Page 61 of Untruly With You

After an especially loud clap of thunder, my father’s eyes slide to mine, their pale blue looking almost as silver as the thin hair that peeks out from his cowboy hat. “Do you even know where we are?” he asks, his slurring voice cutting the wind like a rusty blade.

Wells scoffs at my look of confusion, his eyes matching our father’s, not only in color, but also in intensity. He flexes his jaw, choking back whatever it is he’s desperate to say.

When my father speaks again, there is no gentleness in his tone. “This is where Duke died.”

Across from me, Wells straightens, digging his nails into his palms as he balls his hands up.

Unsure of what to say, I study Hank. He doesn’t look sad. Far from it. Instead of welling tears in his eyes, there is only a fiery flicker, clear even under his drooping lids. Hank points a trembling hand to the cluster of rocks at the edge of the mountainside. One juts out from the others, sharp and menacing. “That was the rock that broke his neck.” He points across the trail, where we tied our horses up. “And that was the horse that bucked him off.”

Everything in my body turns to lead.

I knew some details of how Duke died. But I heard nothing about it from my father. After I told him I wasn’t going to quit college and move back home, he quit talking to me about Duke entirely, as if I didn’t even deserve to remember my brother if I wasn’t willing to take over his role, his life.

“Duke was devoted to the ranch. To our family,” Hank continues, his eyes sending me a clear message:unlike you.“Duke was out all day, every day. Moving cattle, fixing fences, managing employees. He wanted to see Silver Ridge thrive, and he was making it happen. When a pack of wolves attacked one of our smaller herds, Duke wanted to solve the problem.”

Wells hangs his head, his face covered by the brim of his hat. Something forms in my throat, too heavy for me to swallow away. Sweat gathers on the back of my neck, mingling with the dripping rain.

“We had a storm that day, worse than this one,” Hanksays. “The lightning already had the horses on edge. And when a rattler came up on the trail, surprising Duke’s horse, he reared back. The snake attacked. The horse went wild. Threw Duke off.”

The lump in my throat swells bigger, enough for my breaths to tighten. Icy blood races through my pounding heart.

Hank looks out into the storm. “He died protecting our ranch. He gave hislifefor it. And I don’t want that to be in vain.”

My stomach rolls in synchronicity with the thunder. I look at Wells, but his hat still obstructs his face. I can see his knuckles, though, stark white over clenched fists.

“You’ve had your time to play around in New York,” Hank says with unwavering intensity. “It’s time to come back to your real life.”

After a few steadying breaths, I can only come up with the same words I said to my father six years ago. “I can’t be Duke.”

Wells' hat lifts slightly as he tilts his head up just enough to look at me, his eyes narrow and piercing.

Hank’s voice is as frigid and unforgiving as the rain that lashes against the trees overhead. “We don’t need you to be your brother. We just need you to behere. You left when we needed you most, Sutton. You chose college and a life ofreadingover your family and this land.”

The scent of rain-soaked earth mixing with the acrid bite of unresolved anger. “I didn't abandon anyone,” I say. “I followed my own path. I’m going to be an editor soon.That’smy life.”

A flash of lightning casts an eerie glow on our strained faces, and I see a glimmer of something in my father's eyes—recognition, perhaps, or a hint of realization. But he quickly hardens his gaze.

“Duke is gone,” he says, his voice softening just a fraction. “He's gone, and the ranch—the family—needs someone to fill his shoes.”

“I can't replace Duke. No one can.”

Wells' hat lifts higher, his eyes boring into mine. Our father's expectations and his fixation on my return has worn away at Wells. I can sense his frustration building.

“You’re pathetic,” Wells mutters through gritted teeth. “You think the city and your new, fancy assistant-to-the-editor job in a big high-rise make you better than us? Think you’re too good for this place?”

It takes effort to not back down from his glare. “This isn't about being better, Wells. It's about finding where I belong. This ranch was never my dream.”

Another bolt of lightning illuminates the forest, emphasizing Wells’ knit brows. “Well, it's my dream! I've been working this land as hard as anyone. But all anyone can think about is how it should be you.You, even when you’re the weak one. The one who ran.”

Wells' anger is palpable. Understandable, considering the fact that he’s the one who stayed. Who learned the ins and outs of the ranch. Who, at only sixteen, took on Duke’s responsibilities. And yet, our father's attention remains firmly on me. Even now, his gaze has not moved from my face.

Hank interjects, his voice stern and unforgiving, “Sutton, you may have left, but Silver Ridge is a part of the Davis family. Our legacy—Duke'slegacy—is in your blood. You can't just walk away from your God-given responsibilities.” It’s as if he didn’t hear a word that Wells said.

Hank’s words are heavy with the weight of tradition and duty. But I can’t carry that weight. “Duke gave his life to this ranch. And I would give mine up if I followed in his footsteps.” I gesture to my little brother, attempting asmile. “But Wells…Wellswantsthis. He’s your prodigy. Not me.”

Without wasting a second, Hank snaps, “Wells can’t do it. Not alone.”

“Wells has you,” I remind him. “From what I’ve heard around the ranch, Wells has practically been running it on his own, anyway. I heard he’s been doing better than you. Is that the real reason you want me here? Are you just ashamed that you aren’t enough for the ranch anymore?”

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