Page 13 of Roaring Fork Rooker (Roaring Fork Ranch #4)

JW

“ G ood morning,” Flynn said when she appeared at my office door. “The temperature dropped overnight, so Irish is keeping the boys inside today—they’re building an elaborate fort in the great room. We have several hours.”

“Shall we return to the library?”

“Please.”

As we settled into our usual chairs, Flynn seemed more focused than usual.

“I want to understand what happened after my mother died,” she said.

I’d known this conversation would come, but I dreaded it, nonetheless. Those years carried pain I’d never shared with anyone.

“From the day your mother passed away, I kept watch over all of you,” I began. “Sometimes, from New Mexico. Other times, I came to Colorado.”

Her eyes widened. “You were in Colorado?”

“When circumstances warranted it. Your father was struggling—five children, a ranch to manage, and grief that led him back to drinking. Not at the dangerous levels we’d seen before, but concerning enough that I needed to know you were all safe.”

“How?”

“I had ways of monitoring the situation.” The memories brought back the isolation of those decades. “Your mother had been specific about when I should intervene and when I should remain hidden.”

“You never stepped in,” she stated rather than asked.

“Buck took on responsibilities no teenager should have to. He became the adult when your father couldn’t be. You all protected each other.”

Flynn was quiet for several minutes, staring into the fire. “What about the trust? When did you start planning our stipulations?”

“The trust was designed with one crucial element—it wouldn’t activate until after Roscoe died. Your mother knew that, as long as he was alive, the household dynamic would remain the same. He was the patriarch, for better or worse.”

“So you waited.”

“I prepared. Your mom left general instructions about what each of you needed, but people change as they grow. I had to understand who you’d become before I could design the specific requirements that would help you heal.”

She turned back to me. “How did you do that without revealing yourself?”

“I had my ways.”

The fire crackled between us as she absorbed this.

“That must have been difficult,” she said softly.

“It was,” I admitted. “But it felt necessary. I made a promise, and I had to keep it.”

“What was it like when Dad died? When you finally activated the trust?”

“I was relieved, honestly. The waiting was over. Seventeen years of preparation, and I could finally act.”

“That makes sense.”

I nodded, grateful she understood. “The trust accomplished what your mother hoped it would.”

She stood and moved to the window, looking out at the snow-covered landscape. “There’s something I need to say.”

I waited, sensing the weight behind her words.

“You’ve given up everything for us. Decades of your life, carrying secrets, ensuring we were protected.” She turned back to me. “When does it end? When do you get to have a life of your own?”

The question struck deeper than I’d expected. “I made a commitment?—”

“Which you’ve fulfilled. My brothers and I are healthy, happy, and connected to each other in ways we might never have achieved without your guidance. The trust worked.” Her voice grew stronger. “But my mother wouldn’t have wanted you to spend your entire life as a guardian from the shadows.”

“Flynn—”

“You’ve been alone long enough.”

The words hung between us, carrying a truth I’d been avoiding. For decades, I’d lived for others. What came after duty?

“I don’t know how to be anything else,” I said.

“You could learn. With help. With people who care about you.” She returned to her chair.

“My brothers deserve to know about you. To understand what you’ve done for us.

They’re your family too, JW. You’re our cousin.

You’re part of our family, not just its guardian.

” She leaned forward, her voice gentle but insistent.

“This is what she would have wanted,” she said.

“My mother sacrificed everything to give her children a better life. She wouldn’t want you spending yours as an outsider, looking in. ”

“What are you suggesting?” I asked.

“Come to Colorado with us. Meet your cousins properly. Let them thank you for what you’ve done.” Her eyes lit up. “We’re supposed to stay here until January 23. Do we have to? I mean, wouldn’t you be the person who would give us permission to leave early, anyway?”

I thought it over for a moment, and she was right, but her suggestion was complicated. “Flynn, I can’t just appear—” My resistance was crumbling under the weight of her arguments and my own longing for connection. “What if they resent?—”

“They’re going to be grateful, not angry. You protected us when we couldn’t protect ourselves.”

Irish appeared in the doorway with Rowan. “Sorry to interrupt, but someone’s hungry.”

Flynn stood to take the baby. “Think about it,” she said to me. “We don’t have to decide right now.”

But as I watched her with her daughter, I realized my decision was already made. The isolation that had been necessary for so long now felt like a prison I’d built for myself.

“All right,” I said. “I’ll come to Colorado.”

Flynn’s face transformed. “Really?”

“For a visit. To meet them properly.”

“That’s all I’m asking.”

Over the next two days, I prepared for the journey while Flynn made the final arrangements with Irish about traveling with the children.

Flynn called Buck to let him know we were coming earlier than planned and that I would be joining them.

“How did he react?” I asked.

“Curious but welcoming. He suggested putting you up in one of the guest cabins—said it would give you privacy while keeping you close enough for conversations.”

“That’s thoughtful of him,” I said, grateful for the consideration.

I made arrangements for Sangre Vista’s management in my absence. The staff was capable, but I’d rarely been away for extended periods. The prospect of leaving made me anxious in ways I hadn’t expected—not just about the ranch, but about facing the people who’d been shaped by my decisions from afar.

“Nervous?” Flynn asked as we confirmed our travel plans.

“A little.”

She smiled. “They’re going to love you.”

We departed Sangre Vista early—Flynn’s household in their SUV, me following in my truck. The drive to Colorado took most of the day, with stops for the twins and baby Rowan.

As we crossed into Colorado, old memories surfaced from when my mother and I were forced to flee. I was now returning as someone different. The mountains looked the same, but I was changed.

We reached the Roaring Fork Ranch as sunset painted the peaks in gold and crimson. Four figures waited on the main house’s porch—men standing together, watching our vehicles navigate the long driveway.

I parked beside Flynn’s SUV, my hands tight on the steering wheel. Through the windshield, I could see them: Buck, Porter, Cord, and Holt. My cousins. Patricia’s sons.

Flynn emerged first, gathering Paxon and Rooker while Irish handled Rowan’s carrier. I remained in my truck for another moment, summoning the courage for what came next.

When I stepped out, the brothers studied me with expressions ranging from curiosity to wariness. Buck, the oldest, moved forward first.

“JW,” he said simply.

“Buck.” I extended my hand. “It’s good to finally meet you.”

His handshake was firm, his eyes assessing. “You too.”

Porter stepped forward next, offering his hand as well.

Cord hung back slightly, his expression thoughtful but wary.

Holt was the last to approach. “Thank you,” he said quietly. “For everything you’ve done.”

The simple gratitude in his voice humbled me.

“Why don’t we go inside?” Flynn suggested.

The ranch house looked much the same as it had all those years ago, though warmer now, more lived-in.

“Mr. JW! Mr. JW!” Paxon called out, tugging on my jacket. “Come see our room! We have bunk beds!”

“And horses in our barn!” Rooker added, bouncing with excitement.

“Maybe later, boys,” Flynn said gently. “Right now, the grown-ups need to talk.”

We gathered in the main living room, where Flynn took charge, arranging chairs in a circle while Irish settled the children with some toys to keep them occupied.

“This is surreal,” Porter said as we took our seats.

“It is for me as well,” I admitted.

“Before we begin,” said Flynn, “As you know, this was my idea. JW’s spent decades keeping our mother’s secrets, protecting us. I thought it was time he stopped living in the shadows.”

The boys—now, men—nodded and murmured their agreement.

“I know you have questions,” I began. “About who I am, why I stayed hidden, what I’ve been doing all these years.”

What followed were hours of revelations. Flynn and I took turns recounting the stories she’d learned at Sangre Vista— Patricia and my mother fleeing East Aurora, Cena’s protection, the complex circumstances that had shaped their destiny.

We spoke about Patricia’s courage in impossible situations. About the night she was forced to defend herself and her children. About the careful planning that went into creating the trust, designed to activate upon their father’s death.

The brothers listened with shock, understanding, and occasional anger. When we reached the part about Patricia shooting Roscoe, Cord went pale.

“She made me promise never to tell anyone,” he said. “I kept it secret for so many years.” His eyes met Buck’s, who nodded, giving me the impression that Cord had eventually confided in him at least.

“She was protecting you,” I explained. “You were seven years old. She didn’t want you carrying that burden.”

“But you did,” Buck observed. “You’ve carried everyone’s secrets.”

“As I said to Flynn, it was my honor. Your mother and I grew up together. Protecting her children was the least I could do.”

As the evening progressed, I found myself relaxing despite my initial fears. These weren’t strangers, judging my choices—they were Patricia’s children, carrying her wisdom and compassion.

“I have a question,” Holt said as our conversation began to wind down. “What happens now?”

The question I’d been dreading, having no clear answer.

“Now, you decide,” Flynn said before I could respond. “Whether you want JW to become part of this family or return to New Mexico alone.”

“That’s not really a choice,” Buck said, turning to me. “You’re one of us. People don’t get to choose whether they belong.”

The acceptance in his response, echoed by his brothers’ nods, affected me more than I’d anticipated.

“I’d like to stay for a while,” I said. “If you’ll have me. There’s more to discuss about your mother, about our shared history. And about the trust and what happens next with it.”

“We’d like that,” Porter said, speaking for all of them.

Flynn stood, gathering her sleepy children. “I think you five should talk without me and the kids.”

Before she could continue, I spoke up. “Would you prefer to continue these conversations as a group, or would anyone like to speak one-on-one?”

“We can figure that out,” Buck said. “For now, maybe we should just…talk.”

Flynn nodded. “I’ll leave you to it.” She paused at the doorway, Irish beside her with Rowan. “Be nice to him.”