GRIFFIN
The restraint it required to stay away from Winslow was crippling.
For the past two nights, I’d practically barricaded myself at home. My email inbox was empty, my desk clear. Last night, after dinner, I’d wanted to go to her so badly that I’d spent three hours cleaning stalls in the barn.
Keeping busy. Keeping my distance.
My skin craved the heat from hers. My fingers twitched, desperate to thread through her hair. My arms ached to hold her as she fell asleep.
I missed her blue eyes. I missed the freckles on her nose.
The nights had been brutal. Sleepless. But even the days were difficult. It was noon and all I wanted to do was turn my truck around, head into town and track her down.
I refused to let myself break.
The ranch and my family needed my full attention. There was no time for anything else.
It shouldn’t be like this. Never in my life had I struggled so much to let go of a woman. Especially when there’d been no commitment involved. Hell, I’d had girlfriends in college easier to erase from my mind, despite dating them for months before calling it quits.
So why the hell was Winslow Covington stuck in my head?
Her beauty was unmatched, her intelligence as attractive as her slender body. Her responsiveness in the bedroom and the way our bodies came together were like nothing I’d felt before.
This had to be a physical thing, right? Chemicals and hormones fucking with my rationality. One thought of her bare, creamy skin and I was hard again. Like I’d been for the past two days.
“Goddamn it,” I muttered.
“What?” Mateo asked from the passenger seat of my truck. “Nothing.” I waved it off. “Thanks for coming out today.” “Sure.” He shrugged those broad shoulders.
At twenty-two, he hadn’t quite filled out his frame. But he would. If he kept eating Mom’s cooking and working on the ranch like he had been this summer, breaking a sweat and testing those growing muscles, soon he’d be as big as me.
Of all my siblings, Mateo and I looked most alike. We all had the same brown hair and blue eyes, but Mateo and I shared the same nose, the small bump at the bridge. Like mine, his Adam’s apple was pronounced, a feature I hadn’t thought much about until Winn.
She loved to drag her tongue up my throat, especially while I was buried inside her body.
Fuck. Why couldn’t I stop thinking about her?
“What’s the plan for today?” Mateo propped a forearm on the open window. The smell of grass and earth and sunshine clung to the air.
There weren’t many places I’d rather be in life than rolling down a Montana dirt road in June.
Winslow’s bed was threatening to take that top spot.
“I’d like to check the fence along the road to Indigo Ridge. Conor started on it but . . . you know.” I hadn’t had the heart to send anyone back there since Lily Green.
“Yeah,” Mateo mumbled. “How’s he doing?”
“We’re working him hard.” On the other side of the ranch and as far from here as possible.
“He always liked Lily. Even after their breakup. I always thought they’d eventually get together.”
“I’m sorry.” I glanced over and gave him a small smile.
Lily had been a year younger than Mateo, but the size of Quincy High meant they would have known each other well.
“I hadn’t really talked to her in a while. But every time I bumped into her, she’d smile. Give me a hug. She was sweet like that. Like you were this long-lost friend she hadn’t seen in years. Not someone you saw once a month at the bank. I had no idea she was struggling. No one did.”
Because maybe she wasn’t.
That knee-jerk thought hit so fast and hard that I flinched.
The doubts were Winslow’s doing. She’d put them in my brain, and now, whenever the topic of Lily came up, any previous assumptions had been tossed in the trash.
Was there more to her death? What if she hadn’t committed suicide?
Winn had been searching for a boyfriend or hookup during our stops at the bars. Maybe Lily had slept with someone recently. Maybe that guy had done something to mess with her head. Or maybe she hadn’t been alone on Indigo Ridge.
Maybe there was more.
“Was Lily dating anyone?” I asked.
“Not that I know of. Whenever I saw her at the bar, she was usually with other girls.”
Probably the same girls Winn had rattled off to John at Big Sam’s. Local girls. And knowing Mateo, he wouldn’t have paid them much attention.
My little brother took after me in that regard too. He wasn’t interested in a relationship and tourists wouldn’t be there to harass him for more come morning.
It was advice I’d given him.
Advice I wasn’t following myself.
“Heard you’re hooked up with Covie’s granddaughter. Winslow.” Mateo grinned. “I got a speeding ticket last week. Think you could get her to fix it for me?”
This idea that Winn and I would be able to keep our tryst under wraps had disintegrated like wet toilet paper. “It’s not like that.”
“Fuck buddies?”
That term grated on me and my hands tightened on the steering wheel. It was the right term but it was like nails scraping chalkboard in my ear. “Where’d you hear that?”
“I ran into Emily Nelsen at Old Mill last night,” Mateo said. “She asked where you were. I told her you were probably at home, and then she made some offhand remark about you possibly being at Winslow Covington’s place.”
“Goddamn Emily.” I shook my head.
She was the reason I’d been avoiding Winslow’s place the past couple of days.
Apparently, that had been a wasted effort.
On Wednesday, I’d stopped by Eden Coffee to pick up one of Lyla’s sandwiches for lunch. She’d been chatting with Emily, playing nice as usual. Lyla always played nice—maybe because she was smarter than I was. She kept her friends close and her enemies under the cover of her green apron.
Emily had never been overtly nasty to Lyla, and they’d graduated together. For a while, I thought they might have been friends, but I hadn’t paid much attention. Then I’d messed up by sleeping with Emily a year ago, and since then, she seemed to be sticking close to Lyla.
My sister was sharp. She knew exactly why Emily was being so friendly.
I’d made the mistake of sitting at their table to catch up with my sister. It turned out to be quite revealing. Emily didn’t just gossip about everyone in the coffee shop; she also mentioned that she’d seen my truck parked at Winslow’s place for three nights in a row.
I should have known better. Damn it, I should have remembered that Emily lived in that neighborhood. Of course, she’d spot my pickup. The last thing I needed was rumors spreading around Quincy, and it was the last thing Winn needed too.
So I’d stayed away.
It was the smartest decision. For both of us.
Winn was fighting enough battles at the moment. At the station. With the community—no thanks to Emily’s article. She didn’t need to wage war with the gossip mill too.
“She’s a good cop,” I told Mateo. “I think she was the right choice.”
For all the shit I’d given Winn for being an outsider, she fit here. She took the job seriously and had decent connections. Though I wasn’t thrilled about her friendship with Frank Nigel.
That asshole could go fuck himself. He’d had a problem with my family for no reason my whole life. He’d buy a latte from Lyla’s coffee shop, flirt with her until she was uncomfortable, then leave a shitty review on Yelp. He’d swing by Knox’s restaurant at The Eloise and tell everyone who’d listen that the food was mediocre.
He’d talk about us all behind our back—to me and Dad, our faces. At least he’d stopped trying to fake it when we bumped into each other around town. I’d made it clear the last time he’d tried to shake my hand that I had no use for the son of a bitch.
Frank’s friendship with Covie was the one black mark against our long- time mayor. I never did understand how they’d become such good friends. Neighbors bonded, I guessed. Hopefully Winn didn’t listen to Frank’s poison.
Mateo and I reached the edge of the ditch along the road. A loose wire dangled at the corner post. I parked the truck, grabbed a pair of leather gloves from the bench seat and pulled on my ball cap, letting it shield my face. Then my brother and I got to work repairing the strings of barbed wire.
Two hours later and we’d made it halfway down the line.
“More junk.” Mateo picked up a hubcap lying on the tall grass.
“Just toss it in the back of the truck. I swear the previous owners of this place took apart an entire car dealership and left the pieces scattered around here just to irritate me.”
I’d been picking up rusted scraps and old parts since I’d bought this property. It had taken us a month of regular trips to Missoula to haul away all of the old cars they’d left scattered around the barn.
“I hate fencing,” Mateo muttered as he picked up his fencing pliers. I chuckled. “It’s part of ranching.”
“It’s part of you.”
This ranch was all I’d ever wanted. From the time I was a kid, I’d known that I’d live and die on this place. My heart belonged to the land. My soul was tethered to the earth. A day of honest work gave me peace.
I considered myself a lucky man that happiness came easiest when my boots were in the dirt. This wasn’t a job. This was a passion. This was my freedom.
My siblings loved the ranch but ranching hadn’t been their dream.
“Any thoughts on what you want to do?” I asked Mateo. Being nine years older, I often felt more like an uncle than a sibling. He came to me for advice, much like I’d done with Briggs.
“No.” He groaned, crimping a clip to hold a fresh wire to a steel fence post. “I don’t know. Not this.”
“There are other things to do on the ranch besides fencing.” “This has always been yours.”
“It doesn’t have to be just mine.”
“I know. If I wanted to be part of it, you’d make it happen. But I just . . . don’t. And I don’t know what I want yet. So I’ll just work here and at the inn until I figure it out.”
“The offer always stands.”
“Thanks.” He nodded and stepped back from the section we’d just fixed. He looked past my shoulder as the sound of tires crunching gravel filled the air.
I turned as Briggs’s truck rolled our way. My uncle was behind the wheel and behind him, against the glass window, his gun racks were loaded with two rifles.
“Why’s he decked out in orange?” Mateo asked.
“Hell.” I shoved the top wire down to swing my leg over the fence, then walked to the road, Mateo right beside me, as Briggs pulled over.
“Hey, boys.”
“Hey, Briggs.” I leaned against his door. “What are you up to today?”
He jerked a thumb at his rifles. “Thought I’d hunt the base of Indigo Ridge. I saw a herd of mule deer yesterday. Would be good to get more jerky made before the snow flies in the next couple of weeks.”
“What the fuck?” Mateo mumbled.
I sighed, wishing like hell my father would stop ignoring this. The incidents were getting more frequent. “Briggs, it’s not quite hunting season yet.”
“It’s October.” “It’s June.”
“No, it’s not.” He frowned. “What the hell is wrong with you? It’s October.”
“It’s June.” I dug out my phone from my back pocket, opening up my calendar for him to see.
“You know I don’t trust those goddamn phones.” He huffed. “Stop messing around, Griff.”
Christ. “You can’t go hunting right now, Briggs. It’s not the season.” “Don’t tell me what I can and cannot do on my own ranch.” His voice
rose along with the color in his face. “Damn kids. Running all over this area like you own it. How many years have I worked here? This is my place. Owned by me and my brother. You don’t get to tell me what to do.”
“I’m not trying to tell you what to do.” I held up my hands. “Just take a look around. Does it look like October to you?”
His forehead furrowed as he faced forward, taking in the green grass and wildflowers in the meadows. “I, uh . . .”
Briggs trailed off, staring over the wheel. Then, in a flash, he brought his hand up and slammed it into the dash. “Fuck.”
I tensed.
Mateo flinched.
“Fuck!” Briggs roared again with another strike to the dash.
The outburst was so unlike him, so unlike his gentle, calm nature, that it took me a moment to react. Never in my life had I seen him shout. Not once. He and Dad were a lot alike in that way. Both had always kept a firm grip on their temper. It was the reason they were both so good with horses and kids.
This man was not my uncle.
This furious, angry man had realized that his mind was slipping. And there wasn’t a thing to do about it.
I put my hand on his shoulder. “Archery season will be here before you know it. Probably just had your days mixed up on your calendar at home. Happens to me all the time.”
He nodded, his eyes unfocused.
Mateo and I shared a look, and when he opened his mouth, I shook my head. Now was not the time for questions. Those would come later. Along
with yet another conversation with my father about Briggs’s mental health. “We’re getting thirsty and we forgot water today,” I lied. The canteen in
my truck was full. “Mind if we come on up to your place for a quick drink?”
Before Briggs could answer, Mateo rounded the hood and climbed in the passenger side of our uncle’s truck. “Meet you up there.”
I nodded, waiting until they’d flipped the truck around and headed down the gravel road before returning to my side of the fence and getting into my own pickup. I caught them about halfway up the mountain to Briggs’s cabin.
When we arrived, Briggs stepped out of the truck and shed his hunter’s orange. He shook his head, like he was confused about why he’d had it on in the first place, then waved Mateo and me inside.
Whatever anger he’d had earlier seemed to have vanished.
“How are things on the mountain?” I asked as we settled into our chairs at Briggs’s round dining table.
“Good. Retirement gets monotonous. But I’ve been hiking a lot. Trying to stay in shape.”
“Which trails?” Mateo asked, taking a sip of water.
“Mostly around Indigo Ridge. It’s challenging, but you can’t beat those views from the top.”
It was the second time he’d mentioned the ridge today. Ten years ago, I probably wouldn’t have thought much of it. But now, after those three girls . . . not many of us went to Indigo Ridge.
Tragedy had its way of tarnishing beauty.
“Have you seen anyone else up there?” My question came courtesy of Winslow’s doubts.
“No. It’s always just me. Why?” “Just curious.”
If Briggs had seen someone, would he even remember?
We finished our waters and I took the glasses to the sink, looking out over the yard.
Briggs had been busy, keeping the grass around the house trimmed. He’d put in a small raised garden bed. The beginnings of vegetables sprouted from rich, black soil. Around it was a tall deer fence, seven feet high in hopes they wouldn’t jump it and eat his crop. There was a pair of cowboy boots next to the fence, each filled with dirt and a ruby red flower.
“Love the boots, Briggs. Clever idea.”
He chuckled and stood from his seat, walking over to stand beside me. “Thought it was pretty clever myself. Pretty nice pair of boots but way too small for my big feet. Found them on a trail a while back. Felt like a waste to throw them away, so I decided to turn them into my flowerpots.”
My stomach dropped. “You found them?” “Yeah. Was out shed hunting.”
“Where?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Some trail not far from here.”
A trail on Indigo Ridge most likely. Because there was pink stitching along the brown leather shaft. There were plenty of men’s boots with pink stitching, but the delicate square point of the toe box and the arch of the heel . . . those were women’s boots.
Winslow had been looking for Lily Green’s shoes.
The sinking feeling in my gut said I’d just found them.
“We’d better get going,” I told Mateo. “Thanks for the water, Briggs.” “Stop by anytime. Gets lonely up here.”
I nodded, my throat thick. “Hey, do you mind if I borrow those boots for a spell? Mom might like to do something like that herself.”
“Not at all. If she likes ’em, she can keep ’em.” “Thanks.” I left the house and grabbed the boots.
They were dusty but on the newer side. The leather on the vamp and instep was stiff. I put a finger through each of the pull straps, hoping not to
leave a bunch of fingerprints behind, then hauled them to my truck.
“Uncle Briggs is messed up.” Mateo blew out a long breath as we started down the road. “The whole drive up here he kept calling me Griffin.”
“I’ll talk to Dad.” Again.
“Think he’s got what Grandpa had?” I nodded. “Yeah, I do.”
“What’s going to happen?”
“I don’t know.” But if Dad didn’t act sooner rather than later, I’d step in and do what needed to be done.
Briggs needed to see a doctor. We needed to know what we were dealing with here. Maybe medication would help. Maybe not.
I drove us back to Mom and Dad’s place, dropping Mateo off at the shop.
“Are you coming in?”
“No, I’ve got to head to town.” I could blame Briggs for shattering my resolve to stay away. But really, it had only been a matter of time before my resolve shattered.
“Okay.” Mateo pointed to the boots in the backseat. “Want me to take these inside?”
“No. They aren’t for Mom.” They were for Winn.
