on me, Colt?”
“If I am, it’s not my fault. It’s the twins. Nobody’s sleeping around here, and there’s way too much crying.”
“They’re cute little stinkers, though.” That was an understatement. Dan’s honorary niece and nephew were so adorable they could make any man hungry to have a couple kids of his own.
“Yeah, they’re cute, all right. That’s how they suck you in. Trust me, Dan. This parenting-twins stuff is harder than ranching any day. No wonder I’m going soft. It’s enough to send any man around the bend. I’ll get Angie to text you that number. And listen, if you’ve got some kind of trouble brewing back home, you head there without a second thought, okay? We can manage until you get back.”
“Thanks, Colt.” Dan disconnected the phone and shoved it back into his pocket. He sat in the chilling truck cab, thinking hard.
So after all these years, Bailey Quinn had called him.
Her face came into his mind as clearly as if he’d seen her yesterday. Eyes such a rich, dark shade of brown that you could only make out her pupils if you were close enough to kiss her. He recalled the soft curve of her cheek and the sassy way she’d tilt her head when she was teasing you—which, Bailey being Bailey, was most of the time.
Years back, not long after hiring on at the Bar M, Dan had been out checking a fence line on a June morning. A pretty, dark-feathered bird perched on a strand of barbed wire had cocked its head at him in just the same way. Pain had ricocheted out of nowhere with such force that his knees had almost buckled under him.
And that was just a dumb bird.
Even though the phone hadn’t vibrated, he took it back out of his pocket and squinted at the screen. Nothing. Likely it would take Angie McAllister a while to get around to texting him Bailey’s number. Colt’s wife had her hands full wrangling their three-week-old babies, Josie and Finn.
In the meantime, Dan might as well do what he’d come here to do.
He turned the sound up on his phone so he wouldn’t miss the text, got out of the truck and threaded his way through the graveyard, his boots crunching in the snow. It didn’t take him long to find what he was looking for.
“Hey, there, Gordon.” Dan removed his brown Stetson and then reached down and brushed the mounded snow from the top of his old boss’s tombstone.
Gordon Finnley McAllister. The name was engraved deeply into solid gray granite Colt had chosen for his grandfather’s memorial stone. It was one of the few decisions the new rancher had made that Dan hadn’t privately second-guessed. Granite was a good fit for the stubborn old man he’d known.
Gordon McAllister’s mind and body had been toughened by the wild land he loved, but the old rancher’s heart had been shaped by the Lord he’d followed faithfully—and gentled by the wife who lay slumbering beside him now. Josephine Andrews McAllister had always missed her Oklahoma home, so Gordon had buried her here, among her people. And when his time came, he’d asked to be laid beside her instead of in his beloved Wyoming. That request had shocked a lot of people back in Broken Bow, given how passionately the old man had loved the family ranch.
It hadn’t shocked Dan at all. He knew Gordon had loved his Josephine more.
Dan cleared his throat. “Colt wanted me to take a look at some heifers a couple towns over, so I thought...while I was in the neighborhood.” This felt awkward. But he forced himself to keep on going. “Colt’s doing you proud, Gordon. He’s got the makings of a solid rancher. Not as good as you, not yet. But one day he will be. I’ve stayed on to help get him started, like I promised you I would. But he’s just about got his feet under him now, and I’m thinking...” Dan fought the lump that had risen up in his throat. This was hard. “I’m thinking maybe it’s getting time for me to up stakes and move along. That’s why I came by. To let you know. And to bring you something.”
He fished a brass token from his coat pocket. It gleamed dully in the palm of his hand. “This is the chip I got from my support group when I was one year sober. You came to see me get it, eleven years ago this March. Getting through that first year without a drink was the first thing I’d done right in a long time, and one of the toughest. I’d never have managed it without you and that church you kept dragging me to. I’ve carried this thing with me ever since, but now I’m leaving it here with you.” Dan gently placed the token on top of the grave marker. “I came here to thank you, Gordon McAllister, for taking me in and forgiving me when I didn’t deserve it. I’ll owe you a debt for the rest of my life, and me leaving the Bar M won’t change that any. If Colt or Angie or those great-grandkids of yours ever need my help, I’ll be there for them. No matter what. You’ve got my word on that.”
He stood there for a long moment, his hand covering the token, the cold of the stone seeping into his fingers. Finally he lifted his hand and cleared his throat.
“That’s all I needed to say, I guess. I’d best be getting along. Rest good, Gordon, here with your Josephine. You’ve earned it.”
Then Dan settled his Stetson back on his head and started back toward the truck.
His phone chirped loudly just as he was settling into the seat. Angie had sent him a number, followed by, Colt says you go on to Georgia if you need to. Don’t worry about us.
He wasn’t worried about the McAllisters. Colt could run the Bar M just fine without Dan’s help, even with a pair of brand-new babies thrown into the bargain.
But Dan had never planned to go back to Pine Valley, Georgia. He had his reasons for that, reasons that still tore him up when he allowed himself to think about them.
Which was why he didn’t allow it.
Then again, if Bailey Quinn had reached out to him after what he’d done, after all these years...she must need something.
Something big.
He recalled something Gordon used to say when they’d hit a snag in their work. “Sometimes you gotta go back a few fence posts, son, and fix a crooked one before you can go forward. Ain’t no fun, but it’s the right thing to do. Every man makes his share of mistakes, but they ain’t nothing to be ashamed of unless you leave ’em standing.”
Dan had left some pretty busted-up fence posts standing back in Pine Valley. He should have done what he could to fix them a long time ago, but he’d kept putting it off. It was no easy thing, going back to the place where you’d behaved the worst, facing up to what you’d done before you found your feet and your faith.
He was at a turning point right now. He was about to strike out on his own again, away from the shelter of the Bar M and the McAllisters. He needed all his fence posts as straight as he could get them, and it looked like God had just handed Dan an opportunity to get that done.
Whether he liked it or not.
Lord, what do You want me to do here?
Dan knew the answer almost before he’d finished the question. The things he’d done and the people he’d hurt—like Bailey Quinn—deserved a lot more from him than a phone call. It was long past time for him to face up to them and make whatever amends he could.
Dan looked back down at his phone and slowly typed out a reply.
Headed to Georgia. Tell Colt to text me if he needs anything.
Then he hit Send, dropped the phone on the seat and shoved the truck into first gear.
“Lucy Ball, drop that right now!” Bailey Quinn jogged around the corner of her old clapboard farmhouse, trying to keep the mischievous Jersey calf in sight. “You’ll choke!”
The long-legged red calf tossed her head and flexed her jaw, crackling the plastic of the stolen water bottle she held clenched in her teeth. She was having fun, and she was in no hurry for this game to