Chapter Eight

A horse’s cry forged with a crack of thunder. Blinding light sliced the air, each strike impossibly close to the other. He could hear the pounding of his feet as he ran. Or was it the blood pulsing in his ears?

He needed to reach the stables, but which direction? He couldn't orient himself, couldn't gain any ground. He had to get to the loft.

The darkness tripped him up, and his knees collided with the cold earth, his hands splayed out in front of him. Through his fingers, an energy mounted, coursing through his body, prickling his skin. He knew the lightning strike was coming before he saw it.

He would be too late.

"Please no…" his voice cracked.

Flames licked the barn wood where it was struck, claiming it plank by plank at a speed to match the devil on a run. He gasped for breath, not daring to breathe through his nose. Any second his nostrils would fill with an acrid, choking smoke.

A blast rocked the night, and he covered his ears.

Wood ripped from metal, grinding and popping in the flames. Amidst the horses' frenzy roared the haunting cries, echoes to be seared into the marrow of his bones forever. He pressed his palms harder against his ears as uncontrollable tremors seized him…

Jase stumbled from his bed, staggering out of his room to the bathroom, his ears filling with the sound of rushing water as he turned on the sink faucet. His shaky fingers barely held water as he splashed his face, but the shock of the cold liquid helped drive away most of the lingering nightmare. Reaching blindly for one of the embroidered towels, he pressed the soft cotton to his face, concentrating on breathing in and out.

In…out…in…out…

Back in his room, the bed sighed under his weight as he sat down and unzipped his duffel with only the light of dawn from his window. He touched William’s letter—the object responsible for the emotional tornado that was his life lately. The envelope’s corners were crumpled and the edges no longer straight. Everything about the state of the letter contradicted William. Like one giant piece of irony. The man who’d encouraged him to leave Idaho eleven years ago, knowing about the nightmares and their suffocating hold, was now the man responsible for dredging them back up again.

Not that he’d meant to.

Numbing his emotions, he dressed in jeans and a T-shirt and made his way outside to his rental car. Madison’s open window caught his attention, and his thoughts slipped to the woman still sleeping in the room next to his.

She’d been both brave and beautiful last night when he’d fixed up her arm but also afraid because she’d messed up. He’d seen it in the way she’d wrung her hands, twisted that bracelet of hers. And yet, she hadn’t made any excuses, only apologized and asked for a second chance.

Refreshing.

He lowered his gaze from her window, but it didn’t stop the vision of her from last night with her head on that pillow—the one big enough for two, with her dark hair against the stark white bedsheets, the curve of her body all curled up like she’d been when he’d left her…

The pictures were as vivid now as they’d been last night, and he wondered if waking up every morning next to someone like her would keep his nightmares away. Except, those were dangerous thoughts.

Pulling open his car door, he slid into the driver’s seat and concentrated on putting the key in the ignition and shifting into gear. William needed him focused. Letting the man down by being distracted wasn’t an option. Not by nightmares, or thoughts of relationships he shouldn’t have.

He drove north a few miles until stopping at a fork in the road. There, in front of him, was an old sign with two arrows. One pointed left, the Henry’s brand carved into a sturdy piece of wood that still held some shine. On the other was written the name of the Cutter ranch, the white paint chipped and faded until it was almost unreadable.

His fingers choked the steering wheel. Not due to the sign’s dilapidated or lonely state, but from the fact it was because of him it was left so abandoned. An ache burrowed deep in his bones as he stared down the dry and cracked dirt road to the right. His home. Except, it wasn’t. Now it was only an empty piece of land, strewn with the literal ashes of his past.

Clutching the wheel at ten and two, he stared down those arrows, his knuckles stiff and white. The pointed pieces of wood screamed he couldn’t cruise the middle lane forever, the safe lane. They shouted that ignoring his past wouldn’t heal him anymore than it would stop the nightmares. Not this time.

You gotta dig deep. Get centered. Nothing else you do matters if you can’t step up to the plate.

Words from his old coach came so clearly his foot almost slipped off of the brake.

His pulse beat loud in his ears, filling the entire car. “Connect and make it count,” he whispered, finishing the saying.

He hadn’t played baseball for seven years but missed crossing home plate. Missed making the hit that got him there. His coach had been right. Connecting with the ball mattered, but before you could knock it out of the park, you had to step up to bat.

At that moment, he felt the weight of the bat in his hand and realized what he wanted more than anything, more than the fame or the dollars in his bank account, was to make this place a part of his life again. To heal.

Memories of how Madison’s eyes had lit up in her office that day as she’d told him about finding the story of a project or piece of land, discovering its heart, of hope, were lucid. Her passion and assurance were why he’d made the unexpected offer. And why he’d extended it again last night, even after her mistake. She could help him take the plate.

The grip on his chest lessened, and he filled his lungs. A stillness settled around him. Even nature gave him a moment of peace, leaving the trees calm and the insects quiet outside his open window.

Peace.

The sun had gained more height in the sky, and he eased his foot off of the brake, turning left toward William’s.

Dig deep, he fought. Get centered.

Jase parked outside the fence at the entrance and walked the curved gravel path that led toward the house. A red barn cut into the skyline a few minutes later, its weathered wood visible across the distance. Manure, dust, and fresh hay filled in the rest of the scene, making it as if he’d never left. Movement caught his attention from outside the tall, heavy doors, where a stocky man washed his hands at a spigot.

His footsteps faltered when the man turned. He swallowed the lump crowding his throat as he covered the distance between them on shaky legs. “William.”

The strong, weathered rancher embraced him tightly, and when he pulled back, his eyes spoke an understanding words could never do justice. “It's good to see you, son.”

Jase offered a weak smile, one that belied his raw emotion. Neither talked as he followed the man to the back door of the Henrys’ ranch home. William paused to scratch the dirt from his feet on a stiff rug, and he did the same.

Inside, the sheer curtains next to the fireplace were new, but the faded floral couches where he’d had his first kiss with Dustin’s cousin Emma were the same. As was the coffee table where he split open his chin wrestling his best friend.

A squeeze of his shoulder snapped him back from the memories, and William ushered him into the den, offering him a seat before lowering himself onto the one behind the familiar, sturdy cherry desk.

Now under brighter lights, Jase noticed the lines and fatigue in his father’s friend that he hadn't seen outside in the early hours of dawn. “The ranch looks good,” he said, grabbing at anything to snuff the awkward moment. “Is that a new A-frame roof on the barn?”

“Put it on last summer. Happy with it so far.”

Laughter almost pushed through the tightness in his throat. Eleven years and they were making small talk. It was definitely laughable. Except, anything personal choked the air from his lungs.

“I hear things are going well for you.”

Jase lifted his shoulder in a half-shrug. “Yeah, I’ve been lucky.”

“That ain’t luck, son. You’re a hard worker like your dad. Smart like your momma. They’d be proud of what you did with the money they left you.”

Chest tight, he traced a scratch in the wood of his chair, not meeting the man’s eyes.

“And I’m proud of you, too.”

He mumbled a weak thank you then picked up a framed photo of William and his wife and asked a little too quickly, “How’s Marla doing?”

William took the photograph and ran a thumb over his wife’s picture. “She’s been at her sister’s for the past two weeks but will be home tomorrow morning. She’d love a visit.”

“I’d like that.” And he meant it.

Removing his cowboy hat, the older man held it between his fingers. His eyes focused on the worn straw, but his expression suggested his thoughts weren’t anywhere near the state of his Stetson.

“What’s going on? Something isn’t right. I can feel it. I could read it between the lines of your letter.”

The rancher’s fingers shook slightly, but his voice was steady. “I’m sellin’ the ranch.”

Boulders could have crashed through the front door and he wouldn’t have heard them with William’s words pounding in his head. “What? Why?”

“I know I could list it and get some bites, but this land has been in our family for three generations. I don’t want to let it go to just anyone. That’s why I asked you to come. You’re the only person I know who loves this land as much as I do. It’ll be a fair price.”

Jase laughed without a grain of humor. “I haven’t been back in years. You know this. And you can’t sell the ranch.”

William pointed straight at him, this time his hand steady. “You can’t keep a man from his land, son. You’ll be back when you’re ready.”

His chair creaked as he shifted, and still shots from his nightmare struck the air from his lungs. “You always had faith in me. Honestly, I’m not sure why.”

“Two reasons. You’re a Cutter, and you have a good soul.”

Jase smiled, but it felt dishonest and undeserved. “I don’t understand. Why are you selling?”

“Marla’s not doing well. She’s been pretty sick for the last eighteen months. Between the medical bills and the repairs on the ranch…”

Coldness settled in his veins. “I had no idea she was sick. How bad is it?”

William bowed his head. “Dr. Bennet says she has months, maybe a year.”

He slumped back and stared. “I don’t know what to say… I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“Knowin’ she’ll be free of pain helps. For Marla, too, though she’d never admit it.”

The musky air in the small den, with its papers scattered about and books lying open, mocked him. He was sure they mocked William, too, shouting life was simple. Normal.

But it isn’t.

“You know I can help, you don’t have to sell. Let me take care of the medical—”

“I’m not takin’ charity,” he interjected with no room to argue. “I know what I need to do, and I’ll do it. But…” He left his hat on the desk and ran a hand over his thinning hair. “Truth is, I asked you to meet with me because Marla doesn’t know about any of this. And, I’d like to keep it that way.”

The rancher’s gaze focused on him, its dark color imploring.

“This is the home we raised our kids in. The only home Marla’s known these forty-two years we’ve been married. She planted her first garden here and celebrated each of the kids’ birthdays in that dining room down the hall, on that same old table with the wobbly leg I never got to fixin’.”

William pulled out a handkerchief and blew his nose. His eyes were red but dry of tears, and Jase wondered if he’d used them up.

“I can’t take her away now. She needs to spend her last days here in her home where she belongs. Only, I don’t know how many days she’ll have. So, I’m hopin’ if you agree to the sale, you might not mind us staying ‘til…well, ‘til the good Lord calls her home.”

He studied the man across from him. Not just a man, but a husband and father. And friend. A part of William was shattered inside. “I’ll have Penny call the bank on Monday. And you’ll stay here as long as you need.” He stared at the desk, his eyes burning with the unshed moisture he held back.

“Sending that letter was one of the hardest things I’ve done. If it weren't for my Marla…”

“You don’t need to explain. I understand more than you might think. I'm glad you sent it.” And it was the truth. No matter the pain he’d endured the past several days, this time with his father's friend made every moment worth it.

William stood when a grandfather clock chimed the hour, and Jase followed.

“Have you been home?”

He scrubbed a hand over his face. “Not yet, but…I’m thinking about rebuilding.” The lack of conviction in his answer rang loud in his ears.

“Your dad always wanted to build a fancy house for your momma. One with room for all the grandbabies.” The older man smiled wide for the first time. “I can’t think of anything he’d like more than to see that still happen.”

That dream house wasn’t the only plan his dad had for the ranch, he’d had a notebook full of one days, but Jase couldn’t stomach to think on the others. “Yeah.”

Those familiar eyes studied him. “You still havin’ those nightmares?”

He blinked. “Am I that transparent?”

A shrug was his only answer.

“They’ve been bad the past few weeks, but I'm surviving them when they come.”

William nodded once before opening the door to step into the hall. “I meant it when I said I'm proud of you. Always have been. I want you to know that.” He paused, as if wanting to say more, but had trouble getting the words out. “Thank you…for everything.”

Jase held up his hands. “What I'm doing to help doesn't begin to repay what you did for me.”

The rancher laid a calloused hand on his shoulder. “It took a lot of courage to survive what you did, you don’t owe—”

“Courage?” The word hissed from behind him. “Is that what we’re calling it now?”

Jase twisted around to see his childhood best friend standing just feet away. He sensed the clenching of Dustin's teeth, the hard rise and fall to his chest, but didn't see the fist he'd pulled back until it was too late.

Shocks of pain exploded along his jawline as the swing connected, snapping his face hard to the right. He staggered but held his ground, despite the adrenaline pumping hot through his veins. Across from him, William held his son back, both men’s bodies strained. Every thread of muscle in Jase tensed to fight back, but he only stared at the man who'd once been like a brother to him.

Dustin's breaths were heavy, but he no longer fought his father's hold, and Jase’s pulse spiked at the steal in his friend’s eyes—their hardness because of him. Yet, the one emotion that pierced him deepest was the shadow of abandonment on the edges.

What was he supposed to do? Beg for him to understand? Tell him he was sorry for bailing? He couldn't say the one thing his friend wanted to hear, because the truth was, if he could go back to that night eleven years and twenty-one days ago, he would leave all over again. It sounded harsh, even to himself, but it was honest.

Getting out of Idaho had been his only way to escape the slow poisoning he'd felt after the accident. The lethal concoction of all the dark emotions he'd harbored, combined with the suffocating sympathies the community poured over him, had proved too much for his callow nineteen years.

But hurting his friend was his biggest regret.

Without words, Jase walked out the front door, away from the questions he couldn't answer. He knew his actions would prove to be one more regret where the Henrys were concerned, but his legs kept pushing forward. The low sound of Dustin's voice sticking to his steps like a tossed-away, chewed up piece of gum.

Coward.

He abandoned his car for the familiar walk between the Henrys’ ranch and his own land to meet Madison, but each step was crested by a deep sense of unrest. By the time he roused his sense of awareness, he stood not ten feet from his family’s stables—or what was left of them.

The once-fresh structure, charred black, was now grayed with time. Most of the wreckage had been cleared away, but enough remained to stand as a token of what would always be a horrific scene. A part of him wanted to reach out, to touch the twisted pieces to see if they were as rough as the scars on his heart, but his feet wouldn't swallow up the distance.

Nor would they retreat, and Natasha’s words stabbed deeper.

Broken.

For days after the accident that ultimately took everything, he'd avoided the stables. It wasn't until the night he’d left, almost four months after the fire, that he’d found himself standing on this same spot among the few remaining scattered pines. A part of him had clung to the hope that he’d made some peace since that day, but the hole in his chest gaped bigger than ever.

A faint buzzing prodded the quiet, and he pulled out his phone to see it was Penny.

“I'm not interrupting, am I?” she asked when he answered.

“Not at all. And, hello to you, too.” He threw her favorite line back, desperate for anything familiar. Safe.

“Sorry. Hello, dear. I called to see how things went with Miss Blakeley.”

Jase filled his lungs with clean air then let out a slow breath. “Honestly? Both terrible and better than I expected.”

“Okay…”

He laughed. “It’s a long story.”

“So, she didn’t tell the Westons about Idaho like you feared?”

“No. But she did tell Dustin Henry.”

“Who?”

“William’s son.” He kicked at a loose rock. “But I don’t think Madison meant to let it slip.”

“How did she take the news about you postponing the build?”

“I didn’t bring it up.”

“Have you decided not to postpone then?”

Her question, so full of hope, added a layer of confidence he was doing the right thing. “Every time I make up my mind to wait, something pulls me back.” Like Madison’s enthusiasm and passion. Those wooden arrows. He scowled at a moth trying to land on his shoulder. “And I know what you’re probably thinking.”

Her laughter spilled over across the line. “You do?”

“Yes. You’re congratulating yourself that you were right all along.”

Silence.

He snorted. “Exactly.”

“Out of curiosity, what pulled you back this time?”

Grabbing a broken branch, he absently poked at the ground with it. “The main reason? William’s ranch is in trouble. I’ll fill you in when I get back.”

“Are you still meeting with Madison then? Or do you need me to try and change your flight?”

He checked the time. “I told her I’d still like to hear her ideas.” He jabbed the grass with the stick a few more times before chucking it toward a grove of aspen. “My gut tells me to trust her.”

“Then I say follow your instincts. They haven’t steered you wrong yet. Well, not too wrong,” she teased.

A grin pushed its way past the heaviness he’d carried since leaving the Henry Ranch. “How are things on your end?”

“Business as usual. The mayor called yesterday with more suggestions on local companies he thinks we can use on our restoration team.”

“Of course he did.”

“I think the man still has a rock in his shoe over your choice in architect.”

“If there had been any local firms qualified, believe me, I would have chosen them.” He thought of the dark-haired architect and her bid, but it was too late to regret his choice now.

“Deep down, he knows the situation. He’s only being Marty.”

Jase switched the phone to his other ear. “I want the best for this project. For you and the rest of the city. I promise. It’ll be great.”

“Quit worrying about letting me down. Both the theatre and the addition of the surrounding shopping district will be amazing. You’re good at what you do. If you don’t believe me, I can open the brag book—”

His deep laughter cut into the stillness. “No. You can keep that thing buried under your desk.”

“It’ll all work out. With both the Old Theatre and William. Even Madison.”

He stared at the remains before him. “I’m hoping so.”