"I know his name. I want to know who he is. Elena isn't married. I checked her hand. So who’s the dad?"
"It’s a small town," Cole said, his voice evasive. "People talk, but nobody asks. Elena keeps her business tight. She showed up at the clinic five years ago with a baby in a carrier. That’s all anyone knows."
"Five years ago," Ryder repeated. He did the math. "So he's... six?"
"Something like that."
"And nobody knows the father?"
"It doesn't matter who the father is," Cole said, turning to face his brother. His gray eyes were hard. "What matters is who the mother is."
Cole pointed a finger at Ryder.
"Listen to me closely. Elena Rosales is the reason this ranch still has a workforce. She patches up the hands when they get kicked. She brings soup when the power goes out. She’s part of the fabric of this valley."
He stepped closer, looming over the swing.
"She is the only reason you aren't rotting in a state hospital right now. She is doing us a favor. A massive favor. And if you spook her—if you make her uncomfortable, or drag up ancient history, or do whatever it is you do that makes women drive away at sixty miles an hour—she walks. And if she walks, your leg doesn't heal. And if your leg doesn't heal, you end up in a wheelchair in my guest room for the rest of your life."
Cole’s voice dropped to a growl.
"Do not break her, Ryder. I just put this family back together. I won't let you blow it up because you're bored."
Ryder looked at his brother. He saw the loyalty there. Cole had adopted Elena into the tribe. She was "Inside." Ryder, the blood relative, was currently "Outside."
"I'm not trying to break her," Ryder said quietly. "I just... the kid looked like me, Cole. He had the eyes."
Cole hesitated. A flicker of something—uncertainty? suspicion?—crossed his face. But he clamped it down instantly.
"He has brown eyes," Cole said dismissively. "Half the county has brown eyes. Don't flatter yourself. You think you left a legacy behind? You left a cloud of dust, Ryder. That’s it."
Cole pushed off the railing.
"Dinner is in ten minutes. Maya made lasagna. Wash your hands. And hide that damn toy before you trip over it."
Cole walked into the house. The screen door slammed.
Ryder sat alone on the porch. The sun had set, leaving the sky a bruised purple.
He looked down at the plastic bull.Bodacious.
He has the eyes,Ryder thought.And he has the boots. And he likes the bucking chutes.
Cole was right about one thing: Ryder had left a cloud of dust. But dust settles. And when it settles, it reveals the things that were there all along.
Ryder put the toy bull in his pocket. It pressed against his hip, a hard, uncomfortable lump.
"Five years ago," he whispered to the dark.
He wasn't a mathematician. He was a gambler. And he knew the odds of a coincidence like this.
He grabbed his crutches. He hauled himself up, his broken leg throbbing a warning beat.
He was going to eat the lasagna. He was going to take his pills. He was going to smile at Maya.
But tomorrow, when the doctor came back, the rules of engagement were going to change.
Because Ryder Stone had never walked away from a mystery in his life. Especially one that looked exactly like him.
