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“It’s the next right,” I told Rock after we’d driven past the entrance to the Flying R on the left. The road that led to the Roaring Fork went through a gated golf course community, something my father had tried to stop from being developed by bidding on the land himself. That he had been outbid at the last minute by a developer out of Texas was something that ate away at him for the rest of his life.
The road narrowed and went between two large red-rock formations surrounded by aspens. Just beyond that, was the ranch’s main gate. As the road curved around, the first structures we came to were the original barn and farmhouse. The house hadn’t been lived in during my lifetime, and the barn was only used for overflow hay storage, but both had always been my two favorite buildings on the property. There was a time I’d thought about restoring them and living in the farmhouse.
My father shot that idea down in the same way he had most ideas my brothers and I had. My mother was still alive at the time and ran interference when the old man threatened to tear them down. She’d issued her own threat, telling him that if he tried, she’d see to it that they were declared historic landmarks.
I shook my head and laughed at how she’d always been the only one not intimidated by him.
“What are you thinking about?” Stella asked.
“Ancient history,” I mumbled.
The road came to a three-prong fork. “That way will be where we set up the dude ranch,” I said, pointing to the far left. “The middle goes to the main ranch house and to the three refurbished cabins. Stock contracting will be to the far right.”
“Nice of the geography to play along,” said Rock, looking over at Decker.
“It does make our job easier.”
Ten minutes later, we came to a crest and the wide expanse of our ranch opened up before us. Stella gasped. Even I had to admit, on a day like today, it was breathtaking.
Rock looked over his shoulder at me. “How did you ever leave this place?”
“It wasn’t the place; it was the people. One person in particular.”
Stella’s eyes met mine, and in them, I could see the questions I’d tried to avoid when I didn’t tell her about my father being ill.
Two SUVs, identical to the one we were riding in, were parked in front of the house. “Is that your crew?” I asked Decker when we exited our vehicle and walked toward the house.
“Affirmative,” he muttered, looking at something on his phone. “How many cabins did you say were on the river? Three?”
“That’s right.”
&n
bsp; I led him, Rock, Irish, and Stella into the house, shocked at how quiet it was. “Hello?” I called out.
“Hey, Buck,” said my sister, coming around the corner. I stepped forward and hugged her. “Where is everybody?”
“Out surveying.” Flynn turned and looked directly at Irish. “Who are you?”
He stepped forward and extended his hand. “Paxon Warrick.”
“Flynn Wheaton.”
“Great name,” said Irish.
“Yours too.”
I suddenly felt like the rest of us in the room were invisible. I tapped Flynn on the shoulder. “Hey, sis, I’d like you to meet my friend, Stella. Stella, this is Flynn.”
The two women shook hands.
“And this is Decker Ashford and Rock Johnson.”
“It’s nice to meet you both.” Flynn was polite, shaking the hands of both men. However, I caught her looking over her shoulder at Irish more than once. And Irish? He hadn’t taken his eyes off of her.
“Stella and Irish…err…Paxon are going to be spending some time here on the ranch.”
“You may have one other joining you,” I heard Decker say to Stella.
