TWO
RYAN HAD HAD his share of knocks in life, but he was having a hard time recalling a day where he’d had two big emotional wallops back-to-back like this.
Right now he had no idea where his father was, what he was doing or thinking or planning—although it had better not involve his mother—but he knew exactly where his brother was: lying in a hospital with a career-ending crushed leg. Ryan was more shaken by the accident than he wanted to admit.
For almost two decades, Matt had been his fiercest roping competition, and for fifteen of those years, he’d known they were half brothers, thanks to a painful heart-to-heart with his mother after that fistfight in the rodeo grounds’ john. That conversation had explained why Matt hated him so much—because he existed.
Well, Ryan was pissed at the situation himself. They shared a father, but Matt had been the son with a father in residence. Matt had been the son with the fancy horses and trucks and trailers. He’d enjoyed the kind of easy, charmed career that money made possible—right up until a few hours ago when that charmed career had come to a screeching halt, leaving the way wide open for Ryan to take his place in the National Finals.
Ryan didn’t feel good about that at all. The short visit to his highly doped-up brother in the hospital before he’d started the drive home hadn’t helped. All Matt had been concerned about was that Ryan not call his mother.
As if.
He needed a tall beer and about ten hours of sleep. Then maybe he’d be in better condition to deal with all the shit that had gone down today.
He turned down the two-mile-long driveway leading to the Rocky View Ranch, where he’d lived and worked since graduating high school. At one time, back in his great-grandfather’s day, the ranch had encompassed more than two sections and employed a dozen people. Most of the hands had lived in the bunkhouse, but there were two staff houses with their own corrals and outbuildings located half a mile from the main house, which gave the residents some privacy. The ranch manager and his family had lived in one house and the rural schoolteacher had stayed in the other for nine months out of the year.
Now the ranch was smaller by a section, the school had been bulldozed thirty years ago, and Ryan’s friends and coworkers, Jessie and Francisco Garcia, lived in the schoolteacher’s house. Walt Feldman, who’d owned the place up until a year ago, lived in the manager’s place next door. Most of the time, he was okay with that.
Most of the time.
Ryan still lived in the small three-room homestead house behind the barn on the main ranch that he’d moved into the week after graduating college with his degree in range management. It was hot in summer, cold in winter, way too cramped and right now he wanted to get there like nobody’s business.
Jessie and Francisco’s place came into view, lit to the max. Walt’s house, an eighth of a mile away, was dark. Ryan had barely registered how much he didn’t like that when Jessie stepped out of her house and waved frantically at him before trotting down the steps as he slowed to a stop.
“We have a problem,” she said as soon as he rolled the window down. “One of the family is at the house. She came this afternoon. Walt didn’t even tell me until she was already on the property. He called me from town and I was lucky to get the keys down to her.”
Well, shit.
“Do I need to go looking for him?” he asked.
Jessie shook her head. “Francisco called just a few minutes ago. No surprise that he found him in a bar, but I’m afraid if he brings him back here, Walt might try to go to the house. Scare the lady...get himself fired.”
Ryan pressed his fingertips to his forehead. It’d been one long friggin day and he’d been looking forward to that beer and some sleep.
“All right,” he said just as a loud “Ma-a-a” sounded from inside the small house. Jessie ignored her son’s plaintive call, her dark eyes holding on Ryan’s face as she waited for him to tell her how they’d handle the situation. One thing was for certain: he didn’t want Walt anywhere near the main house while he was drunk. Sometimes Walt didn’t remember who owned the place—or that he’d basically been sold with the ranch, along with the rest of them. Once, Ryan had found him asleep in the master bedroom after one of his benders. That would never do while the family was in residence.
“Ma-a-a!” Four-year-old Jeffrey stepped out onto the porch holding his bear by one ear. “I need you!”
“Sounds like you’re needed,” Ryan said as Bella and Emmie toddled out onto the porch behind their brother, one taking hold of Jeff’s bear, the other his shirtsleeve, before they simultaneously put their thumbs in their mouths. “I’ll take care of things and see that Francisco gets back home.”
“Thanks, Ry. It’s bath night.”
Jessie stepped back and Ryan put the truck into low gear, easing the horse trailer forward as he pulled his phone out of his pocket. He punched the number three with his thumb and Francisco answered almost immediately.
“Found him.”
“Drive him to my mom’s,” Ryan said. Lydia would keep Walt contained until he sobered up. “I’ll take it from there.”
“If I can get him into the truck. He can barely walk.”
“Want me to call Mitch?” Ryan asked. His bull-riding friend had helped contain Walt on a previous occasion.
“I’ll get someone here at the bar to help me.”
“All right,” Ryan said. “Let me know if you have any trouble.” As soon as he hung up, he punched his mother’s number and explained the situation.
Lydia Madison responded with a heavy sigh, which Ryan read more as resignation than annoyance. “The extra room’s ready for him.”
“Want me to come back to town, help you with him? He’s upset about the new owners coming to stay at his house.”
“Get some sleep,” Lydia said. “He’ll be okay in the morning. I’ll feed him some ham and eggs, keep him here until you or Francisco can come and get him.”
“I’ll see you then,” Ryan replied. “Thanks, Mom.”
“Get some sleep!”
He’d do his best because tomorrow was probably going to be one hell of a day. The owners would undoubtedly want to talk to Walt—they always did—and Ryan needed to make sure the guy was in decent shape for the meeting, which was never an easy task.
The hell of it was that he had no idea how long the owners planned to stay, and he was only going to be on the ranch for a few days before he had to leave again for the next rodeo halfway across the state. He didn’t want to add more to Jessie and Francisco’s workload, but the chances of Walt coming to terms with his demons by the weekend bordered on nonexistent.
Sometimes he wondered if the old man was ever going to get over having to sell the ranch. Would ever forgive himself for overextending, borrowing recklessly and then having it all come crashing down on him during a perfect storm of drought, wildfire and recession.
Enter the rich people.
If
