Page 18 of Roaring Fork Rooker (Roaring Fork Ranch #4)

JW

W hen the woman I knew as Maya but Flynn had called Echo turned and fled, every instinct screamed at me to follow.

But I remained frozen to the sidewalk, watching her disappear into the crowd.

The lively chaos of the parade continued around me—marching bands, cheering children, the thunder of vintage fire engines—but it all felt muted, as if I were hearing it through water.

Maya. Here. In Crested Butte. She’d never left. And if she had, she was back.

My hands trembled as I watched her retreating figure weave between families spread across blankets and folding chairs. The same graceful way she’d moved before, though more guarded now. The way she held her shoulders differently, like someone who’d learned to protect herself.

“JW?” Flynn’s tone cut through my paralysis. “Are you all right?”

I turned to find her studying my face with sharp concern. Irish had approached from the other direction, Paxon and Rooker flanking him, both boys looking up at me with worry that seemed too mature for their years.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Flynn continued, her manner gentle but persistent.

In a way, I had. A ghost from a life I’d thought was buried.

“I’m fine,” I managed, though my words sounded hollow even to my own ears.

Irish took in the tremor in my hands, the pallor I could feel creeping across my face, and the way I kept glancing in the direction she had gone. He didn’t say anything, but his expression held quiet understanding.

“Uncle JW, why are you sad?” Paxon tugged on my jacket, his small face scrunched with worry.

The innocent question nearly undid me. How could I explain to a four-year-old that I just encountered the one person I’d never expected to see again? The one person whose forgiveness I’d never dared hope for?

“I’m not sad, buddy,” I said, kneeling to his level and forcing what I hoped was a reassuring smile. “Just surprised to see an old friend.”

“That lady was your friend?” Rooker asked, bouncing on his toes.

“She was. A long time ago.”

The simple admission felt like ripping open a wound that had never properly healed. Friend. What an inadequate word for what she’d been to me. What she still was, despite everything.

Flynn shared a glance with Irish that said everything. Whatever she’d witnessed between us hadn’t looked like a casual reunion between old acquaintances. The tension, the shock, the way we’d both frozen at the sight of each other—none of that spoke to mere friendship.

“Who was she to you?” Flynn’s persistence wouldn’t be deterred. I knew that.

“Someone I knew before I left for New Mexico,” I interrupted, not trusting myself to say more. “We worked together.”

The words tasted like ash. Worked together. Another pathetic understatement for a relationship that had shaped every day of my life since, even in her absence.

Flynn’s brow rose. “Worked together,” she repeated slowly. “At the Goat?”

“Yes.”

“And you haven’t seen her since you left?”

I shook my head as my gaze returned to the parade’s colorful procession down Elk Avenue, but I felt disconnected from the celebration, trapped in a bubble of memory and regret.

Irish stepped closer, his words low enough that the twins couldn’t hear. “You need a minute?”

The kindness in his offer nearly broke my composure entirely.

“I need to find her,” I said, the admission tumbling out before I could stop it. “I need to tell her, to explain…”

“I’m sure she’ll understand,” said Flynn, resting her hand on my arm.

Would she? Would anyone? Would Flynn if I told her I’d disappeared on someone I loved without a word of explanation?

That I’d made choices that had probably shattered her faith in everything good and decent?

That for decades, I’d carried the weight of that abandonment alongside all my other secrets?

Flynn studied my face, and I could see her making the connections. “Oh, JW.”

The pity in her tone was almost worse than anger would have been. At least anger would have been deserved.

“I can help you find her,” she offered. “I know the town, and she works with the charity we support. I could?—”

“No.” The word came out sharper than I’d intended. “This is something I have to do myself.”

Some wounds couldn’t be addressed by proxy. Some apologies required facing the person you’d wronged, no matter how much it hurt.

Irish nodded slowly. “Understood. But if there’s anything we can do…”

“Thank you,” I said. “Both of you. But this is my responsibility.”

Flynn bit her lip, clearly wanting to say more.

Finally, the words came tumbling out. “JW, everyone deserves a chance at happiness,” she said firmly.

“Especially you.” I watched as she gathered the twins, explaining that Uncle JW needed to take care of something important, and Irish squeezed my shoulder as they prepared to leave.

“Good luck.”

Then they were gone, blending into the crowd, leaving me alone with my racing thoughts.

I started walking in the direction Maya had gone, my feet carrying me away from the parade route and toward the quieter streets that led to the river. She’d always loved the water when we were together. Whenever she was upset or needed to think, she’d seek out the Slate River’s banks.

The familiar paths came back to me as if I’d walked them yesterday instead of so long ago.

Past the old Victorian houses with their gingerbread trim and wraparound porches.

Through the meadow where we’d once picked wildflowers on a lazy Sunday afternoon.

Along the trail that wound through aspen groves toward the sound of running water.

Each step brought back memories I’d spent years trying to suppress.

Not the circumstances of why I’d left—that burden was already too familiar—but the sweetness of what I’d lost. How she’d curl up against my side when we read together on quiet evenings.

The plans we’d made, the dreams we’d shared, the future we’d sketched out in whispered conversations.

The way she’d listen as I played guitar and sang silly songs I’d written about a love that was powerful enough to overcome anything.

All of it was abandoned in a single night.

I’d told myself then that it was the only choice. I couldn’t ask her to leave her family and come with me to face an uncertain future. But standing in that crowd, seeing the raw hurt in her eyes as she fled from me, I wondered if I’d been lying to myself all along.

The sound of the river grew louder as I rounded the bend where we used to sit and talk for hours. Sure enough, I found her there, perched on the same boulder.

She looked up as I approached, and I saw her whole body tense. For a moment, I thought she might run again. Instead, she straightened her shoulders and met my gaze directly.

“I wondered if you’d follow me.”

Her tone was different now—steadier, more controlled.

“I couldn’t lose you again,” I said, stopping a few feet away. Close enough to talk, far enough to give her space if she needed it.

“Lose me?” The words came out sharp. “That’s rich, coming from you.”

The accusation hit its mark, and I felt the familiar burden of guilt settle in my chest. “I?—”

“Don’t.” She held up a hand, stopping me. “I don’t want to hear explanations or excuses. It’s been too long for that.”

“Then what do you want?”

She was quiet, studying my face as if trying to reconcile the man standing before her with the memory she’d carried.

The years had changed both of us. Where I saw new lines around her eyes, a wariness that hadn’t been there before, I wondered what she saw in me.

Gray hair where there had been brown. The weight of secrets and obligations carved into my features.

“I want to know how long you’re staying,” she finally said.

“Why does it matter?”

“Because I’ve built a life here. A good life. And I won’t have it disrupted by someone who thinks…”

There was steel in her words, a strength that hadn’t been there when she was nineteen. Whatever she’d been through in the intervening time had forged her into someone formidable. Someone who wouldn’t be abandoned twice. “Thinks what, Maya?”

“It’s not important. You found me, but as you can see, there was no reason for you to,” she said, starting to rise from the boulder.

“Wait.” The desperation in my tone surprised both of us. “I know I don’t have the right to ask anything of you. I know I hurt you?—”

“Hurt me?” She laughed, but there was no humor in it. “You destroyed me.”

I felt my knees nearly buckle and reached for the boulder. I’d known my departure had caused her distress, but hearing it stated so baldly was devastating.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered. “So very sorry.”

“Sorry doesn’t give me back what I lost. Sorry doesn’t undo the damage.”

The anguish in her words told me there were depths to this conversation I didn’t understand. Layers of hurt that went beyond my leaving. What had she lost? What damage had my leaving caused beyond a broken heart?

“I want you to know that it was the hardest thing I’ve ever done,” I said. “If there had been any other way?—”

“Are you going to say there wasn’t?” She shook her head. “There’s always a choice, JW. You made yours.”

She was right, and we both knew it. I could have found a way. Could have given her the choice of whether to stay or go. Instead, I’d made the decision for both of us.

“You’re right,” I said.

The admission seemed to take some of the wind out of her anger.

“Why are you here?” she asked. “In Crested Butte, I mean. Flynn said you were family.”

“It’s complicated,” I said, echoing Flynn’s words from the parade. “She visited my ranch.”

“Your ranch?”

“In New Mexico.”

It was a pathetic summary of the connection Flynn and I had made, but I didn’t know how to explain the tangled web of family secrets and obligations that had gotten me to this moment.

How could I tell her about Patricia’s trust, about the promises I’d made, about finally finding the family I’d never known I could have?