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“Too long. I’m sorry for that.” Cal cleared his throat. “It’s good to see you.” He offered his hand, but was pulled into a bear hug.
When the men eventually parted, Dal spoke first. “You don’t need to say sorry, Cal. We all know it’s a hard job being a bona fide country star.” He chuckled, though the mirth slowly left his face. “We’re just glad you’re here.”
Throat suddenly thick, Cal cleared it and nodded to the truck. “I’m taking Nora to school, and then I need to figure out where the hell Ry is.” He paused. “You wouldn’t happen to know what he’s been up to?”
“Haven’t a clue. He’s been off on his own a lot lately. A girl, I figure.” Dal winked. “He’s a good kid. A little on the wild side like his brothers were at that age. But he generally stays out of trouble. There’s not a lot for him to do here with winter on the way, so I don’t see him as much as in the spring and summer.” The man’s face gentled. “I wouldn’t worry too much. All you Bridgestones eventually find your way back home. Some just take longer than others.” He took a step back. “You know where I am in the evenings. Stop by and I’ll fill you in on the ranch.”
“Everything okay?”
“We’re fine. Bent’s done a good job.” He held Cal’s gaze. “You been to see the old man yet?”
Surprised at the question, Cal took a few moments. Why was everyone pushing him toward his father? “I don’t know. We’ll see.” His answer was vague, but it was all he had. “When did he move out to Blue Ridge?”
“A couple of years back.”
Cal let that information settle. The Founder’s Cabin was up on the other side of the valley, tucked beneath a ridge overlooking a creek. It had been the first structure built by a Bridgestone nearly one hundred and fifty years ago. Cal had no idea it was habitable. “I thought hell would freeze over before Bent let him back onto Bridgestone land.”
“A lot of things have changed.”
“No shit,” he muttered to himself. He looked at Dallas. “I’ll swing by later for a proper catch-up.”
“Sure thing.” Dallas back away and, with a nod, turned toward the barns.
Cal hopped into the truck and headed to town. The drive was easy, but halfway there, he turned off the radio on account of Nora’s chatter pretty much drowning out anything but her voice. Once at the school, he managed to get her inside without too much fuss. Nora’s teacher was none other than Mrs. Smith, the same he’d had all those years ago, and after eyeing up the blue cowboy boots his niece wore, she looked at Cal and shook her head, an easy smile on her face.
“Let’s make sure Nora has on her winter boots tomorrow.” The reprimand was light, but still… Cal shot an accusatory look at his niece. The little girl paid him no mind as she ran to her cubby.
“That one has more charm in her pinky than anyone I know. Those are her favorite boots. She wore them every day last year.” Mrs. Smith paused. “Don’t let her run roughshod over you, Calvin. She might look like an angel, and for the most part, she is. But she’s also a Bridgestone, and we both know how headstrong you all are.” She gave him a big hug and said to give Benton her best wishes, then disappeared into the classroom.
Cal called Ryland’s cellagainand, when he didn’t pick up, headed over to the high school. Classes were already in session, so he slipped inside, gave a quick wave to Davis, the same security guard who’d been there when he used to haunt the place, and then made his way to the office.
He spied Mrs. Crabtree at her desk. She glanced up when he entered, pushing her round glasses higher onto her nose. She rose to her feet with a wide smile.
“My goodness. Calvin Bridgestone.” She rounded her desk until she stood a few inches away. “I’ve been wondering if you’d be coming home.” Her smile fell a bit. “We were all so sorry to hear about Benton’s accident. But I do hear he’s on the mend.” She winked. “My nephew is a nurse there at the hospital and told me the good news while I was in line at the Coffee Pot.”
“That place still standing?”
“I swear it will survive the apocalypse.” She waited a beat. “What can I do for you?”
“I was hoping to talk to Ryland. I got into town yesterday, and I’m trying to get organized and all, but I haven’t connected with him just yet.” He offered a hopeful smile. “Would it be possible to have him called down to the office? Just so I can square away a few things.”
“Why, I’d love to help you, Calvin, but Ryland’s been absent for a few days now. We all just assumed he was at the hospital.”
“Is that so,” he answered slowly, feeling a twinge of unease for the first time. “You’re probably right. I bet that’s where he is. I’ll head on over now.”
Once he was in his truck, he called Mackenzie, but the doctor hadn’t seen Ryland since the day Bent had been brought in. Filing that information away, he asked after his brother and was told to stop by later in the afternoon since she’d just had him taken down for a few more X-rays. She assured him Benton was doing well and ended the call.
Cal stared down at his cell, pondering his next move.
The headache was still there, those UFC fighters headed to extra rounds, when he finally pulled out of the parking lot. He called Mike Paul again, but same as last, there was no answer. With a curse, he gripped the steering wheel as he headed down Main Street. He was nearly to the end of town when he swung a hard right and drove into the parking lot of the Sundowner. Mostly empty, there were a few trucks here and there, ones whose owners had been smart enough to get a ride home the night before. He pulled alongside a small red compact car near the back entrance and hopped out of his truck.
The back door was unlocked, and he strode inside, gaze on a large man chopping onions in the kitchen. Hank Williams fell from the old radio propped at the end of the workspace, and the man hummed along to a song about a good-lookin’ woman cookin’ up a world of heartbreak.
Cal cleared his throat and offered a smile at the startled look he received. “Sorry to bother you, but I was looking for Millie Sue.”
The man’s mouth fell open as his eyes widened hilariously. “It’s true,” he whispered. “You’re back. You’re really here.”
This was the part that always made Cal feel uncomfortable. The recognition. The worship. Folks looked at him like he was some sort of god, when he was the furthest thing from it. He was only a man who liked to write songs and play guitar. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans and hunched his shoulders. “Do you know when she’s gonna be in?”
