“I just gotta get away for a little while.” I pat the railing, standing up tall.
“I get that.”
“You aren’t going to try to talk me out of it?”
He shakes his head. “We all got paths to take in life. If this is yours right now, then so be it. I understand.”
“What about the ranch?”
“You let me worry about that. Besides, Kincaid isn’t going anywhere.”
“Yeah, and he’s turning into his father.”
“Your brother just needs to figure out who he is. Just like you do.” Grandpa grips my shoulder.
He doesn’t hug. He doesn’t show much affection at all. But his hand squeezes once, and it’s enough comfort to let me know I’m making the right decision.
“Do you know why I bought this land, Dean?” He lets me go, resting against the railing.
My brows pinch. “For the ranch.”
“To build a home.” Grandpa looks around. “I was a lot like you growing up. My dad was a… difficult man, to say the least. I left the moment I had the chance and saved up working as a ranch hand until I could afford a little piece of land of my own. When I sold that for five times what I bought it for, I got this place. And I built a home. Not just for my family, although it became that. But for anyone who needed it. For anyone who might have been like me—a little lost.”
Memories play in his eyes as he looks out at the ranch. His gaze stops on a truck pulling up to the barn with the morning crew.
“This is a home for anyone who needs it. Not just us.”
“It’s a good home,” I say, meaning it.
Just because I can’t be here anymore doesn’t make that any less true.
“It is. And it’s here if you ever need it. Even when I’m long gone, this land is for my family and anyone we bring into it, blood or not. Here, you’re always welcome. Here, you’re always home.”
25
Chaos
Willa wiggles behind meon my bike. Her fingers move from my thighs to my sides, roaming freely on the three-day road trip to Texas. I love having her hands on me, even if the ride is hell on my body after a while.
My arms ache. My hands are numb from the vibrations. My thighs are sore from riding.
Still, there’s nowhere else I’d rather be than on the open road with my girl riding on the back of my bike. She might not realize what it means for me to put her there, but that’s where she belongs now. All I need is to convince her to add my property patch to her leather jacket, and I’ll die happy.
It’s a damn good feeling. Just me and her.
Until we pass the worn sign that marks my hometown’s border.
Lanceleaf Valley
Population 10,378
The town was named after the yellow flowers that dot the edges of Main Street. They paint a pretty picture for a place with more bad memories than good. This town is too small. Too quiet. It’s no wonder I got into so much trouble growing up.
Until Willa and her family moved here in high school, there wasn’t anything worth my time in Lanceleaf Valley, Texas.
We ride through downtown, and the storefronts all look the same. A few have been refreshed and a few businesses sold, but most are still here. Ransack is the busiest parking lot on the street. Willa was best friends with the owner’s daughter, so on weekends, Tony would let us hang out and sing karaoke or dance during the day. He wouldn’t serve us drinks, but I snuck a few from behind the bar without him catching me. It was a decent time.
A couple of familiar places have closed. Weather-worn signs hang over empty shops.
