1
Acloud of dust puffed up from the dry cracked ground and hovered over the toe of Lane Tipton’s cowboy boot. Trepidation wrapped around him like a cobweb. This place was a drug—dowsing him with a quick hit of dopamine before the rug got pulled from under his feet.
Which is why after his disastrous return to Hillmore, Wyoming, last year, he vowed he’d never come back.
Unfortunately, that choice had been ripped away.
The old house loomed ahead of him. Dark red stained the pine logs, the same color as the barn that sheltered the handful of animals his father had refused to give up. A wide porch wrapped around the front of the home, inviting rocking chairs positioned to take in the majestic views of the mountains on the other side of the meadow.
Too bad nothing could make him feel welcome here. Even if he now owned the place.
Slapping his Stetson against his thigh, he fitted it back on his head and hiked the duffle strap higher on his shoulder as he climbed the porch steps to the house he’d grown up in and entered the tomb of a home.
Echoes of the past rang through the front hall. Harsh words and harsher slaps stained the walls along with the peeling paint.
The unsettling silence was almost worse. A reminder that he’d been chosen to take the place of the man who’d tortured him for years.
Bristling, he stormed past the living room, up the groaning stairs, and into the room he hadn’t slept in since he’d left this God-forsaken town at eighteen.
He dropped his duffle on the wooden floor where it landed with a thud then swept his black Stetson off his head. He tossed it on the neatly made bed. Indecision paralyzed him. His whole life he’d had one purpose, one direction, one goal.
And in the blink of an eye—one fall off the bull—everything changed. His future destroyed, leaving nothing but broken dreams.
His chest tightened and he rubbed the heel of his hand against the source of the pain at the sensitive spot where his shoulder met his neck. At least his father’s recent passing had left him with enough funds to live until he could figure out his next steps.
“Hello?”
The sound of his sister’s voice had him cracking his first smile since driving inside the city limits. He hurried back downstairs and rushed across the herringbone floor to engulf his little sister in a big hug, lifting her off her feet for a few seconds before setting her back down.
Her laughter filled the room. “Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes? Stand back and let me get a good look at you.”
He rolled his eyes but did as she asked. Suzy might be a good five inches shorter than his six-foot two-inch frame, but he’d learned long ago not to piss her off if possible.
She braced a hand on each of his biceps. “Not any worse for wear, although I’m not sure how I feel about this scruffy, unshaven hobo thing you’ve got going on.”
“Ha ha,” he said, grinning. He ran a palm over his jawline. Okay, so his facial hair was a little longer than usual, but the unkempt look matched his mood. “Is it my turn to inspect you?”
Suzy dropped her hands and anchored her fists on her hips. “Only if you say something nice.”
Chuckling, he shook his head. Suzy had tied her long, dark hair into a low ponytail with a red bandana, and her makeup-free face only highlighted her youth. Her brown eyes, a mirrored image of his own, held so much happiness it tore at his heart.
It’d been too long since he’d seen her. He’d take a few days to gain his bearings, figure out what the hell to do with the old house of horrors he’d been gifted, and fit in as much time with Suzy as he could before moving on to whatever was next.
“I think you got taller,” he finally said.
She slapped his shoulder. “Shut up.”
Hot, raw pain snaked down his arm. He hissed out a breath.
“Oh my God.” She covered her mouth with her hands. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t even think about your injury.”
“It’s okay.” He gritted his teeth until the pain subsided.
“Did you just get here?” Suzy asked.
He nodded. “Just set my bag in my old room when you came in.”
She raised her dark brows. “Your gonna sleep in your old room? Why not claim the master?”
