Of course, he does. They all do.
There was no “Danny”. No lollipop plucked from Jacob’s pocket. No teasing glint in his eyes. Just a brief clearing of the throat and a step back.
But that was okay. He hadn’t been Danny in a long time.
“You’re all set,” Jacob said, voice even. “Drive safe down the lane.” He tapped a button, and the gate slowly parted with a creak.
No small talk. No wink or wave.
Darian welcomed the silence. His social skills were folded up somewhere between memory and mourning.
The cab crept forward.
The long drive wound through snowy fields where horses huddled together, tails swishing, steam rising from their flanks. Bare trees stood watch like frozen sentries. The wind had swept the powder into graceful drifts, and the Ranch unfolded gradually, familiar and strange all at once.
At first glance, it looked like time had stood still.
But when he narrowed his eyes, he spotted something moving.
Falcons. Two of them high in the sky, effortlessly gliding on the air currents above the main lodge.
Even the falcons got to come in pairs.
The ache in his chest flared sharp.
The cab slowed at the foot of the porch steps. Frost clung to the wooden beams of the covered porch, and icicles glistened at the edge of the roof like winter’s teeth.
The building itself looked the same. And that was the hardest part.
The six steps leading to the entrance were dusted with salt, and his boots crunched softly as he stepped out. He remembered bounding down those stairs beside Blake, Sadie on his other side, Megan trailing behind with a juice box and mismatched socks. They’d made a game of it, taking two stairs at a time, shrieking with laughter when someone missed and they tumbled into a pile at the bottom.
To the sides, flowerbeds lay tucked beneath burlap covers and a fine dusting of snow. But he remembered them full of color. He and the other Littles had weeded those beds that summer until their fingernails were caked with dirt and their cheeks sunburned. Master Jared had hosed them down afterward, muttering about mud monsters and handing out lemonade.
His gaze lifted to the double doors.
He’d skipped through those. Daddy just behind him, warm hand resting on his back. He half-expected the scent of cinnamon rolls and cedar to greet him the second they opened.
The driver moved for the trunk, but another figure beat him there.
Moses stepped out from the shadows like a quiet tree come to life. His tall frame was steady and familiar. He lifted a hand, signed something, and then lifted Darian’s suitcase like it weighed nothing.
Darian managed a thin smile. He turned to face Moses fully. “Thanks,” he said, enunciating clearly for the man to read his lips. “Good to see you.”
The six steps seemed endless.
Inside, the warmth was immediate and welcome.
The lobby smelled like cedar and freshly baked cookies. Not cinnamon rolls, but close enough. The fireplace roared, casting gold light across the log walls and the beams overhead. Plush rugs muffled his footsteps as he followed Moses deeper inside.
Everything looked the same.
But nothing was.
He had to blink back tears again.
Each step was too heavy for a place that used to feel like home. Like a kid sneaking past a sleeping dog—half-hoping it wouldn’t notice, half-afraid it would—he inched toward the front desk. His heels dragged across the floor, and his heart pounded harder with every step, like it might give him away.
And there she was.
