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Someday, I’ll retire there.
“Want any company? I could use a weekend of getting out of town.”
I rub my beard. Any other weekend, I’d be game. “After the month we’ve had trying to get this guy, I just want to be alone. Decompress. Enjoy the outdoors. But next time, you’re on.”
Cates is good company, and I know he has his own reasons for wanting to escape the city—he’s going through a nasty divorce—so I feel bad for declining. But for my own mental health, I need my own space this weekend.
“I get it. Enjoy the weekend. You’ve earned it.”
“Same, man.”
Forty minutes later, it’s a definite sense of relief when I drop off the paperwork on Chief’s desk. Riggs and I are off duty. I flick my wrist to see it’s only eight o’clock in the morning. Only two hours late.
Fresh country air swirls around us as we speed down the winding road. Riggs, with his nose in the air, catches whiffs of various scents, and he can’t contain his excitement, swinging from window to window. As we approach the ranch, Riggs’s whines grow louder, telling me to speed up.
“Soon, bud, soon.”
He barks, telling me it’s not soon enough. I agree. Nothing beats days at the ranch.
My dad built the cabin back in the eighties, and I can still recall our summers here. The mornings were filled with boring chores, but Jack and I hurried through them to get to the fun stuff—shooting, fishing, swimming in the lake, and hunting for snakes and rabbits. Even with the seven-year age gap between us, we were best friends. We’d be out until we were called in for dinner. Then s’mores around the campfire, where Mom and Dad would dance around and we’d make disgusting noises at them when they’d kiss, but really, everything was perfect.
Until it wasn’t.
Until…everything changed.
I was eleven.
Soon after, my mom lost her will to do anything. Dad and her divorced, the grief was too difficult on their marriage. And I moved between homes, living with a lifeless mother and a suffering father. It wasn’t a year later, after their divorce was finalized, that he had an aneurysm and died. Apparently, it is a quick and painless way to die. So I was told.
For five years, the ranch stood abandoned, alone with his memories and empty rooms. I vividly remember my eighteenth birthday. The day my life changed its course…again. The vibrating phone in my back pocket, the weight of a gun in my hand, its barrel pointed at my stepfather’s unconscious head. He was out cold, and I was about to destroy both our lives.
He didn’t deserve to live.
But I couldn’t ignore the buzzing. It would stop. And then start again. Frustrated and unable to ignore the persistent call any more, I slipped out of his room and took the call.
That day, my dad intervened from the grave and saved my life. He’d deeded the ranch to me. Unfortunately, it saved my stepfather’s life too. He never knew how close to hell he was. It’s where he belongs. I left my mom the next day and never turned back. We haven’t talked since.
Don’t care to start.
I shake off the unwelcome memories as I put the Jeep into park. Riggs seizes the opportunity, leaping out the back window and dashing toward the lake in hopes the ducks are there.
Crossing the threshold, I drop my bag, and a smirk of satisfaction plays on my lips. There’s a surge of pride every time I walk into the house. I left the bones of the house my dad built, but the overhaul was all me. Five years of neglect turned into a complete renovation. I got a job in town with a construction crew when I was eighteen and learned every skill I needed to rebuild this place. It’s been a slow grind, slowed even more by college, work, and a two-year flop of a relationship, but now I’m damn close to finishing.
I can’t wait to fill the space with a family.
As if on cue, the bones of the house creak and I chuckle. “I’m working on it, Dad. You’d like this one.”
There is a woman. It’s too early to put a finger on how I feel about her when I know next to nothing about her. But there’s an undeniable pull—an attraction—that’s got me intrigued. Now, I need to find a way to get closer. Scratch that, I found a way. I just need to take it a little further.
A single whistle has Riggs charging toward me, dripping water with every shake. I cover my coffee cup to avoid a mix of lake water and dog. “Find you some ducks?” He hangs his head in disappointment.
The porch swing creaks as I sit on it. I lean back and attempt to relax. Other than the annoying mockingbird messing with Riggs, the morning spring air is still. Peaceful. Exactly what I need. I slip my hat over my face and close my eyes.
Really, Riggs?
“Stop whining,” I say without moving a muscle. He does it again. Sometimes, I wonder who has who trained. “Dude. We’ll go after my nap. Chill. She’ll still be there.”
CHAPTER 8
