CHAPTER 1
Owen Wolfe satat his kitchen table, admiring the view of the mountain at his rented cabin. It didn’t have the same feeling as his childhood home, but he enjoyed the peace and tranquility.
He sipped on his coffee, debating whether to cut more firewood or go fishing. After the long winter, he used most of his supplies and preferred not to go into the small town.
His cell phone rang, almost startling him. Owen rarely talked to anyone after the fight with his father and five brothers. Picking it up, he saw Gunny’s name flash across the screen.
“Hey, Gunny. I haven’t heard from you in a while,” he greeted his father’s military buddy.
“Owen. It’s your father, son. I’m sorry, they found Jeremiah in the lodge this morning. He passed away,” Gunny broke the news.
Pinching his nose, Owen held the phone to his ear. Grief didn’t come, but years of pent-up frustration and anger did.
“My brothers can bury him,” he said gruffly. “It’s not like me and the old man got along after the incident.”
“Jeremiah made you executor of his estate. He left you a letter. You have to come home, son. You’re the oldest, and Jeremiah put you in charge.”
Snorting, Owen opened the patio door, letting the cool wind aid him in absorbing the blow. “My brothers haven’t spoken to me since I left. What makes you think this changes anything?”
“You’ve got the morning to pack. If you leave by noon, you’ll be here around dinner. You can drive the rest of the way to Wolfe Mountain in the morning. “Do you want to call your brothers or shall I?”
Sighing, Owen swiped his forehead. “No, I’ll make the calls. Can you send me their numbers?”
“Will do. I’ll expect you here tonight, and we’ll save a room for you,” Gunny informed him.
Owen disconnected the call, and a minute later, Gunny sent the phone numbers of his siblings. It’s not as if he didn’t expect this day to come, but his dad turned seventy-two in November and always kept in shape.
Damn, he forgot to ask how he died. It didn’t matter. He’d know soon enough. Owen sat down onthe wooden bench and dialed the first name on his list, Cade Wolfe.
When no one answered, he left a voicemail.
“Cade, it’s Owen. Dad passed away this morning. I’m heading to Gunny’s and then leaving for Wolfe Mountain tomorrow to make the arrangements.”
He hit the second number, calling his brother, Dillon.
“If you’re selling anything, lose this number,” his brother answered abruptly.
“Wait,” Owen rushed before Dillon hung up. “It’s Owen.”
A dead silence covered the line as the two men absorbed the shock of hearing from one another.
“I guess this means somebody’s dead or hell froze over. Which one can it be?” Dillon asked sarcastically.
“The first one,” Owen replied. “Dad passed away this morning. I’m letting you know.”
“I’m not coming,” Dillon said firmly.
“I didn’t ask,” Owen said angrily.
The phone line went dead.
“Son of a bitch,” Owen said under his breath. “Some things never change,” he grumbled as he called the next name on his list.
“You got Wyatt,” his brother answered.
“It’s me, Owen.”
The same awkwardness occurred as it did with Dillon.
