“Yeah well, she knows I’m not an asshole, asshole.”
My mother appeared next, wiping her hands on a kitchen towel and grinning like she’d been watching us through the window since we’d turned into the drive.
“There are my boys,” she called out, already moving down the porch steps with purpose.
At sixty-five, Bridget Walker could still outwork most of the ranch hands, though these days she focused her energy on helping the restaurant and making sure everyone within ahundred-mile radius was properly fed and looked after.
She reached me first, pulling me into a tight hug. I wrapped my arms around her and squeezed back, sighing in relief. “Let me look at you,” she leaned back to study my face. “You look good. Healthier than the last time I saw you.”
“Thanks, Mom,” I slid my eyes to the side, thinking about the test results I’d read just an hour ago. “You look good too.”
“I look old and tired, but I appreciate you saying it anyway.” She moved to Dom, subjecting him to the same thorough examination. “And you’re too skinny. Both of you. Good thing I made extra for dinner.”
“We just got here,” Dom protested, but he was grinning. “Give us five minutes to unpack.”
“You can unpack later. Your father’s been pacing around the house for an age waiting to see you both.” She turned back toward the house, clearly expecting us to follow. “And Claire called from Denver. She’ll be here tomorrow morning.”
I grabbed my bag from the trunk, grateful to Dom for bringing me extra clothes from LA. Maggie circled my legs like she was afraid I might disappear again. The sounds of the ranch settled around us—horses nickering from the paddock, the distant hum of machinery from the barn, wind through the aspens that lined the drive.
“How long has it been since we were all here together?” Dom asked as we followed Mom up the porch steps.
“Over four years,” she said quietly. “Before Finn’s eighth deployment. Not that I was counting.”
The weight of time settled between us. Four years, an accident, a medical discharge, and months of recovery. Dom had visited the ranch a few times over the years, but this was only my second time back since that deployment.
The front door of the farmhouse opened into a large entry with the living room to the left—exposed beams and stone fireplace, comfortable furniture arranged for conversation rather than show. Family photos covered most of the mantle. Four generationsof family working this land, building something that lasted—a legacy to which I might never be able to contribute.
My father appeared from the kitchen. Nolan Walker was built like the cowboys in old westerns—lean, weathered, could fix anything with enough time and the right tools. And smarter than most men I knew, with a master’s degree in business that helped expand the ranch when he and my mom took over. They’d added the lodge, turned the restaurant into an award-winning experience, and recently built the new event barn where Dom and Enzo were having their wedding. Under their care, North Star Ranch had been upgraded to a vacation destination instead of just a working ranch.
“About time,” his voice was warm despite the light scolding. “Thought you boys forgot where you came from.”
“Just took the scenic route,” I accepted his handshake that turned into a bone-crushing hug.
“We decided to take a car in from the airport,” Dom added, accepting his own hug. “Saved Finn the headache from a helicopter ride.”
Dad clapped me on the shoulder, eyes turning serious. “How are you feeling? Really?”
“Better.” It was mostly true in the moment. “Still figuring some things out, but better.”
“Good,” he nodded once, accepting my assessment without pushing for details. “Not sure where your momma has you two sleeping, but you can drop your bags upstairs for now.”
Dom took my bag and disappeared up the stairs to the second story where all the bedrooms were.
I followed my dad into the living room. “How’s the ranch?”
“Busy. Spring calving went well, and we’ve got a good group of guests booked through August. El and your mother have the lodge running like clockwork. Restaurant too.” He glanced toward the kitchen. “She misses having you boys around, though she’d never admit it.”
“We missed being here too.”
“Even you?” Dad’s expression was carefully neutral. “Time before last you were here, you couldn’t wait to get back to base.”
He was right. My last visit before the accident had been rushed, tense, my mind already on the next deployment. I’d been Steady then—confident, focused, and certain about my place in the world. Now I was sitting in the same spot with a failing body and no clear path forward.
“Things change,” I said finally.
“They do,” Dad nodded. “Sometimes for the better.”
Before I could respond, Mom’s voice carried from the kitchen. “Finn! Come help me get this food to the table before it gets cold.”
