Page 12 of Roaring Fork Rooker (Roaring Fork Ranch #4)

JW

A fter I’d spent twenty minutes staring at the same ranch report, Flynn appeared in my office doorway with Rowan strapped to her in the carrier. Outside, brilliant sunshine sparkled off the fresh snow, and I could hear her boys shouting with delight as Irish organized some kind of expedition.

“The roads are clear,” she said. “Irish wants to take the boys sledding while the snow is still perfect.”

“That sounds like a good plan. Are you ready to continue?”

“Do you mind if I have the baby with me? She isn’t much of a bother.”

Smiling, I cocked my head. “I would be delighted if she’d join us.”

We returned to the library, where I added fresh logs to the fire.

“I keep thinking about what you said yesterday—that you had to leave Colorado when Holt was still a baby. That must have been devastating.”

“It was the most difficult decision I’d ever made. Four young children, a marriage hanging by a thread, and I had to abandon Patricia to protect her.”

“I can only imagine how hard that must have been. How much time did you have?”

“Within forty-eight hours, everything was set and we were on our way.”

“That fast?”

“Yes.” I didn’t trust myself to say more without being overwhelmed by emotion. While Patricia knew of our departure and how to reach us, there was another I’d had to abandon—someone I could not risk contacting, no matter how much it broke my heart.

I pulled out a faded photograph showing a raw high desert landscape with a single adobe structure in the distance.

“This was Sangre Vista Ranch when we arrived. Twenty-two thousand acres of beautiful, isolated wilderness. The only things here were a small ranch house, the chapel, and the rustic cabin I showed you shortly after you arrived.”

She studied the image. “It’s so desolate.”

“That was the point. Cena needed us somewhere my father would never think to look.” I handed her a legal document. “She’d purchased the property through a shell corporation two years earlier. When we arrived, we discovered she’d deeded it to us.”

“Under new identities?”

“Yes. Javier Wyatt and his mother, Grace, originally from California.”

“How old were you?”

“Twenty-five. Old enough to understand what we’d lost, young enough to feel like my whole life was ending.” Rubbing my temples, I continued. “I was angry—at my father for forcing us to run and at myself for not being able to protect Patricia better.”

“But it wasn’t your fault.”

“That’s what my mother kept telling me. But leaving Patricia behind when she was struggling with Roscoe’s drinking, when she had four young children…” The guilt never left.

The next photograph showed my mother and me standing beside construction equipment.

“We poured everything into building something new. The first few years were grueling—learning how different the cattle business was here compared to what we managed in East Aurora, figuring out how to make the land profitable, dealing with the isolation.”

“How close is the nearest town?” she asked.

“Thirty miles away. For months at a time, we only saw the supply truck driver and the mail carrier.”

I handed her a photograph showing the construction of the main lodge. “I channeled my frustration into building this place. If I couldn’t protect your mother, I could at least create something that might help support her someday.”

“When did you decide to make it a guest ranch?”

“About three years in. The cattle operation was profitable, but not enough. My mother suggested we could share this place with others while generating the income we’d need.

” A smile crossed my face. “She said if we were going to be isolated anyway, we might as well get paid for offering others the same experience.”

“And then?” Flynn prompted.

I reached for a letter from Patricia, and as she read it, her expression shifted.

“She’s announcing my birth.”

“The first girl born to your family since Scarlett. Your mother was radiant with joy. After losing her first girl, then having three more boys, she had a daughter again.”

Flynn’s eyes filled with tears as she reread the letter. “She says I have her eyes.”

“You do. The same vivid blue, the same expression when you’re concentrating.”

She wiped her cheeks. “I wish I remembered her.”

“She loved you so much.”

The next document was different—clinical, devastating. Flynn’s hands shook as she read the diagnosis, dated barely a year after her birth announcement.

“She was so young,” Flynn murmured.

“Breast cancer. Aggressive. The doctors weren’t optimistic.” I had to clear my throat.

“What did you do?”

“I felt powerless. She was facing the fight of her life with a husband who was drinking more than ever and five children who needed her to be strong.”

Flynn set down the diagnosis. “There’s something else you’re not telling me.”

“You’re right,” I said, lowering my gaze. “About six months after her diagnosis, I got an emergency call from her. Roscoe had been on a three-day bender since learning the disease had spread. She was terrified.”

Flynn’s face went pale. “Terrified of what?”

“That he was going to hurt her or one of you. He’d been raging, breaking things, screaming, passing out, then waking up and starting the cycle again. She’d locked herself and all of you in the master bedroom one night while he tore apart the kitchen. She said she thought he might have a gun.”

“Oh my God.”

“I left New Mexico immediately and made the drive in record time—four and a half hours. When I pulled up to the ranch, I could hear shouting from inside.”

“What did you do?”

“Went around to the back, slipped in through the kitchen door. Then I heard Buck and Porter yelling that they had to get help. By the time I made it to the living room, Roscoe was screaming at your mother. He was about to hit her.”

“Where were the boys?”

“Buck and Porter had dragged Cord outside after he jumped between your parents and taken a blow meant for her. That seven-year-old boy had launched himself at his father, trying to protect his mama.”

Flynn inhaled sharply. “Dad hit him?”

“He did. Then I got between Roscoe and her just as he was raising his hand to strike her again.”

“The two of you fought.”

“He was drunk and enraged—stronger than I expected. Roscoe got the better of me.” Our gazes locked. “That’s when your mother shot him.”

She gasped. “She shot my dad?”

“She had to. He was getting the better of me, and I couldn’t protect her anymore. The bullet grazed his arm. Painful, but not life-threatening.”

“Then Cord came back in.”

“He’d heard the gunshot and raced inside, thinking his father might have killed his mother. Instead, he saw her holding the gun, Roscoe on the floor, and me crouched over him, trying to stop the bleeding.”

“What did you do?”

“I shouted for her to get Cord out of there.” My temples throbbed with the memory. “But for just a moment, Cord and I made eye contact. He saw me.”

“How bad was my father hurt?”

“Like I said, it was just a graze. While I bandaged him up, your mother talked to Cord in her bedroom, making him promise never to tell anyone what he’d seen. Roscoe passed out from the blood loss and alcohol. When he came to, the next morning, she was waiting for him.”

“With the gun?”

“Yes. Then she told him about the trust, about who owned the ranch. She laid out his options—get help and stop drinking, or lose everything.”

Flynn was quiet for a long moment. “Cord kept that secret for over twenty years.”

“Your mother made him believe it was all an accident. She was protecting him from having to carry the weight of what happened.”

“How long did you stay?”

“Three days. Long enough to make sure Roscoe understood the new rules, to help your mom document everything, and to set up better emergency protocols.” I met her eyes. “And to spend time with you.”

“With me?”

“You were fourteen months old. Walking, starting to talk. Patricia let me hold you, feed you, read you stories. You called me ‘Jo,’ the closest you could get to Johnny.”

Tears rolled down her cheeks. “I wish I remembered.”

“You weren’t afraid of me, even though I was a stranger.”

The last photograph I showed Flynn was of Patricia holding her, both silhouetted against the sunrise. “She made me promise that if anything happened to her, I’d watch over all of you.”

“Even then, she knew.”

“The illness was aggressive, the treatments were harsh, and all of you depended on her. This time, my mother was unable to help.”

Flynn blinked rapidly, composing herself. “You kept your promise.”

“I tried to. Everything that happened afterward—the trust, bringing you all together—I gave her my word.”

“She chose well.”

We sat in silence as the afternoon light faded outside the library windows.

“There’s more, isn’t there?”

“Yes, and it’s the hardest part.”

“Her death.”

“And what came before it.” I pulled out a thick folder marked with Cena’s distinctive handwriting. “Your mother knew the disease was winning, and in the months before she died, she asked me to return to Colorado.”

Flynn straightened.

“She wanted to create a new trust. One that would ensure you and your siblings would be taken care of, but more importantly, one that would bring you together and help you understand your family history.”

“The trust we’ve been living under.”

“Yes. She had specific ideas about what each of you needed.” I handed her a document in Patricia’s handwriting. “She wrote this herself—instructions for every child.”

Flynn read, her eyes moving across her mother’s script. “She says Cord needs to know where he came from. That he carries anger he doesn’t understand.”

“She was right.”

“And Porter. She says he needs to learn that being strong doesn’t mean being alone.”

Flynn continued reading.

“Buck needs to learn forgiveness. Holt needs to know he’s worthy of love.” Her voice caught. “She saw us, didn’t she?”

“She knew each of you better than you knew yourselves. Even at one year old, she could see your spirit, your determination.”

“What does she say about me?”

Flynn found her own section and read silently. Tears began falling before she spoke. “She says I need to learn that my family’s love isn’t something I have to earn. That I’m enough just as I am.” She looked up. “She knew I’d struggle with that?”

“She knew you’d be the one to hold everyone together after she was gone. She worried you’d sacrifice yourself for others.”

“That’s why my stipulation was only a month.”

“Once I confirmed you and Irish were happy, my job was to tell you everything. To help you understand you’re part of something bigger, something that began with courage and sacrifice.”

Flynn wiped her eyes. “I don’t know what to say.”

“We spent her final months planning. Cena helped with the legal framework, but this was your mother’s vision.”

“What was she like during this time?”

“Determined. Even as she got sicker, she never stopped fighting for all of you. Her desperate wish was that you would someday know your family history.”

“How long did you have?”

“Less than we hoped. A couple of years. I made one more trip to Colorado…”

“To say goodbye.”

“And to promise I’d watch over all of you. She was so weak, but her mind remained sharp.”

Flynn was quiet for a moment. “Did she suffer?”

“Not at the end. She died at home, with all of you around her. Roscoe had been sober for months by then.”

“When did you start…watching over us?”

“Immediately. Roscoe was trying his best, but raising five children alone and dealing with his grief, the task overwhelmed him. So I became your secret guardian.”

Flynn leaned back. “My mother died knowing you’d take care of us.”

“She died knowing she’d raised remarkable children who would take care of each other.” Our gazes connected once more. “But yes, she took comfort in knowing I’d be watching.”

“What was it like for you? All those years of staying hidden?”

“Lonely. My mother helped—she understood the promise I’d made and why it mattered. But watching you all grow up from a distance, wanting to help more, but knowing I couldn’t…”

“Until now.”

“That’s correct. Your mother would be so proud of the people you’ve become. How you’ve supported each other, built your own families, found your own paths while staying connected.”

We sat in silence for several minutes, the fire casting shadows on the library walls.

“I’ll let you decide if you would like to talk about your brothers’ codicils,” I said.

Rowan woke, and Flynn took her out of the carrier to nurse her. “It isn’t necessary. What’s next?”

“The years after her death. How I managed the trust. How I decided when each of you was ready and what needed to happen.” Standing, I walked to the window, where I could see Irish and the boys returning from their sledding adventure. “But that can wait until tomorrow.”

She nodded and stood as well. “Thank you for keeping your promise to her.”

“Thank you for making it worth keeping.”