Page 7 of Roaring Fork Rooker (Roaring Fork Ranch #4)

JW

T he second week of January brought a restlessness I couldn’t shake.

I spent sleepless nights, my mind churning with the weight of what I needed to tell Flynn.

The routine we’d established—breakfast in the lodge, activities with the children, quiet dinners by the fire—felt fragile, like a bubble that would burst the moment I spoke the truth.

Time was running out. We were past the halfway point of their month-long stay, and I could sense Flynn’s frustration with my evasions.

Around ten, I saw the family emerge for their morning walk. Even from a distance, I could see the tension in Flynn’s shoulders, the way she kept glancing toward the main lodge as if debating whether to approach.

She was working up the courage to confront me directly. I could sense it.

By lunch, my nerves were taut. When the family arrived at the lodge, I picked up on Flynn’s distraction.

She participated in the twins’ chatter about building snow animals, praised Alton’s cooking, and helped Rowan with her baby food, but her attention kept returning to me with that same assessing look.

“The boys want to know if they can help feed the horses this afternoon,” Irish said as we finished eating.

“Rick would love the assistance,” I replied. “He’s always looking for eager helpers.”

“Can we, Mama? Please?” Paxon bounced in his seat.

Flynn smiled at her son’s enthusiasm, but when she looked at me, her expression turned serious. “I was hoping I could speak with you privately this afternoon when Irish takes the boys to feed the horses.”

The moment I’d been dreading and anticipating had arrived. “Of course. My office?”

“That would be perfect.”

The rest of lunch passed in a blur of conversation, but underneath the surface, I could feel the approaching storm—not the weather system moving in, but the reckoning that had been building since the day they arrived.

After the family left, I retreated to my office. The leather portfolio sat on my desk like an accusation. Inside were truths that would transform Flynn’s understanding of her past, her family, and her very identity. Was I ready to share them? Did I have a choice?

At three o’clock, Flynn knocked on my office door.

“Come in,” I called, rising from behind my desk.

She entered, closing the door behind her.

She’d changed from her casual morning clothes into dark jeans and a burgundy sweater that brought out the gold highlights in her hair, and that I remembered her wearing shortly after their arrival here.

It felt like so long ago. Her expression was determined but not hostile—a woman seeking answers, not a confrontation.

“Thank you for making time,” she said, settling into the chair across from my desk.

“Of course. What’s on your mind?”

She folded her hands in her lap, gathering her thoughts. “I’ve been here over two weeks now, and I keep feeling like there’s something I’m missing. Something important.”

I waited, letting her speak.

“The trust that brought us here—it’s been orchestrating my family’s lives for three years. Each of my brothers was sent somewhere different, somewhere connected to our mother’s past.” Her eyes met mine directly. “This place, this ranch, you—there’s a connection, isn’t there?”

The question hung in the air between us. I could deflect again, offer another vague non-answer, but Flynn’s intelligence and persistence had made that increasingly difficult. Yet I wasn’t ready to reveal everything. Not yet.

“What makes you think that?” I asked, curious about her reasoning.

“A dozen small things. The way you look at my children sometimes, like you’re seeing someone else in their faces. The photographs in the lodge—several show Colorado landscapes that look familiar. Your questions about our family feel too personal for a stranger making conversation.”

“You’re very observant,” I said.

“That’s not an answer.”

“No, it’s not.” I stood and moved to the window, needing distance. “Flynn, there are…complexities to your family’s situation that I understand better than most would.”

“What does that mean?”

I turned back to face her. “It means your intuition is correct. There are connections I haven’t shared.”

Her expression shifted from frustration to apprehension. “What kind of connections?”

“The kind that require more time to explain properly.” I returned to my desk but remained standing. “Far more than can be covered in a few hours.”

Flynn studied my face, weighing whether to push harder or accept the deflection. “You’re asking me to be patient.”

“I’m asking you to trust that when the time is right, you’ll have the answers you’re seeking.”

“When will that be?”

“Soon.”

She stood, her eyes boring into mine. “I’m left with little choice. As we both know, if I leave, our family will lose everything.”

The observation stung because it held truth. “I’m sorry, Flynn.”

She folded her arms. “You’re sorry? For what? Do you realize that me having to be here ripped me away from my family? The kind of holiday I’d longed for all my life. One I finally experienced last year?”

“You’re here because someone who cares deeply about your family wanted to ensure we had this time together. This place. These memories.”

“Someone who cares about our family.” Flynn repeated the words slowly. “You?”

I met her gaze but said nothing.

“I need to go,” she said abruptly, moving toward the door. “The boys will be wondering where I am.”

At the threshold, she paused without turning around. “This conversation isn’t over.”

“I know.”

“There’s more you’re not telling me.”

“Yes.”

“A lot more.”

“Yes.”

After she left, I stood by the window, watching her figure disappear along the path toward the cabin where her family waited.

I pulled out my phone and sent a text to Jim. Weather update?

His response came quickly. The storm isn’t due to arrive as early as expected. Probably forty-eight hours instead of twenty-four.

Good. The place where I’d hoped to start this conversation wouldn’t be as easily accessible if the weather turned. Perhaps we could meet there in the morning. Just the two of us.

The family joined me for dinner that evening, but the atmosphere had shifted.

Irish seemed to sense his wife’s tension, though he gave no indication of knowing its source.

His protective instincts were clearly heightened, his attention shifting frequently between Flynn and me as if trying to read the dynamics of our earlier conversation.

“The weather doesn’t look as bad as I’d heard it was going to be,” he observed as we finished the main course.

“The forecast shows several inches heading our way, but not until the day after tomorrow,” I confirmed.

Irish nodded. “Good. The boys can get one more day of outdoor energy consumption in before they have to be cooped up.”

“I have a surprise for them when the snow does come. We set up a playroom in the east wing,” I said when it appeared neither twin was paying attention.

“Playroom?” Paxon’s head shot up from his plate.

I chuckled. “Yes. There are board games, puzzles, and other toys,” I explained.

“Can we see it after dinner?” Rooker asked, bouncing in his seat.

“If your parents don’t mind,” I replied, glancing at Flynn.

“Not tonight,” she said in a tone that was probably meant for me, but its effect on her sons was immediately evident. “I’m sorry,” she added. “But let’s save it for tomorrow night. Okay? We have something special planned at the cabin tonight.”

Irish raised a brow, and Flynn shrugged. “We’ll think of something,” she leaned closer to him and whispered.

“I might have an idea,” I said in a low tone of voice.

While Flynn didn’t appear interested, Irish did.

“I can have Lisa meet you there. She and Rick put on a puppet show they might enjoy. Then perhaps a special dessert?”

Flynn nodded, but her smile seemed forced. Throughout the rest of the meal, her eyes never met mine. Even when I returned to the table after speaking with Lisa and Alton about the kids’ surprise.

When the family prepared to return to their cabin, I asked Flynn if I could have a word.

“I’ll be right there,” she told Irish, who nodded and walked over to the fireplace with all three children. She turned to me once they were out of earshot. “I want you to know that I won’t stop asking questions. Whatever connection you have to my family, whatever reason we’re here?—”

“There’s a chapel not far from here. Would you like to meet me there tomorrow? It would be best if we met alone.”

Her eyes widened. “What time?”

“Talk it over with your husband, and let me know what works best for your family.”

She nodded once. “And you’ll tell me why I’m here?”

“Yes. There’s a lot I need to tell you.”

“Good,” she said before joining her family for the walk back to Pueblo Moon.

I watched from the lodge’s windows until they disappeared into the night, then made my way to my private quarters. The predicted blizzard may be holding off for now, but tomorrow, I’d walk into another kind of storm. One I hoped Flynn and I were able to weather.