Page 9 of Broken Reins (Whittier Falls #4)

Six

Ford

I left Campfire Bakery, relieved that Main Street was relatively empty for late afternoon.

I liked the idea of walking around with no one around to stare at me for a change.

I climbed into my truck, slammed the door, and sat there for a long minute, letting my forehead rest against the steering wheel.

There was something about the Montana air in fall—crisp, sharp, a little earthy—that always made everything else seem far away. I rolled down the window and let a cold gust smack me in the face, settling the nerves I felt for what I was about to do next. What I’d been putting off.

I’d been back in Whittier Falls for five days. Less than a week, and already I wanted to run again. But I’d made a promise. And I was good at keeping promises, even when I wanted to burn them to the ground.

What I wasn’t good at was showing up to see my mom.

I kept finding excuses to circle the block or explore Chickadee and stack boxes in the barn until my arms went numb.

Every mile between town and their place felt like a step closer to doom.

I was almost convinced if I stayed in my truck long enough, the world might end before I had to face her. Or him.

I started the engine and pulled onto the road. There were more storefronts than I remembered, more buildings with new signs and freshly painted doors. Downtown was always a busy spot, but it seemed to be thriving even more after all this time.

I passed the bakery again and looked for a glimpse of Lily through the window, but she wasn’t there.

For half a second, I thought about turning back, going inside, and watching her work some more until I could figure out what exactly it was about her that had gotten under my skin.

She was different than what I was used to.

Soft and quiet, almost shy, until she hooked you with a sarcastic comment and reeled you in with her sweet smile and doe eyes.

I had probably looked like an idiot just standing around the counter while I drank my coffee, but I found myself enjoying being in her presence.

I wondered what she was doing now, but then remembered Caroline invited her out somewhere. For a surprise. My curiosity was piqued and I thought about hanging around Main Street just to see where they’d go, but I figured that would make me a creep.

And I remembered my to-do list, and the conversation I was putting off, and the miles I needed to cover before sundown.

I drove out of town heading southwest, the sun dropping fast behind the mountains, painting the sky in streaks of orange and violet.

The road to my parents’ place hadn’t changed much, but the ditches were deeper, and the pavement was so scarred with frost heaves that the truck rattled even on the straightaways.

I passed Red Downs, the ranch where I’d spent most of my childhood, and tried not to think about the ghosts that lived out there now.

I passed Wild Creek, the Turners’ cattle ranch that Damon took over, and wondered if he was waiting to throw another punch the next time he saw me.

The land was mostly empty, just miles of pale grass and barbed wire and the occasional herd of cattle, brown and black dots against the field.

It looked like nothing and everything at the same time.

Sometimes I missed the nothing. Silicon Valley was a different kind of emptiness: big, hot, loud as hell, but hollow.

Here, the air filled your lungs and burned your nose and made you feel alive, even if it was just with the pain of being remembered.

My phone buzzed in the cup holder. I glanced at the screen: MILES BERNARD. I didn’t want to answer, but I did anyway.

“Yeah,” I said, not bothering with hello.

“Ford, buddy, how’s the homeland treating you?” Miles’s voice was a shot of espresso, even on a scratchy cell connection. “You sound like you’re at a funeral. Or maybe just getting ready for one?”

“Not far off,” I said, keeping my eyes on the road. “What’s up, Miles?”

He ignored the question, which was his specialty. “I got your email. It was very . . . concise. Not your usual style.”

“I’m busy,” I lied.

Miles tsked, a sound that grated even through a thousand miles of fiber-optic cable. “I know you’re busy. I’ve got about four hundred people in this office who wish you were busy here, instead of wherever the hell you are.”

I let the silence build, hoping he’d get to the point.

“Look,” he finally said, “the Breckenridge people are asking when you’re coming back. They want to schedule the first board meeting in person. They keep saying it’s important to have ‘legacy leadership’ involved. Your name is on all the paperwork, Ford. If you don’t show, they might get antsy.”

“They can get antsy all they want,” I said. “I’m not ready to leave yet.”

“Is this about your mom?” Miles didn’t sound accusatory, just curious. “Or are you just hiding out and eating your weight in huckleberry pie?”

I snorted. “Huckleberry season just ended. The bears ate them all.”

“Bears are a strong metaphor for corporate raiders, don’t you think?”

He waited for me to laugh, but I didn’t.

I could see the cut in the trees where the driveway to my parents’ ranch started, and I felt my hands tighten on the wheel.

“I’ll be back when I’m back, Miles. Tell the Breckenridge folks to run the meetings without me if they need to.

You’ve got power of attorney. And the whole point of selling was to stop doing so much of . . . all that.”

“Yeah, but you know they want the big dog in the room. They want the cowboy genius, the digital prodigy, the?—”

“Don’t,” I said, a little sharper than I meant to.

He stopped. “Sorry. You know I’m just trying to keep things moving. We miss you here, Ford.”

I let the words hang for a second, then said, “Thanks,” because it was easier than telling him what I really felt.

Miles sighed, a little more genuine this time. “You okay?”

“I’m fine.”

He didn’t argue. “Alright. Well, let me know if you need anything. And if you get bored of the sticks, Breckenridge put a sushi chef in the company cafeteria now. Can’t get that in Montana.”

“Congrats,” I said, and hung up before he could say anything else.

I turned onto the ranch road, gravel kicking up behind me in a cloud of gray dust. The house was visible from the highway, but the closer I got, the smaller it looked, like the years had shrunk it down to something I could fit in my pocket.

The paint was peeling, and there were patches of missing shingles on the roof, and the old cattle fence that used to run the perimeter was busted in three places, sagging under the weight of dead branches.

I killed the engine and just sat there, letting the quiet close around me. My heart was beating a little too fast, and my hands wouldn’t unclench from the steering wheel.

In the distance, I could see a shape moving by the barn. For a second, I thought it was my father, but the gait was wrong, too slow, too careful. My father never walked that way. He always looked like he was about to punch the horizon.

I waited another minute, then got out and started up the front steps, boots crunching on the dead grass. My hands were sweating, even though the air was cold enough to freeze spit before it hit the ground.

I reached the door, stared at it for a second, then knocked.

No answer.

I waited, knocked again, and was about to turn away when I heard the faintest sound of footsteps inside. Shuffling, like slippers on carpet, or maybe just someone dragging their feet because the effort to lift them was too much.

The door opened a crack, and I saw my mother’s eye peering through, suspicious as a magpie.

Then she saw me, and the suspicion melted away, replaced by a kind of bone-deep exhaustion that I recognized all too well. She opened the door wider and leaned against the frame, her hand gripping the wood so tight her knuckles went white.

“Ford,” she said, her voice a whisper. “You came.”

“Yeah,” I said, and for a second, that was all I could manage. “I’m here.”

She tried to smile, but it looked like it hurt. “You better come in. Your father’s not home yet.”

I stepped past her, into the house, and for a moment, I couldn’t breathe. The air was thick with dust, and there was a smell underneath it—something sharp, like bleach or hospital sanitizer—that made my throat close up.

Like the rest of town, everything was the same, and everything was different.

The same threadbare carpet, the same cracked leather sofa, the same horse blankets folded on the chairs.

But the photographs were gone, replaced by pill bottles and medical paperwork and a stack of unopened mail that leaned against the wall like it was afraid to be noticed.

I turned back to look at my mother. She had always been thin, but now she looked like a collection of bones held together with rubber bands.

Her hair, once copper-red, was nearly white, and her skin was so pale it looked translucent.

She wore a robe over a flannel nightgown, and she hugged it around herself like armor.

“Sit,” she said, gesturing to the couch. She lowered herself into the armchair across from me, moving slow, like she was afraid of breaking.

Neither of us spoke for a long time. I stared at the floor, at the way the sun made a square of light on the carpet, at the faded outline of where the coffee table used to be. I could feel her watching me, but I didn’t dare look up.

Finally, she said, “You got taller.”

“Yeah,” I said. “Happens.”

“I watched your company on TV,” she said, a ghost of a smile on her lips. “They said you were a billionaire.”

I shrugged, embarrassed. “They exaggerate.” They didn’t about this, but I wasn’t about to brag to my mother. Speaking of, “You know I sent money, right?”

She looked down, fiddling with the frayed hem of her robe. “You should know your father wouldn’t take none of that. Ripped up each check your accountant sent.” The way she said accountant made my eyes want to roll, but I kept them trained on her.

“Yeah, well . . . I tried.”

She nodded, as if she’d expected nothing less. “I know.”

Silence stretched for a minute, both of us wondering what the hell there was to talk about.

“I saw them talkin’ about Red Downs on the news. That equine therapy Walker’s doing seems like a good addition.”

“‘Spose so. Your father doesn’t turn the news anymore,” she said, picking at the arm of the chair. “He says there’s nothing on it worth seeing.”

I grunted. “Is he around?”

She shook her head, the movement barely perceptible. “He’s at the fields. Still checking the fence, even though there’s nothing left to keep in.”

I winced at that, but didn’t argue. “How are you feeling?” I asked, though I already knew the answer.

She hesitated. “Some days are better than others. Today is . . . not great. But I’m glad you came.”

I nodded, fighting the urge to look away. “Me too.”

She touched my wrist, her hand feather-light. “You don’t have to stay long. Just tell me about your life. Anything.”

So I did. I told her about California, about the house I bought but never unpacked, about the company I sold and the company I was supposed to help run now, about the sushi Miles thought was a big deal.

I even told her about the bakery in town, about Lily and Sutton and the cinnamon rolls, about getting punched by Damon and how it felt like old times.

She laughed at that, a dry, rasping sound, but a real one. “He always did have a temper,” she said.

“Yeah.”

Another silence, this one heavier. Then: “He misses you, you know.”

I snorted. “Sure he does.”

She met my gaze, and I saw a flash of the woman I used to know—the one who taught me to read, who made cookies from scratch, who sat with me on the porch at night and told me the names of all the stars.

“He does,” she said. “He just doesn’t know how to say it.”

I tried to swallow, but my mouth was too dry. “It’s fine. I don’t expect anything.”

She looked away, her eyes shining with something I didn’t want to name. “You should talk to him.”

“Maybe,” I said, but we both knew I wouldn’t. Not unless I had to.

She reached across the gap between us and put her hand over mine. Her skin was paper-thin, but her grip was still strong. “Promise me you’ll try.”

I hesitated, then nodded. “Okay.”

We sat like that for a while, the silence stretching until it felt like it might break us both.

Finally, I stood up. “I should go check on the fence,” I said, not sure why.

She smiled, and this time it almost looked real. “Bring me back a flower, if you see one. The garden’s all dead, but I still like to pretend.”