I scan the message a few times.Bestie.A typo for Bess or Bessie? Okay, so maybe it’s not Winnie heading up the driveway after all.
The workings of my sister’s mind elude me, but that’s nothing new. Not since she married the loser whose one decent contribution to this planet has been to produce Sally, before abandoning them both shortly afterward. Shaking my head, I turn to my niece. “Let’s get you cleaned up and ready.” I propel her into the guest wing she occupies, with a contingent of stuffed animalsfor company. In her room I hand her the armful of pink toiletries she arrived with earlier in the week and note her lack of a fresh towel.
“I’ve got it, Cord,” Sally huffs in a perfect mini-me imitation of my sister, eyeballing me as she makes shooing gestures and shuts her bathroom door in my face; my nine-year-old niece going on twenty-nine.
I stand on the other side of the door, twiddling my thumbs, realizing I’ll miss her when she leaves. How did I end up with a huge ranch house, a bank account large enough to run a not-so-small country, and nowhere near enough people to utilize either?
Unwilling to deep-dive into that conundrum for more than a second, I pivot on my heel and stalk back along the hallway. Too aware of the visitor that is not my sister as expected, who will arrive at my door any moment, and that I’m covered in dust, paint, and sweat, I head for my end of the house.
The unused wing, without myself or Sally to occupy the empty rooms, more than doubles the homestead’s floor space. Everyone else sleeps in the bunkhouse—their choice, not mine. The hallway is lined with bedrooms—most of which have never been slept in. Each is kitted out with their own bathroom, plus a full kitchen and living space to share.
Enormous, exposed beams separate the living areas large enough to host a culinary challenge worthy of an Iron Chef battle from the nineties, though it’s usually only my chef and no sparkly jackets in sight come mealtime. The master bedroom and my office span the other half of the homestead. Those are the only sections of the house that see any real regular use.
I pound the black sassafras flooring that lines the hallway to my bedroom in bare feet, unbuttoning my shirt as I walk. The back of my neck prickles with each quickening step. I frown at the change of plan. Winnie knows better than to rush me, and Sally hates change. Or maybe that’s just me. I make a mental note to have the mystery woman identify herself before I hand my niece over to a stranger.
My sister might be on call as a paramedic, but a heads-up witha picture would be nice. Winnie’s fully aware of my preferences, both in terms of technology and my social preferences. But I’ll break my own rules to keep my niece safe, and she knows that. Family means everything to me.
“Cord! I need a new towel!” Sally’s tiny voice echoes faintly through the empty house.
Damn. I forgot to deliver those.
I shuck my filthy shirt into the hamper, lingering over the scar I can’t feel beneath my hairline but know is there. “That was a really fast shower, Sally. Are you sure you’re clean?” I holler back. My voice rasps after a day in the yard.
Hell, I used to have more energy. Iusedto be an extrovert, before the accident. I grit my teeth as I wait for her reply, ducking my head out of my room in case I miss her answer.
“I’m suuurrrre!” she shouts back, her thin voice bouncing off the walls.
“All right. I’m coming.” I wash fast and grab a spare towel, not bothering with a fresh shirt. She’s gonna be covered with paint anyway, and then I’ll be back at square one.
Sally dashes out of the bathroom, still fully dressed and dripping paint all over the floor as predicted. I herd her back to the tiled area, tossing a new towel over her head to land on the side of the bathtub.
“You definitely haven’t showered, kid. Get back in there and don’t touch anything until you’re all clean, ’kay?”
Another eye roll, and the bathroom door slams shut. I shake my head. It’s a good thing I built the place sturdy. I run my hand along the doorframe, picking out the dent where I dropped the frame while installing it. My shoulder twinges in a phantom ache at the memory.
So far, only my sister and Sally regularly visit. Even with a location as stunning as Coyote Falls, set in the upper foothills of the Montana Rockies, it’s a struggle to entice my parents to come out to the property. Here, the land stretches away from the homestead like a mountain god has taken a scoop out of the earth,leaving us in a flattened bowl filled with golden grasses and late wildflowers for the season, and snowcapped mountains beyond the endless forest to both the north and west. The ranch’s isolation alone keeps most people at a distance—just the way I’m supposed to like it—though a part of me still hopes they’ll want to see what I’ve built here one day. But after everything that’s happened, I’m not placing any bets.
I glance down the endless hall and out the window to where the small red car finally edges its way to park near the entrance of the yard. West seems to have scattered the ranch hands back to work for the day.Fun times are over.That’s what I pay him for, after all.
Focusing on the job at hand, which involves a three-foot-high niece and not the mess of ranch hands who are off doing whatever jobs my best friend has given them, I’m ready to call out again. I raise my hand to knock on the bathroom door, but she beats me to it with her own rap from the inside.
Her tentative little tap gives me pause.
I frown. “Are you ready, chicken? I think Bessie’s here to collect you.”
“Who? Um, Cord?”
“Yeah, chicken?” I recognize the note of doubt in her voice and curse my sister ten times over for not sending me a picture of whoever the hell she’s sent to claim her sole offspring.
“I can’t open the door.” Sally’s voice is so soft I can barely hear her.
My gaze drops to the handle. I try to recall the last place I saw the key and swear under my breath. The damn thing could be anywhere.
“All right. I’m going to—”Find the key? Break the door down?“Sort this out. Give me a minute, and stay out of that paint, okay?”
“Yup.” A thump rattles the old door in its damaged frame at waist height. “Cord?”
“Yeah?”
