Page 3

Chapter 3

Ford

“Easy, girl.” My thighs squeeze Pepper when she side steps. “It’s just a little snow falling off a branch. Don’t get spooky on me.”

She falls back into an easy walk with Roscoe darting through the bushes in a zigzag pattern ahead of us.

Checking on the cattle is the only way I can keep my sanity up here.

If I just sit in the cabin, I go stir crazy. Today is too gorgeous to stay inside.

The bright sun reflects off the skiff of snow from last night, warming the trees enough to shed their loads.

There are days when the solitude is nice. I don’t have to hide those moments of grief when they surge, or mask the tinges of jealousy when I see my best friend and his new thriving family.

Do I envy Mason? Absolutely.

But it’s my own fucking fault I’m not living his dream.

It should be me too.

Not gonna happen though. No one wants a broken, guilty man who’s living his nightmare on repeat every time he sleeps.

Hell, I don’t even want me most of the time.

The only reason I wake up most days is because I know Mason depends on me. Now even more than before.

I get it. He wants to stay home, and Sawyer isn’t interested in taking over. Mason needs me, so I’ll be there for him.

It doesn’t mean I have to be around the main house though. There’s plenty to do out on the range.

Like figuring out where these snow machine tracks came from.

This isn’t private land, but the mountains that surround this bowl are practically unnavigable.

So did they come from the ranch side?

Curiosity has me following them for quite a while before they veer through some heavy undergrowth that I know I won’t be able to go on horseback.

Might as well mark this on my GPS. Not sure what it’s worth, or what it means, but I’ll know to check here again in a few days.

When I get near the end of the trip, I see the black dots of cattle along the hillface ahead of me. The trickle of natural hot springs in the ponds keeps the grass green year round, with access to fresh water.

It’s just unfortunate it’s so far from any civilization.

Black Gulch is practically the end of the road, and that’s a hefty trek from here.

Maybe it’s better that way. Will be a long time before houses ever work out this far.

Wandering back, Roscoe gives me the signal he’s tired of running, so I pull Pepper to a halt so he can jump on.

This ain’t all bad. He keeps my back warm, she keeps my legs warm.

If only this cold ache in my chest could find some heat.

By the time I reach the cabin, dusk arrives early, hurried by heavy dark clouds that threaten a storm.

“Come on, Pepper. Let’s get you in the barn and cozy. It might be a few days before we get to ride again.” Roscoe settles near the door while I get her saddle and gear off, then brush her down.

It took all summer bringing trips up here with the pack mules to make sure there’s enough feed stashed here for her.

Once the snow hits hard, the available grass gets slim unless we’re out with the cows.

She takes a big mouthful of alfalfa and shakes her head, making most of the flake fly outside of her stall.

When I toss it back in, her ears pin and she pulls it away from me.

“Brat. I’m not the one who threw it out.” I can’t say I blame her. I get pissy about good food, too.

I made sure to bring enough of my favorites this winter.

Last year I got mighty sick of canned chili before spring. This round, I made sure to maximize the food budget so I could bring some solid MRE selections.

I had no idea how much comfort could be wrapped up in a tasty meal.

How in the hell those old pioneers lived on nothing but fat tack and flour, I’ll never understand.

Tonight I think I’ll break out a lasagna. Or chicken parm.

The thought brings a pang to my gut.

That was her favorite from the little hole in the wall Italian restaurant in Missoula.

Not sure I’ll ever be able to go back there.

“Come on, Roscoe. I need a shot.” Maybe two.

Just something to help me sleep through the nightmares.

So I don’t have to relive the sight of her blood.

To hear her groans of pain before she died.

Or the laughter of the men who did it to her.

I hope it snows several feet. That gives me something to do during the day. I can shovel until I’m exhausted, and pass out in blissful silence.

He darts past my legs when I open the door and trots to his bed in the corner.

It’s just as cold in here as it is outside. My breath steams around my face when I squat to start the fire.

But the tiny two hundred square foot cabin heats quickly once the wood catches.

Well, if it doesn’t really dump from the storm, maybe I’ll busy myself with cutting more logs.

Can’t have too much.

Besides, there’s something therapeutic about swinging an ax. I can envision all of the motherfuckers I wish were lying in front of me with every chop.