I turned it off and shoved it back in my pocket and kept walking. A minute later I was getting into my truck, the engine roaring to life as I headed out of town toward my father’s ranch. My thoughts were chaotic, making time slip by strangely. It wasn’t long until I was pulling up to the debris field that used to be my childhood home. I turned off the engine, rolled the windows down, and just sat there, listening to the birds singing in the trees.
It was a hot day despite the early hour and I found myself pulling at the buttons of my shirt. I stripped it off completely and tossed it at the dashboard. The glovebox must’ve been poorly latched, because the weight of the shirt was enough to dislodge it, causing it to fall open. And there, curled up inside, was the yellow folder the lawyer had given me nearly two months before. The one with the deed to the ranch, a copy of the will, and the letter from my father that I’d never opened.
Curiosity got the better of me as I yanked the envelope open and extracted the letter. I stared at it for a long time, my name in that blocky writing that was so familiar. Finally, unable to stand it any longer, I tore it open with a huff and began to read.
Cash,it began in his familiar scrawl.If you’re reading this, then I’m gone, and you came back like I always hoped you would.
My hands shook as I read on.
I know I wasn’t the father you deserved. I know I said things that hurt you, did things that drove you away. I was scared and angry and I took it out on the one person I should have protected most. Your mother would have been ashamed of me. Hell, I’m ashamed of myself.
I want you to know that I never stopped loving you. Not for one day. I kept hoping you’d come home, that I’d get the chance to tell you I was sorry and try to make things right. I guess I waited too long and it’s my own damn fault. I never should’ve let you leave the house that night.
I had to stop reading for a moment, my vision blurring as tears I hadn’t expected threatened to spill over. My father’s handwriting wavered on the page, and I wiped my eyes with the back of my hand before continuing.
The ranch should have been yours from the beginning. You always understood the land better than I did, even as a kid. You had your mother’s gentle way with the animals and my stubborn determination. It’s a good combination for a rancher, if you’ll let it be.
I know you probably want to sell it and get as far from here as possible. I can’t blame you for that. But if there’s any part of you that still loves this place, that still remembers what it felt like to ride fence on Saturday mornings or help out during calving season, I hope you’ll consider staying.
The land needs someone who cares about it. And maybe you need the land too.
I’m sorry, son. For all of it. I love you and I’m proud of you, no matter what you decide to do.
Your father, James Callahan
P.S. - I’ve put your mother’s gold wedding band in the safe in my closet. The combination is your birthday. Maybe you’ll meet someone special someday that you can give one to. I wish I could’ve been there to meet him.
I sat there in the cab of my truck, staring at the letter until the words blurred together. The apology I’d been waiting nearly ten years to hear, written in my father’s chunky writing. It was too little, too late, just like I’d always said it would be. So why did it feel like something inside my chest was cracking open?
I looked out at the ruins of the house, at the blackened foundation stones and what was left of the chimney standing like a lone sentinel against the sky. I’d already found the safe my father had mentioned, with my mother’s ring inside. A ring I’d never known existed. It was back at the parsonage with Mike. The one man I promised myself I’d never fall for and the one I was slowly but surely falling in love with.
Chapter 22
Cash
The sun had set and night was in full swing, the stars above a riot of sparkles in the inky blackness. I sat in my truck outside the parsonage that was almost completely dark. Only one window was illuminated, the one to Mike’s study. I knew he was home and he must be reading. However, I couldn’t quite bring myself to go inside just yet.
Guilt still clawed at my belly for the way I’d blown up on him after his sermon. It seemed this was the dance we’d been doing since the tornado. I’d push him and he would give in, then he’d push me back and I would storm out in a huff. Rinse and repeat until we were both so fucking wound up that we could barely function around one another.
But it had been more than that too. There were those little moments of peace between us, the ones that showed me that we could find some sort of balance. I was longing for that now, that carefree and supportive atmosphere that seemed to follow Mike everywhere. He was so good at being… well,good. And I…wasn’t.
I rubbed my face with both hands, trying to summon the courage to get out of the truck and face the music. The letter from my father was still crumpled in my fist, and I smoothed itout against the steering wheel, reading it one more time in the dim light from the dashboard.
Maybe you need the land too.
Those words kept echoing in my head, mixing with Mike’s sermon about finding the courage to return home. It was like the universe was conspiring against me, trying to convince me to do something I’d sworn I’d never do.
Stay in Sagebrush.
The very thought made my stomach clench with panic. This place had nearly destroyed me once. What made me think it wouldn’t do it again? But then I thought about Mike’s face when he’d spotted me in that back pew, the way his whole expression had lit up like I’d given him some kind of gift just by showing up. I thought about the way he’d made me breakfast this morning, the careful way he’d taken care of me when I was too nervous to eat.
I thought about the way it felt to wake up next to him, solid and warm and real.
“Fuck,” I muttered, shoving the letter into my pocket and finally opening the truck door.
The night air was cool against my skin as I walked up the front steps. I could see Mike through the window of his study, hunched over a book at his desk, lamplight casting a golden glow over his features. He looked tired, probably from the stress of his first sermon and then dealing with my dramatic exit afterward in front of the entire goddamn congregation.
I stood on the porch for a long moment, not feeling like I was allowed to just walk in anymore. My hand was raised to knock, and I was lost in thought trying to figure out what the hell I was going to say to him. Sorry for being an asshole seemed like a good place to start, but it didn’t feel like nearly enough.
