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Chapter One
Cal Casey eased his pickup to a stop as the school bus slowed and came to a halt at the T-intersection of highway 21 and Casey’s Lane. Didn’t bother Cal as far as traffic was concerned, because once he turned onto the highway, he’d be heading in the opposite direction to the bus. No, what gave him pause was that—far as he could tell—the driver had stopped the bus for absolutely no reason.
The only school-age kid in the valley these days was his neighbor’s son, and that kid was nowhere in sight. Which meant the boy was either sick, running late, or had decided schooling could wait—again.
How many times this semester had Sam decided that farm chores were more important than school learning? Had to be a dozen that Cal knew of and probably twice as many he didn’t. The fundamental problem being that Sam’s priorities were rarely wrong. A cattle trough with a burst water pipe did need fixin’. A broken fence needed mendin’. A mare who’d been struggling to put a foal on the ground for hours couldn’t just be left. Straying cattle needed to go back where they belonged.
And with Red Evans presumed dead and gone these past few years and his widow Beth taking every extra nursing shift at the hospital in Marietta that she could get, who else was going to do the work that needed doing?
It wasn’t unheard of for ranching kids to do a solid day’s work. If Sam had been in his teens and strong and smart and capable, it might have worked out just fine, but no.
Samuel Calvin Evans was ten.
Putting his foot to the pedal, Cal cut in closer to the bus and lowered his window. The bus doors swung open with a hiss of hydraulics to reveal driver Jennie James.
“Rebecca Green called and said she left him here not five minutes ago,” Jennie called out. “Said she stayed over to look after Sam last night but her ma had a fall and she had to leave early, and Beth’s held up on the surgical team dealing with that fatal car accident on the I3.”
First he’d heard of any of that, but, yeah. Probably.
There were rules about leaving kids waiting alone for a school bus out in the middle of nowhere in winter. Cal had no beef with such rules. Protect the little children and all that. A mantra that currently appeared to be taking over his life, which was weird given he had no kids or even a wife. “You get moving, Jen. I’ll find him and bring him in.”
“No offence, Cal, but you’re not his parent.”
“No, but I’m his neighbor and his godfather and there’s heifers heading up the pass and they shouldn’t be, and Sam’ll be going after them. Sooner I go get them all, the better.”
“Do me a favor and put your guardianship—or whatever it is—in writing with the school, okay? I need a paper trail saying that when I talk to you, I’ve been talking with someone who’s responsible for him.”
“You got it.”
“Don’t forget. Because I know where you live.”
He grinned at the threat and raised his hand to wave her off before doing a U-turn and heading back the way he’d come. He hadn’t noticed footprints on his way to the turnoff, but he had noticed a disturbance in the snowbank where a kid might have pushed through and crouched down so as not to be seen. Snowfall had been especially heavy so far this October, meaning more work and early cattle feeding for everyone in the valley, and a higher shoulder of snow to either side of the road leading into the valley.
He wouldn’t be lying to say that he and most everyone else had expected Beth to leave the Evans ranch after Red had gone missing in the mountains. She had a mother and sister in Kalispell, and Red’s brother and his family lived in Calgary. None of them were close enough to help her with the ranch or even a bit of babysitting.
No one would have blamed her for getting out.
Cal had done what he could without overstepping, but Beth was stubborn and altogether too independent. Just because there was a man-sized hole in her life didn’t mean it was Cal’s job to fill it. She’d as good as told him to stop helping only last week.
Might as well tell him to stop breathing.
He saw Sam walking up ahead once he rounded the bend, and the kid looked back and had the good sense to look nervous as Cal pulled up alongside him. “Get in.”
“I saw the cows heading for the pass—”
“You and I both. Get in.” He gave the order softer this time, and Sam complied.
It had been so easy to be the boy’s favorite person when Red had been alive. No laying down the law—that was Red’s job. Only the fun stuff, the easy stuff, but nothing about Sam was easy these days. The kid was growing too fast—jeans above his ankles and his jacket barely reaching his belt. Gym shoes because he’d either made bad choices with getting dressed this morning or his boots were too small. Did Beth not notice?
“Where’s your mom?”
“She’s in surgery helping reattach a guy’s arm.” The boy spoke with pride and, well, he should have, but a person could work too much, and Beth had been skating that edge for a while now.
Sam held his bare hands up to the dash heater and his fingertips were white.
“Where are your gloves?”
“Dude, it’s October.”
“We had a foot of fresh snow overnight. What’s your point?” The turnoff to the Casey ranch was coming up on the left and Cal took it, heading for the house he’d grown up in. His mother still lived there and had a basement rack crammed to overflowing with boys’ clothes of all shapes and sizes. Waiting for her grandsons, she always said. He didn’t think she’d mind if they raided it. She could call the school while they were at it and tell them Cal would be late. Savannah Casey had raised five hellions. He knew for a fact she’d be used to that bit.
Sam cut a hopeful figure as they made their way into the kitchen, because this particular kitchen was never without cookies.
Cal might have been somewhat hopeful, too.
“Well, would you look what the snow brought in. My two favorite people.” His mother smiled as she put the lid back on what looked to be a crock-pot of beef and bean stew.
“Hello, Mrs. Casey.”
“Hey, Mom. Sam missed the bus and Beth’s still at work.”
His mother reached for the cookie jar and unscrewed the lid. “Let me guess. You want me to call the school and let them know he’ll be late.”
Cal nodded, as she held the jar in front of an eager Sam. “That kind of thing’s just better coming from you.”
“And you know this how?”
“I know this instinctively.”
Sam took a cookie.
Cal nabbed one, too. “Mind if we raid the clothes in the basement?”
His mother cast an assessing eye over Sam and grasped the situation in a heartbeat. “There’s plenty there. Some of Jett’s old gear might be best. It’s the newest.”
Sam’s eyes grew wide. “Jett’s gear,” he said with deep reverence, and Cal barely held back an eye roll.
His youngest brother was a downhill skier with a fist full of Olympic gold medals to his name. There was no topping that. The only achievement Cal could boast of was that he was bigger than all four of his brothers and had the approximate shoulder width of an ox.
Big, dumb, and dangerous when riled, the uncharitable might have called him. Didn’t tire easily. Useful when it came to hard slog and outdoor work.
Face like a weathered mountainside, even if the occasional woman had told him he had kind eyes.
He summoned a wry smile for Sam’s enthusiasm for rummaging through Jett’s old outdoor gear. No point loading the kid up with insecurities Cal had carried for so long they were almost old friends. “Want to take a look?”
Sam nodded, his mouth full of chocolate chip goodness.
“What time will I tell the school to expect Sam?”
“’Bout lunchtime.”
His mother looked at the kitchen clock that read a little after seven. “Lunchtime,” she echoed.
“Give or take.” He nodded, happy with his estimation, and alongside him the small, wise little boy nodded, too. “We have to put out a bit of feed and bedding, get those cows back in their paddock, and fix the fence first.”
Priorities were important.
Two hours later, after they’d spread hay, saddled and loaded the horses, and driven up the mountain to Hooper’s Pass, and then cut across the ridge to where Cal figured the cows would be, he was beginning to regret not taking Sam straight to school. Not because the boy couldn’t handle Old Plod the horse, because he could. Not because he feared the kid wasn’t warm enough in his new old clothes. It was because Sam’s smile spoke of deep contentment, and when he wasn’t looking like Christmas had come early, he just plain ran his mouth.
“Save your breath for school,” Cal advised, when the topic of animal tracks in the snow had been done to death.
“Did you like school?” Sam asked.
“I liked it well enough. I finished school,” he added, just in case Sam had other ideas.
“Did you get good grades?”
“I passed.” Which had been no small achievement given what little study he’d done. “My grades weren’t as good as my older brother’s. Or two of my younger brothers. Gotta admit that stung at the time. Still does.”
“Why?”
“Well.” Cal took the time to reposition his hat and shape his reply. “TJ’s a vet now, and Seth’s construction company can build just about anything. Mason travels the country buying and selling stock for a big multinational and no one’s better at running the numbers and calculating margins than him. Stayin’ at school and getting good grades gives a man options.”
“What about Jett?”
“Jett’s a thrill-seeking Olympian. Different skill set.”
“What’s your skill set?” asked Sam.
Ouch.
Even though Cal was proud of everything his hardworking, talented brothers had achieved, comparing himself to them out loud and in public was never fun.
Wasn’t much fun when he compared himself to them in silence either.
“I guess I’m good at taking care of things. Like the animals in my care and the land in this valley. People, too. I see to the little things that need doing.” It wasn’t nothing. “If I’m the one sweating the small stuff, it makes life that easier for everyone else in my world. I like watching the people around me soar.”
“I want to do what you do when I grow up.”
Cal almost choked on his bark of startled laughter.
“What?” Sam asked warily. “You don’t think I can take care of my mom and the ranch and all the things I love?”
“’Course you can. You’re already doing it. I was just surprised, that’s all. Lotta people think doing what I do is a quiet choice.”
Most people didn’t compare him to the rest of his high-achieving family and put him at the top.
“That or be a smoke jumper,” Sam said after a good long while.
Now that was more like it.
Cal saw the heifers in the distance and waited for Sam to spot them and point them out. Three missing, according to the boy’s headcount of the remaining cows and Cal had no reason to doubt it. Beth had been selling off stock for a while now. There weren’t that many left to count.
“Found ’em!”
“Good eyes.”
“Two of them,” Sam said next.
“Third one’s over by that fallen pine. On the slope there near the little stand of aspen, see? Stand up in the saddle and maybe you’ll see her.” Cal could just see her ears next to that little scrap of red. What was that? “You get ahead of the two on the track and I’ll get her.”
“Yes, sir!”
Cal turned his attention to the third cow again as the boy took off. What was that lying next to her all tangled up in broken tree branches of the fallen tree? It looked like … a cap? A cap and a jacket? He rode closer and the sitting heifer scrambled to her feet, unhurt. That was one worry gone, at least.
She moved toward the other cows, nice and biddable, making his job that much easier, except now he could see more clothing and a man-shaped body beneath the branches, and he knew that Red Sox baseball cap. He’d sure as spring teased Red about it often enough. What kind of rugged Montana cowboy supported a baseball team from Boston?
But this was Red, who’d never been one to follow the crowd.
The same Red who’d gone hunting cougar one cold winter night and whose body had never been found.
It hadn’t helped that the weather had closed in that same night, with the arrival of one of the fiercest snowstorms the region had ever seen. The search and rescue teams hadn’t been able to set foot in the valley for days, and as for heading up mountain… Even the low ranges had been inaccessible for weeks.
Two summers and almost three winters had passed since Red had disappeared, and the mountain had kept its secrets.
Until now.
Here’s looking at you, Red.
Right here. Right now.
Long dead.
Didn’t have to be a coroner to see that.
The cookie he’d not long devoured threatened to reemerge. If his heart thumped any harder his ribs would fail to keep it caged.
“Hey, Cal. Wha—”
“Back up,” he bellowed, startling the heifer into a jog—good job, Cal, you utter hammerhead—his attention now torn between Sam, the startled cow, and the raggedy corpse all tangled up in the fallen tree. “Get behind the cows and push them back to the truck.” No way should Sam see any part of this. He needed to remember his father alive. “Now, Sam.”
“But—
“Go. We’re done here.” Red could wait. The cows could wait. Stopping Sam from seeing that was all that mattered now. “I’m right behind you.”
The return trip took half the time the outward trip had taken, with Cal’s horse enjoying the brisker pace and Old Plod stepping up to prove he’d once been the best horse on the ranch. Sam remained utterly silent the whole way back, and Cal had nothing to say either.
Ride hard, stay on task, and try and come up with a plan.
Be practical. Wasn’t he supposed to be good at that?
What needed to happen next, besides protecting Sam from a brutal memory that could never be erased?
Only after they reached the truck and tethered the horses, and Cal had reached for the satellite phone he kept charged and in the glovebox, did Sam finally find his voice.
“There’s a body back there, isn’t there.”
The boy was practically vibrating with tension, and Cal took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Someone had to be strong enough to carry this motherlode, and he was the only ox around. “Yes.” He crouched down so they were eye to eye and held Sam’s troubled brown gaze. Beth’s penny-brown eyes. Red’s freckles. But otherwise, all Sam. “Sorry I yelled. I didn’t want you to see that.”
“Is it my dad?”
How sure was he? More to the point, what good would come of lying? “I reckon so.”
Sam’s eyes filled with tears, and then Cal had his arms full of sobbing boy, and, yeah. He held Sam close, gentle like, because in spite of Cal’s size and his strength, he knew how to temper strength, too.
He waited while a young boy’s hope for the return of his missing father washed away in a waterfall of tears.
He waited until his own heartbeat had steadied and Sam was tucked into the curve of his shoulder before making that first call to the authorities, his next one to Seth, and a third call to Mason.
What use was rock-solid backup if a man never used it?
He was going to need all the backup he could get after making his next call to Beth.
End of Excerpt
