“Give him a chance, Mack,” Mrs. Whitaker chimed in, appearing at my elbow with a plate of appetizers. “The boys are doing wonderful things with the ranch. Have you seen their website? My niece in California ordered their prime rib for Christmas dinner and said they were better than anything she could get at those fancy markets out there.”
Mack grunted, unimpressed, but the tension in the room eased slightly. Mrs. Whitaker smiled at me, her eyes kind behind her glasses.
“Jesse, be a dear and help me in the dining room, would you? I need someone tall to reach the top shelf.”
It was an obvious rescue attempt, but I was grateful for it. “Of course, Mrs. Whitaker.”
As I followed her out of the kitchen, I caught Cole’s eye. He gave me a small nod, a silent acknowledgment that I’d handled myself well. It shouldn’t have meant as much as it did, but his approval sent a flush of pride through me.
The dining room was crowded with food, every surface laden with casseroles, meats, and desserts. Mrs. Whitaker led me to a cabinet in the corner.
“There’s another platter up there,” she said, pointing to the top shelf. “My husband put it away and forgot I’m not seven feet tall.”
I reached up easily and retrieved the silver platter she needed. When I handed it to her, she didn’t immediately let go, keeping me close.
“Don’t you worry about old Mack,” she said quietly. “He’s all bark and no bite. They all are. They just need time to remember you’re Jack’s boy too.”
The kindness in her voice made my throat tighten unexpectedly. No one had referred to me as “Jack’s boy” with a positive tone since I’d returned to Hell Creek.
“Thank you,” I managed, blinking back the sudden moisture in my eyes. “I’m trying.”
“I know you are,” she patted my arm. “And so does Cole, whether he wants to admit it or not.”
I helped her arrange a few more platters before making my way back through the crowded house. I spotted Cole in deep conversation with some local ranchers, his posture relaxed as he discussed cattle prices or fence posts or whatever the hell ranchers talked about at parties. He fit in so effortlessly here, while I felt like an alien who’d crash-landed on the wrong planet.
I needed air.
Slipping through the crowd, I found a back door that led to a spacious deck overlooking the Whitakers’ property. The night was clear and cold, stars blazing overhead in that brilliant Montana way that had always taken my breath away, even as a teenager desperate to escape this place. My breath clouded in front of me as I leaned against the railing outside of the light spilling from the house, grateful for the momentary solitude.
The deck was empty except for a couple chairs that didn’t look like they’d been used since October. I could still hear the music and laughter from inside, but it felt distant out here, like it belonged to another world.
I don’t know how long I stood there, watching my breath crystallize in the frigid air, before I heard the door open behind me.
“There you are,” Cole’s deep voice sent a shiver down my spine that had nothing to do with the cold. “Hiding already?”
“Not hiding,” I corrected, not turning around. “Just getting some air.”
He came to stand beside me at the railing, our shoulders almost touching. “That was good in there. What you said to Mack.”
I glanced at him, surprised by the compliment. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” he confirmed, his eyes on the distant mountains. “Honest. Not defensive. Jack would’ve approved.”
The mention of my stepfather made me look away again, focusing on the vast darkness beyond the deck. “Do you really think so?”
Cole was quiet for a moment, considering. “He was proud of you, you know. Even after you left.”
“Bullshit,” I scoffed, though the words hit me hard. “He hated me for leaving.”
“He was angry,” Cole corrected. “Hurt. But he kept track of you. Had Mr. Whitaker look you up whenever he was in Seattle for business.”
I turned to face him fully then, searching his expression for any sign of a lie. “What?”
“He knew about your marketing job. The awards you won. He had a file in his desk drawer with newspaper clippings about your company.”
My chest felt suddenly too tight, like I couldn’t get enough air. “He never called. Never wrote.”
“He wrote,” Cole said without missing a beat. “We just assumed you didn’t want to write back.”
