Chapter One
WYATT
The morning air bites sharp and clean, as if the mountains themselves are testing whether I still have what it takes to make it in the rough environment of Rock Creek. It may have been years since I last opened my eyes to see the dawn cracking over the jagged peaks of the Rockies, but I haven’t forgotten.
I never will.
This ranch is in my blood.
For better or worse.
And these days, it’s hard to tell which was which.
All is quiet as I make my way through the yard. Over the last few years, most of the ranch hands have been let go or quit. More likely the latter, since my asshole of a father sank further and further into his own misery.
Word around town was that he’d become harder and harder to work with until finally, most people wouldn’t even step foot on the ranch, let alone work for the bastard.
Most of the herd had been sold off, and the line of prized horses my mother had so carefully tended to was almost a distant memory, with only a few mares and one stud left.
Despite my feelings about this place, and the father who’d made me hate it almost as much as I hated him, it still pained me to see the way it had gone downhill. Once upon a time, the ranch had been full of life and joy.
Those days were long gone.
Still, like it or not, Rock Creek Ranch was home. At least until I could fix it up enough to make it worth something, so we could sell it.
If—and it was a bigif—I could convince my brothers that was the best plan.
But that would have to wait. If I were going to make a case for selling the ranch, first I’d have to put in the work.
I shove the barn door open. The familiar creak of the rusty hinges echoes in the quiet. Dust motes swirl in the thin streams of sunlight just starting to streak through the yard and into the old barn.
The place smells like old hay, leather and neglect.
I swallow back another curse.
It’ll take months, hell, maybe years, to get this place back to even close to what it used to be.
But I’ll do it.
Because someone has to.
“Hey there, old girl.” I stop to scratch Blueberry’s head and top up her feed, before moving on.
Most of the horses weren’t here the last time I’d set foot through the gates of the ranch. Twenty-three years was a long time to be away.
I just wasn’t sure it was long enough.
It took me a few minutes to make my way down the row, greeting each of the animals by the name on their stall. The animals were the best part of a ranch.
They were also the worst part. When they weren’t well.
Which is exactly why I’d called the local vet in to check things over and make sure the few horses we still had left were healthy. Especially, Oatmeal, the pregnant mare, I checked on last. I had no idea how far along she was, or if she’d had any care at all. Knowing my father, the cheapskate likely hadn’t sprung for any preventative medicine at all, and Travis, the one ranch hand who’d managed to stay on despite my asshole father, couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen a vet on the property.
Which is why I was expecting Doc McKinney first thing this morning.
I was surprised to find the old man was still practicing. He’d been about a million years old when I was a boy. Slow-talking, even slower-moving moving and as stubborn as the bulls he tended to.
His fees had gone up, too.
