“Because your mom wants you to go to college.”
Jake got up. “I have work to do,” he said. “If you need anything, call us.”
“I can take care of myself,” Travis muttered.
Jake left, walked over to the ATV, and looked back at his uncle’s house. He knew about Travis’s struggles and frustrations, mostly because his dad had talked to him about them… and Jake had overheard conversations between his mom and dad over the years. He wished he could stay, because Travis acted like he wanted company, but he wasn’t going to talk to Travis about college or his dad. Jake was eighteen. He was graduating from high school next month. He knew what he wanted, and that was to save Whisper Creek.
He wished he could explain that to Travis—and especially wished his mom would understand. He didn’t like the tension that was between them, and he really hated that she had brought up the subject to his uncle.
Travis wasn’t his father. He never would be.
Jake rode off a bit too fast on the ATV, swerved in the mud, then straightened and headed home.
Through the front window, Travis watched Jake leave, then drained the last of his whiskey and slammed the glass onto the table, the echo sharp in the empty room. Titan looked at him as if he could read his mind, and Travis reached out for him. “Good boy, lay down with your brother.”
Travis motioned to the dog bed, and Titan hesitated, then sat next to the sleeping Timber, but kept his eyes on Travis.
Outside, the fading rumble of the ATV told him his nephew was finally gone. Good. He loved the kid, sure—but that smug, self-righteous tone? Too much like John.
And the self-sacrifice. Giving up his future for the past.
Like John.
John, the golden brother. The one everyone listened to. The one who never raised his voice but still made you feel small just by offering “helpful advice.” Go to community college. Study a trade. Move to town. Find something new.
Travis didn’t want something new. He wantedbefore. Before the war. Before he lost half his leg. Before his nights ended with too much whiskey and nightmares that woke him in a sweat.
He shut his eyes, breathing through the sudden spike of rage.
Damn, he missed his brother. Righteous or not, John was a good man who had raised a good family. He stared at the half-empty whiskey bottle across the room.
Stop it, he told himself. No more. What if Ellen needed his help?
Right,him. A broken man with a bum leg who drank too much because there was nothing else he could do.
Travis looked at Timber, an innocent dog who had been shot. He forced himself to be calm. The dog would get agitated, and Timber needed to rest and heal.
Dogs were pure souls who just wanted to be with their owners. A little praise and kindness, and they were loyal for life.
He sat down, leaned back, closed his eyes. His thoughts turned to Greg Baldwin. Who’d rob the guy? Why? Because people thought he was rich with the big, fancy house? Sure, he had money, but he put it all into the house and his horses and the stocks he traded. He didn’t collect expensive shit.
Baldwin was a good man, even if he had the wrong idea about farming. He, John, and Travis had played poker with a couple other fortysomething men now and again. Not for much money—mostly for bragging rights—but those evenings made Travis feel almostnormal again. Travis had made some money caring for his horses when Baldwin left for weeks at a time. Even with his messed-up leg, Travis could still ride, exercise the animals, groom and feed them. Besides, Josh Stuart, Baldwin’s usual caretaker, was next to worthless. More of a drunk than Travis.
Ellen had suggested that Travis should board horses, that he had a knack. Board horses, train dogs, basically be a glorified pet sitter. While she was correct that he had a gift with animals, what if he was having a bad day and could barely walk? The horses couldn’t wait to be fed and watered and exercised. What happened then? Would he have to call his sister-in-law to help?
Nope, he didn’t want help from anyone. He hated collecting disability, but there wasn’t much he could do and he needed the money. Even though he lived in this house—his grandparents’ old house—for free. Even though his sister-in-law brought him food so he didn’t have to shop or cook. It gutted him.
He wanted to do more, be more.
Stop wallowing in self-pity, get off your ass, and do something.
John had rarely gotten angry with him, but the week before he died, he and Travis had had a huge argument. John was disappointed in him. Travis knew it. But he couldn’t face it.
And then John was dead.
Baldwin.
Jake said he wasn’t even supposed to be in town.
