knock on the door a total of three times now. And all three times his courage had failed him, causing him to drop his hand back down again to his side.
Come on. You didn’t come all this way back to Montana just to chicken out at the last minute. This isn’t you.
Except that, maybe, it was. Why else had he not tried to get back in contact with any of his siblings for over a decade?
The first two years of his self-imposed exile he’d been with his two older brothers, Luke and Bailey. But then they had gone their own separate ways, too, leaving him to fend for himself.
The simple truth of it was he was tired of being alone. Tired of
