by Emily March
Caroline didn’t try to stop the tears that filled her eyes, and she didn’t attempt to defend herself. It would be a waste of words. “Goodbye, Elizabeth.”
The conversation ended, as had so many others during the past year—in a cloud of anger and pain and guilt and despair. Once upon a time, Caroline and Elizabeth had been friends despite the fact that she was the same age as Caroline’s mother. They’d bonded while cochairing a fundraiser for the Cystic Fibrosis Foundation when Caroline had been in college. Elizabeth had been the person who introduced her to Robert.
Not to say that she’d been thrilled when her younger brother started seeing Caroline. Elizabeth had never approved of her May-December romance with Robert. She’d never understood how Caroline could have fallen in love with a man fifteen years her senior. She never trusted Caroline not to fall in love with someone else and break her brother’s heart.
“Well, the joke is on me, isn’t it, Elizabeth?” She tossed her phone onto her bed with a little more force than advisable and it bounced off the plump mattress and fell onto the floor. As was her luck, the screen cracked.
Caroline glared at the cell a long moment before she picked it up and placed a call to Robert’s doctor. Miracle of miracles, he actually heard his nurse take her message and took the call. The conversation eased her heart a bit, the physician giving her the absolution her sister-in-law absolutely would not do. This time when she tossed the cell phone onto the bed, she did it with a gentler touch.
Then because endorphins were her drug of choice when it came to dealing with stress, and she had plenty of time before her first appointment, she opened her suitcase and pulled out her running clothes and shoes. Five minutes later, she headed downstairs and took the exit that led into the flower garden.
She stopped briefly to smell the roses—literally—and the sultry fragrance elicited a flash of memory of her first date with Robert. The ring of the doorbell, a pause before the entry hall mirror to check her lipstick, swinging the door open with a smile, and the blast of perfume from the huge bouquet he extended toward her with his own smile.
Moisture flooded Caroline’s eyes at the bittersweet memory, and she continued along the garden path. She really, really needed this run. Walking with her head down and her ear buds looped around her neck, and staring at her phone screen while she attempted to gaze past the cracks and her tears to her music app, Caroline didn’t pay attention to where she was going.
Until she ran into a wall.
“Whoa there, pretty little lady.” Large hands came around her waist to steady her. His voice was a deep, resonant rumble that skidded along her nerves.
Caroline was already embarrassed for having plowed into the mountain of a man, and her nerves were on edge from Elizabeth’s phone call. While she was girly enough to appreciate being called “pretty,” she didn’t like “little lady” under any circumstance. Consequently, she had starch in her spine and scissors on her tongue as she lifted her face. Her gaze collided with mesmerizing green eyes, and she promptly forgot all about being annoyed or embarrassed.
As the moment stretched, concern dawned in the big man’s gaze and when he spoke, his voice seemed to reach down inside of her and stroke her nerves. “You all right, ma’am? You’re not hurt, are you?”
“I am.”
“You are?”
“Oh, no. I’m sorry. No. Y-Y-Yes. No. I’m fine. I, um, I apologize. I didn’t see you.”
He released her and took a step backward, then gave the phone in her hand a significant look.
Caroline winced and embarrassment flooded back. She wanted to explain that poor cell phone etiquette was a particular pet peeve of hers, that she wasn’t one of those people always staring at a screen and ignoring the world around her and running into someone and missing out on life because they were glued to the Internet. Life was too short, too fleeting, and too precious.
A lump of emotion lodged in her throat. Tears flooded her eyes. She stammered. “I’m s-so s-sorry.”
The man took another step back. His hands came up in a gesture of surrender. “No problem. I was a tad distracted myself. Garden sure is pretty. Flowers are nice.”
“Yes.”
“Makes me think of my grandmother. She had a flower garden and loved to be out in it digging in the dirt. Guess I’ll um…” He gave a crooked smile and gestured vaguely toward the inn.
Blinking rapidly, Caroline shoved her phone into the pocket on her running shorts. “I’ll get on with my run.”
“Well, you have a nice afternoon for it. Enjoy. Glad you’re not hurt.”
For just a moment, Caroline watched him go. Dark hair worn a little long. A maroon T-shirt stretched across broad shoulders, faded jeans, and scuffed boots. An easy, confident, long-legged stride.
Robert used to have a confident stride. Now he shuffled. He shuffled and had come back briefly on their anniversary and she’d missed it because she’d acted like a jealous teenager and run away.
Caroline choked back a sob and headed for the garden gate, picking up her pace so that she was jogging by the time she reached it. She turned north, running hard, her hands fisted as her arms pumped. The stranger had been right, she wasn’t hurt. But she was broken. Heartbroken.
Today she had missed the chance to hear Robert say her name once more.
* * *
See that girl. Bambi eyes. Heart breaking, it’s the end of her world.
“Well, hello stranger,” drawled a familiar voice.
Thoughts of the teary-eyed beauty in the garden disappeared as Jackson turned to see the cousin who was older than him by one month striding toward him, a wide grin on his face. Boone McBride, Uncle Parker’s only son. The two men shook hands, clapped one another on the shoulders, and then embraced. “Damn, Boot,” Jackson said, using the old nickname. “Colorado obviously agrees with you. I haven’t seen you this relaxed since that long weekend in Jamaica the year you finished law school.”
“Ah, yes.” Boone schooled his features in a wistful look. “The Blankenship twins. What a trip. You know, I haven’t been able to look at a mango in quite the same way since.”
Jackson smirked, and deep inside him some of his tension eased. No matter what other crap went on in his life, he knew he could count on his cousin. Family always had his back.
Boone hooked a thumb over his shoulder and continued, “I have a table in the back room. A surprise, too. Follow me.”
Immediately, Jackson went on high alert. He might not have seen his cousin in months, but like their grandfather used to say, dogs didn’t change their spots. Jackson had been down the surprise path with him in the past. Boone had something up his sleeve. So when he turned to lead the way toward the back room, Jackson stopped him by grabbing his shoulder. “If you’ve brought some woman for me…”
“No. No.” Boone held up innocent hands. “Nothing like that this time. You’ll like this surprise, I promise.”
“Better not be jerking my chain,” Jackson grumbled. He followed his cousin toward the darkened back section of the tavern. A quick glance around upon entering the space revealed an empty room. “Where—” he started to ask until a figure moved out of the shadows. Jackson gaped when he recognized the man. He could not have been more shocked.
Tucker McBride, his younger cousin by a month. “Well, I’ll be damned.”
The tall, suntanned man wore fatigues and his hair cut military short. He flashed a smile that was eerily similar to Jackson’s own. “Jeez, Jackson, you need to find a barbershop.”
And then they were sharing a swift, hard hug. Jackson’s throat had closed around a lump of emotion, so he had to work to get his question out. “What are you doing in our neck of the woods? Have you gone AWOL? We’re not going to have to hide you from the MPs are we?”
“Nah.” Tucker’s rueful smile dashed Jackson’s hope. “I’m back on official business. Had something at Fort Hood that needed tending to and it gave me an excuse to attend this little soirée Boot has arranged.”<
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Fort Hood was the huge military base about an hour north of Austin. Tucker was back from … well … somewhere in the world. He never said where he was stationed. The family had no clue as to what his job in the Army was, either, because he dodged the question any time he was asked so everybody quit asking. Well, except for Aunt Ruth. She never hesitated to ask anybody anything.
Thinking about family led him to ask, “Do your folks know you’re stateside?”
“No, not yet. I figured I’d call them when we’re done here. If I give them too much advance warning they’ll kill the fatted calf, and I’d just as soon avoid all the nonsense.”
“I wouldn’t mind a nice veal dinner,” Boone observed.
“Then you should pay a visit to Fort Worth while you’re in Texas,” Tucker fired back. “Your parents would kill the whole herd if you’d ever go home.”
In reply, Boone shot Tucker the bird and changed the subject. “So, are y’all ready to hear why I asked you to meet me in Redemption, Texas?”
Jackson shot Tucker a look. “You don’t know, either?
His cousin shook his head, and without taking his gaze off of Boone asked in a casual tone, “Need us to kill someone for you?”
Tucker’s question was a joke, Jackson thought. Probably.
“Nope. Let’s sit down. My beer is getting warm.” Boone led the way toward a booth at the very back of the room where a pitcher and three pint glasses sat on the table.
Tucker took a seat with his back to the wall, and Jackson slid in beside him. Since two of the glasses on the table already held beer, he filled the empty third and took a sip. A Kölsch. Jackson liked it. Boone then called the meeting to order by raising his glass and repeating the cousins’ traditional toast. “Un pour tous, tous pour un.”
One for all. All for one. Straight out of The Three Musketeers.
“Un pour tous, tous pour un,” Jackson and Tucker repeated. They clinked glasses, took sips of their beer, and then waited expectantly for Boone’s explanation.
He started out with a family history lesson. “Gentlemen. Do you recall the stories Granddad used to tell about his family reunions? About the crazy aunt?”
“Great-Aunt Mildred,” Jackson said.
“Yes. Great-Aunt Mildred.”
“She’s the one who had a hissy fit about the Super Bowl, isn’t she?”
“Yep. She cut off all contact with Granddad’s side of family because our great-grandfather didn’t invite her to join him in his suite at Super Bowl XXX.”
“Cowboys versus Steelers,” Tucker recalled.
“She was quite the Cowboy fan, but apparently in her later years, she switched her allegiance to baseball. When she died, the Astros owned her heart.”
Jackson asked, “How long ago did she pass?”
“She died six weeks ago at the age of ninety-six, so she got to see them win the Series. Better luck than I’ve had with my Rangers.” Boone sighed and took a sip of his beer before continuing. “Apparently the Astros’ success soothed her ruffled feathers over the great Super Bowl suite sin because she remembered our branch of the family in her will.”
“If crazy Great-Aunt Mildred left us a houseful of cats, I’m bailing right now,” Tucker declared.
“Not a houseful of cats. Though I expect there’s probably a cat or two roaming the area. Big ones. You see, when Great-Aunt Mildred wasn’t watching baseball, she spent the last two decades of her life purchasing real estate. Her goal was to buy back land that had originally been part of the first Mildred McBride’s holdings, land that had been sold out of the family over time. She closed on the final piece of property ten weeks before she died. She told her lawyer that she’d been ready to pass on for a couple of years except she couldn’t kick up her toes before—and I quote—‘that old goat Edward Dillon croaked because he wanted to die in his own bed, in his own house, on his own ranch.’ She bought the ranch from his heirs the day of old man Dillon’s funeral.”
“Wait a minute,” Jackson said. “Are you saying crazy Great-Aunt Mildred left us a ranch?”
“Yes and no. She put the property into a trust that prevents the land from being sold outside of the McBride family tree, and she named the three of us the sole trustees.”
Boone gave his cousins a moment to absorb the news before continuing, “I’m told it’s beautiful land, a canyon with a spring-fed river and plentiful game. It’s just shy of three thousand acres.”
Jackson pursed his lips and gave a soft whistle. “Three thousand acres? Near here, I assume?” At Boone’s nod, he added, “I’m familiar with Hill Country land prices. Great-Aunt Mildred must have had some serious scratch.”
“Mailbox money,” Boone replied, using the colloquial term for oil-and-gas royalties. “Also, I’m told she was a voracious reader who loved being able to buy her books online, thus she invested heavily in Amazon shortly after their IPO.”
“Sounds like we’d better stop using the word ‘crazy’ when speaking of Great-Aunt Mildred,” Tucker suggested.
Jackson nodded. “Good point. ‘Crafty’ is more like it. That said, why us? We never met her.”
“Apparently, that’s not true. Our parents took us to her birthday party when we were nine years old. We charmed her.”
“We did?”
Boone pulled an envelope from his pocket and removed a two-page handwritten letter from inside. He handed it to Tucker who started reading and passed each page to Jackson when he finished. Once both men had completed reading the letter, they sat in stunned silence a moment until Jackson burst out in a laugh. “I remember that day. That pasture. That whipping Dad gave me afterward—I couldn’t sit down for days.”
“It’s the day we gave you your nickname. Your dad kept saying he was gonna put a boot in your ass. Didn’t realize it was Great-Aunt Mildred’s birthday.”
“Me either,” Boone added. “Where did we get those firecrackers, anyway?”
“We stole them out of somebody’s truck.” Jackson rolled his tongue around the inside of his cheek as he thought back to the day under discussion. “Stole the matches from the barbecue supplies.”
“Whose idea was it to blow up the cow patties?” Tucker asked. Boone and Jackson pointed at each other, and Boone added, “But it was your idea to lure my sisters over near the cow patty when we blew them up.”
“No!” Tucker protested.
“Yes!” his cousins fired back simultaneously.
Tucker’s lips twitched and he asked, “Do you remember their screams?”
“I do,” Jackson replied. “I swear my ears rang for a week.” He paused a moment and added, “I can’t believe she’s kept up with us all these years.”
“I can’t believe Branch Callahan never mentioned it,” Boone added. “When it comes to family, that man meddles like nobody’s business.”
“How are we related to him again?” Jackson asked.
Boone grinned. “I know this one by heart. He mentions it every time he introduces me to someone. His wife’s great-grandfather is our great-great-great-grandfather’s brother.”
“And that makes us family?”
“To the Callahans it does.”
Tucker lifted the pitcher and refilled his glass. “So back to this canyon, tell us more.”
“Well, it’s definitely off the beaten path. Aunt Mildred and Dillon both ran a few cattle primarily to get the agriculture tax exemption. It hasn’t been hunted in forever and is chock full of wildlife.”
“Oh yeah?” Jackson hadn’t the opportunity to hunt for years, but back in the day, it had been a pastime he’d enjoyed. Venison breakfast sausage was hard to beat.
“Here’s the coolest part,” Boone continued. “One I’m anxious to explore. Apparently there’s a ghost town at the south end of the canyon, a nineteenth-century outlaw enclave named Ruin.”
“An outlaw hideout? Seriously?”
“Yep.”
“Awesome,” Tucker said. “I look good in a black hat.”
More t
han a little bemused at the news his cousin had passed along, Jackson clarified, “So do I have this straight? You’re saying we own the road to Ruin?”
“Or, the road to Redemption, depending on your point of view.”
Definitely Ruin from where he was standing, Jackson decided. “What’s it called? The ranch?”
“Enchanted Canyon Ranch.”
“Sounds like something a marketing department came up with.”
“I don’t know that the Comanche had one of those,” Boone drawled. “We’re not far from Enchanted Rock. Apparently you can see it from certain spots within the canyon.”
Jackson pictured a map. Enchanted Rock was northwest of here, a high hill with a granite dome that rose more than four hundred feet above the surrounding terrain. Jackson and his cousins had camped there a few times in their teens. He remembered being captivated by the Native American legends of the place. The ghost stories in particular had him sleeping uneasily as a fifteen-year-old.
“Enchanted Rock,” Tucker mused. “I was talking about that place with a buddy only a month or so ago. There’s this mountain in Afghanistan that—” He broke off abruptly and shook his head. “Never mind. But there’s a word for what Enchanted Rock is. A weird word. I was trying to recall it and I couldn’t.”
“Monadnock.” Jackson lifted the pitcher and topped off his beer. “Enchanted Rock is the largest pink-granite monadnock in the United States.”
His cousins shared an eye roll, and then Boone said, “Of course Jackson remembers it.”
Tucker nodded in agreement. “Guy has more useless information filed away than anyone I’ve ever met.”
“Not so useless. It came in handy to know right now, didn’t it?” Jackson tried to recall details about the land surrounding Enchanted Rock. “Hardscrabble” was the term that came to mind. Lots of rocks and cedar trees and sunflowers in the summer. Land that wouldn’t support a whole lot more than a few deer and lots of rattlesnakes.
Of course, the world within a canyon could be a whole lot different from what was above it. Enchanted Canyon could be a veritable Eden for all that he knew. He seriously doubted it, but he could be wrong. “What are we supposed to do with it? The ranch?”
