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Prologue

WYATT

Cowboys Cry Too

TWELVE YEARS AGO

Growing up in cattle country,you learn early that gambling is a way of life.

You bet the rain will come and the rattlers won’t bite.

You play the odds and hope you chose the right breed, the right time, the right pasture.

You go all in on the belief that there is honor and goodness in tending to the land and the animals that live off it. The knowledge that it’s all a crapshoot, that the sky can fall at any minute, lives inside your blood. And yet you’re still somehow unprepared for the moment tragedy strikes.

“This wasn’t supposed to happen.” The preacher’s hand lands heavily on my shoulder. “I’m so sorry for your loss, son.”

Looking up from my feet, I swallow the ache in my throat and paste on a smile. I might be eighteen, but I still need my parents. I have no idea what we’re gonna do without them.

“Thank you, Reverend Ford. That means a lot to us.”

How many hundreds of times have we parroted that line this week as friends and neighbors came to check on us here on our family’s ranch?

How many hundreds more will we have to say it tomorrow, the day of our parents’ funeral?

My older brother, Cash, catches my gaze from across the room. Sitting on the lopsided sofa alongside our three younger brothers, he looks as uncomfortable and lost as I feel. I keep waiting for Mom to use whatever sweet treat she just whipped up as bait to lure me to help her in the kitchen, where Shania Twain is playing on Mom’s little portable speaker. But her call never comes.

“I’ve told the city council for years that we need better lighting downtown,” Reverend Ford continues. “You boys need anything, you holler, all right?”

“Yes, sir. Thank you for stopping by.”

“Least I can do.” He glances at the sofa and shakes his head, letting out a heavy sigh. “Five of y’all. My goodness.”

“We’ll be all right.”

Aunt Lollie, Mom’s sister, emerges from the kitchen as Reverend Ford makes his way to the front door. She frowns when she sees me. “Wyatt, honey, you need to eat. A neighbor just brought over some fried chicken that looks good.”

My stomach lurches. My mouth fills with a familiar, sour-tasting rush of saliva.

Mom and Dad died on impact after being hit by a car five days ago. They were crossing Main Street on foot when they were run over by an elderly man with an expired license who wasn’t wearing his glasses. My parents were on a rare date night, the two of them able to get out of the house because Aunt Lollie was visiting from California and she’d offered to watch my brothers and me.

Ever since we got the news, just the thought of eating makes me want to puke. But I still manage to keep the smileon my face. My brothers are watching me, and I know if I fall apart, they will too.

My head throbs with the effort of keeping everything—the anger and agony—inside. I do my best to ignore the pain, hardly able to breathe around the lump in my throat.

“I’m okay. Thanks, Aunt Lollie.”

“Honey, you need your strength. Tomorrow’s going to be a long day.”

“She’s right,” Cash adds. “Please eat, Wyatt.”

“There’s some of that sheet cake left that I made,” Lollie says.

Cash nods. “And the enchiladas Mrs. Wallace brought over.”

“Those are so good,” Duke says, his voice cracking.

He and Ryder are twins. They’re my youngest brothers—only fourteen years old.