Instead, a woman with gray eyes handed him a mug of coffee and told him to sit because the sun was going down and the sunset was worth watching.
No one asked him what he could offer. No one asked him to be okay.
They just made space for him, like setting an extra place at the table. Sometimes they nudged, sure. Sometimes they just stared him down and called him on his bullshit. But they’d done it from the heart.
The memory made his throat tight. He rolled his shoulders to shake off the weight in his chest. It didn’t ease up, and all he could do was follow the pull until it stopped tugging.
Hours later, the old wooden billboard with the hand-painted willow tree appeared out of the dark like a ghost. The sign had been repainted several times and leaned a little too far to the side, but continued to cling to the mountainside like the stubborn people who lived in Willowbrook, Wyoming.
Home, a voice inside him, deep and unguarded, whispered. He didn’t argue with it.
He took the turn without signaling because no one was behind him on the road at this late hour to care, and the road narrowed to a two-lane stretch snaking through pastures.
Frost rimed the fence posts like sugar. Some of those posts he’d set himself as part of the work that silenced the noise.
The ranch gate swung into the headlights, iron bars and a weathered arch.
He slowed and stopped. For a second, he sat with the engine idling, listening to the ticking of the engine cooling under the hood like a heartbeat. He felt his own pulse in his throat.
He killed the engine. When he opened the door, the cold air slapped him. Cleaner here, carrying the scent of old hay and the mountains that shouldn’t smell like anything at all yet did.
His boots crunched over gravel, and he approached the gate, wrapping his fingers around the cold metal while reaching for the call button to announce his arrival.
He remembered so much about living here, but also remembered leaving, how the weight slid over him like a shadow. He’d left because it was the next step. Because he wanted to prove he could stand on his own in a world that didn’t pad the sharp edges.
God, he was tired.
He pressed the call button, knowing he was on camera.
A second later, a familiar voice projected through the speaker. “You lost or found?”
He huffed a laugh that fogged in the cold. “Found.”
The lock clicked, and the gates swung open. He hurried back to his truck and drove up the long lane leading to the Black Heart Ranch.
The porch light at the big house beckoned, along with the warm glow of a few lights still on in the lodge where the veterans stayed. As he parked the truck and cut the engine, a shape appeared on the porch.
By the time he climbed out, Carson Malone was standing there, brows pinched in concern but the smile on his face welcoming. “Wondered if we’d see you again.”
Gabe’s mouth tugged in the closest thing to a smile he’d managed in days, weeks, months.
“I was just driving. And I ended up here.”
Carson nodded. “I’ve got a bed for you. Supper too, if you’re hungry.”
He was but he wasn’t. Right now the thought of a bed and a cool pillow lured him more than any hunger pains.
“A bed would be nice.”
Carson answered by leading him past the lodge to the barn and a humble bunk room.
Gabe followed, unsure how long he’d stay or what he’d do tomorrow, but Carson didn’t make him explain anything beyond this moment.
Of all the places he’d tried to fit since he left the military, this was the last place that felt right.
As Carson opened the door and flipped a switch, warm light spilled into the room, and Gabe let himself walk toward it.
* * * * *
